Tulsa Time

I’ve taken tap dance lessons for the past few months. At the end of my last class before Christmas, I made a request of the teacher. She agreed eagerly, possibly because it helped her fill out the song repertoire. I also don’t know how many requests she gets. My guess is not a lot, so she wanted to be accommodating. She didn’t know the song and, I have to admit, I surprised even myself when I asked for it, since it’s not as if I hum it as I go through my day. That’s changing, though.

“What is it? Salsa Time?” she asked. “No, Tulsa Time, a country song,” I told her. Even though her husband is a country fan, she hadn’t heard of it. Her teenage daughter did, however, and hummed it for us. Like father, like daughter.

“Tulsa Time” was written by Danny Flowers and recorded by Don Williams in 1978. The story of its creation includes the claim that Flowers wrote it in half an hour as he sat stranded in a hotel room during a snowstorm in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Williams’ version became an instant hit. I remember it as a song not of failure at stardom but perseverance at life. Over the years, other artists have recorded various arrangements of it. The one featured at the end of this post was performed at the Farm Aid concert in 2016 in Bristow, Virginia.

The reason I bring this up is because I am serious about tap dancing, which is a strange statement in a number of ways, not the least of which is the dance itself. It’s one of those few things that you cannot do in a sour or foul mood. And, if you happen to be in such a mood when you start, it quickly snaps you out of it.

Granted, there are certain situations that you can’t tap dance your way out of, but I am starting to believe those are few and far between. In fact, tapping has the potential to permeate nearly all aspects of life. I caught myself tapping while sitting in a breakfast cafe the other day. I also have done it while boxing to see if it helps my footwork and in my Friday night judo class when I had to walk with my partner forward and backward in a rhythm exercise. And, you know, once you’ve got rhythm, who could ask for anything more?

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions, but if I were to make one now, it would be to follow through on the things that give me joy. “Joy” has turned into a caricature of itself lately, but I mean it here in the simplest, most direct sense, not political. Part of joy in this context is putting in the hard work needed to become competent in any given field. The field doesn’t matter. What does matter is the commitment and the time required to make progress without going bonkers.

This may sound selfish, but I see this commitment as a promise to be there for myself. This, after years of working, teaching, parenting, and everything else that comes with trying to be a responsible adult man. Those are roles in which you have to be there for others. The irony is that I finally feel free to be present not out of a sense of duty or because it’s my job. True freedom is when you have control over yourself, your time, and your resources so that you can use them for the benefit of others if and when required. I don’t think I’ve experienced this kind of freedom before.

Still, there are challenges. Some people make demands. What I have learned after a year of retirement is nearly identical to what I have learned as a writer. That is the importance of guarding my time so that I am not chasing somebody else’s dream. Sometimes, it’s a battle (see “Mittwoch Matinee: Writing”). But I can foresee a time when I am more adept at protecting my freedom. And I know there never really comes a time when you are “ready” to give back. It’s all about taking that first step. In some cases, like boxing, judo, and tap dancing–literally.

So, there’s my resolution: getting back to Tulsa time.

Image credits: Jametlene Reskp; Brittany Bendabout; Mick Haupt. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.”