I was asked recently what I thought life “was.” A friend, who is also in a place of stability post-treatment and now trying to navigate the “new normal”, posed the question. It was vague, rather broad, but I knew what she meant.

At the moment, I was working on a lesson plan for a course I’m taking and had Miles Davis’s “Bitches Brew” playing in the background. My knee-jerk response was that life is like jazz. 


Bitches Brew sounds as though it’s just about to fall apart, as if it’s always teetering on the edge but somehow manages to hold itself together. I have been listening to it for years and each time I keep expecting it to implode, to crumble inward upon itself in a cacophony of absolute mayhem.

I want it to.

A part of me wants it to. I want to pinpoint the exact moment and exclaim, “See, right there, I told you!” I want it to because then I would feel like I could do the same; I could crumble inward after pushing too hard for too long.

But I don’t, nor does “Bitches Brew”. We both walk that tightrope. Onward. Each and every time I listen, I am awestruck. Not so much by the virtuosic skills of Davis and his co-conspirators that sparked a whole new genre of jazz, but by the fact that it doesn’t fall apart and keeps moving along as if in an act of defiance.

Life is like jazz; have a set idea, a plan to follow, and improvise in any situation that might differ from what was expected or wanted. Life is like jazz, play with band mates who can follow your lead – OR you theirs. Life is like jazz, pay homage to the greats, but add your own ideas; build off of them, respect them and the paths they’ve laid, yet explore what might be jumping off points for your journey. Life is like jazz, play a wrong note and recognize there is no such thing as a wrong note, just an experience had. Life is like jazz, as Davis said, “Anybody can play. The note is only 20 percent. The attitude of the motherfucker who plays it is 80 percent.”