I don’t open social media apps (except Substack, which sadly now counts) unless someone sends me a link; at least those are curated with love, not infinite scroll chaos. Someone who cares about me knows I’ll get a kick out of something: a furry animal lolling about, a German shepherd asking for the “cheese tax” under the fridge door just like mine does, a funny meme,1 something Doh related, or salacious tea about my latest reality TV show.
The clip I can’t get out of my mind this month is only one minute long, a London-based harpist continuing to strum angelic chords even as a woman scolds her for begging, demanding to know if she got permission, threatening to call the police:
Why am I fixated on this? Let me count the reasons:
I love how the harpist, Robyn, maintains her center, regardless of what the woman—a disembodied voice off-screen like so many a critic!—says to her.
I love how, even while deflecting the verbal barrage, she calmly continues playing; she doesn’t stop just because this woman is pitching a fit.
I love how clear Robyn is on the exchange of value; she is playing beautiful music, and some people enjoy giving her money as a token of gratitude. If the woman off-screen doesn’t want to give her money, the public display of a QR code for tips, or doesn’t like the “noise,” that’s her prerogative. But it isn’t her right to be right.
I love this video because I admire Robyn’s peaceful, grounded courage. She is clear on herself, her value, and her right to be there. She’s filming, so she is also in on a secret with us, the viewer; we are laughing with her.
Deep down (or maybe even right at the surface), part of me doubts I’d be able to do the same. Especially under duress, I become a fawner, a people-pleaser, a “good girl” terrified of getting in trouble. Before I even know how I feel about a situation, my confidence vanishes, my cheeks start burning, and I’m panicking: Are you mad at me?!2 I’m no longer thinking logically; I devolve into groveling.
It wouldn’t matter that this stranger on the street doesn’t know squat about me or what the rules are for this stretch of promenade. If I were in Robyn’s shoes, I wonder if I would get flustered, turn red, and stop playing as a rush of adrenaline shoots panic through my body. I wonder if I would have instinctively replied, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I must not have known about this rule you’re referring to!”
I wonder if, due to the stress of the situation, I would have packed up my instrument and left, defeated. Then, I might mull it over for hours or days afterward, slowly sucking the joy and motivation out of returning to busk the next time.
I wonder.
Now let’s talk about this woman’s feedback. The woman is older, does that automatically mean she is correct? No. She thinks it’s uncouth that a musician is busking for tips (and digitally, at that!)—does that mean it’s wrong? No again.
Generational differences, shame from her own family and societal programming, projection, her shadow self watching in suppressed resentment as an artist freely expresses herself in public—it’s all unconsciously shading the interaction, compressed into these sixty seconds. Robyn, the harpist, has probably developed a thicker skin just by sticking with her practice over the years, busking amidst the full spectrum of passerby reactions.
Videos like this one make me at least a teensy bit grateful for social media, at least what little I can muster for what otherwise feels like a socially engineered profit-hungry hellscape. I am keeping this clip at close reach in my memory bank so that one day, I might stay more centered as someone offers their unsolicited opinion. I hope to hear elegant harp chords drowning out the sound of scolding as I remind myself: Not all feedback is created equal, even if my first reaction is to treat it so.3
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Continue reading the follow-up to this post, an exploration of Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest self-disclosures amidst the launch circuit for her new book:
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📚 I’m delighted to report that a year and a half after writing this Doh post, there’s now a book with that very title! Check out Are You Mad at Me? and another new release, Fawning.
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