By Dr. Tim Seelig–
If the words immortalized by mononym Barbra are true, people need people. If we need people, we’re the luckiest people in the world. I think that is true. I’m needy and lucky. Do you sometimes get things seared in your brain you can never forget? Mine is this very song … sort of. One of the most memorable acts in the late great Beach Blanket Babylon in San Francisco was an appearance by a flawless Barbra impersonator. The curtain opened with her in her iconic turban-clad profile pose, looking up into the wings. She began to sing, “People (pause, mugs at the audience); I really don’t like people.” It’s been an earworm for decades. She was a funny girl.
Some people may not need people. I volunteer at the incredible Oregon Humane Society three days a week as the Lobby Concierge. I love it. It is a huge organization with lots of foot traffic and something new every day. They have a hard time recruiting for the concierge position. The volunteer coordinator explained that most volunteers are in, or have retired from, people-facing careers. Now they want to work with low-maintenance animals. I spent my entire career working with people. I still need people! Guess that makes me one of the luckiest people in the world.
When I was 50, I considered changing careers from conductor to motivational speaker. I hired an extraordinary coach to help launch my speaking. I spent several months doing homework and then an intensive one-on-one weekend locked away with her as she dug into my life looking for a theme. One of the homework exercises was to number a piece of paper 1 through 50. The task was to write one significant event that happened each of those years! I froze. I had already blocked much of it! But it was required. I started with the easy stuff. I wrote down graduations, wedding (at that point, there had only been one), coming out. A birthday here, a concert there.
When I was 5, my Aunt Mary would take me to look at dress patterns at the local fabric store so I wouldn’t have to play outside with ruffians and get dirty. I listed high school graduation at 18. At 22, it was college graduation and wedding on the same day, and at 35, I came out. There were probably 15 easy entries. I then began to fill in the year before or after those. My memory began to unlock. I got as far back as 4 years old hiding behind the couch as my Mother taught voice in our home. I was an early vocal technique critic and knew “Caro Mio Ben” before “I’m a Little Teapot.”
Looking back at the list, I realized there were no people. So, I decided to go back and do the same exercise, but this time, filled with people! One for each year. The “piece of paper” now had 73 lines. The memory that was unlocked at 50 had a more complicated security system to access and several forgotten passwords. But it did open.
When I started, the faces came flooding back. Laughter, tears, learning, loving. I filled in my children—not their birth year, but rather a time when something extraordinary happened in our lives—and, of course, the year of loss of one of them. Other family members each got a year. There were the love/romantic relationships I have been fortunate enough to have and am grateful for, especially my husband and also my ex-husband, who is now my best friend. Then I dug deeper.
You may have met some of them in previous articles or my memoir. These are a few people that rocked my world. At 15, my best friend Alan, who was Jewish, shook the foundations of my faith because I knew he was not going to hell like my religion said. I was 24 when my voice teacher in Austria, Frau Kammersängerin Hanna Ludwig, told me I would only be successful in my career if I was willing to breathe, eat, walk, talk, and live music at all costs. She was right. I was willing.
At 33, Dale was my hair cutter and choir member at the First Baptist. One day, while backcombing my thinning hair, he randomly said, “You need to come out.” I was outraged. How dare he? I wasn’t gay. After all, I was married and a good Baptist. It scared me to death. Denial was a deep river. I also knew I would lose everything. Two years later, I took Dale’s advice. Before I got the courage, Dale died of AIDS. He never knew that his words planted a seed that would change my life forever.
When I came out, there were countless people who helped me discover my “whole new world.” John Thomas was an activist and icon in the LGBTQ+ community in Dallas where I had landed. He saw how truly ignorant I was. He invited me to lunch to see if he could help. It turned into lunch almost every Wednesday for nine years. He took me under his wing to help me traverse the obstacle course of working with the gays. He saved me from myself. At 60, there was Michael who paved the way for my move to San Francisco and became a priceless mentor. At 71, another Michael and his husband helped us settle into Portland and have become family.
This exercise was a revelation to me. The faces came flooding past my heart and mind—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Ugly didn’t’ get a number! I hope when you read this, you will be encouraged to make your own “People Who Need People” list. Write down each of the years you been here on this planet (we don’t have time for past lives). Start to fill it in with the people who have meant the world to you and assign a year to them. If some are alive, tell them. In my view of our universe, those no longer here saw you write their name down and are touched by your remembering.
Making this list confirmed that I really do need people. I am a lucky people.
Dr. Tim Seelig is the Conductor Laureate of the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus. http://www.timseelig.com/
TLC: Tears, Laughs and Conversations
Published on November 7, 2024
Recent Comments