Just Singin' in the Rain

I am going to share a little-known factoid about myself. It’s highly personal. In the eyes of many I may come off like a geek once word gets out, so don’t go spreading it around… but here it is:

Whenever I am doing a boring task — and wishing I was doing something else — I have the tendency to hum movie scores.

I’m washing dishes, and my inner John Williams is conducting Luke’s theme from Star Wars Episode IV. Or I might walk down the aisles at Trader Joe’s to Bernard Herrmann’s Psycho suite. Or perhaps I’m changing lanes on the freeway and scat-singing the James Bond Theme. Ok, so maybe I’m a bit goofy, but the truth is that mundane chores suddenly become much more bearable if my internal soundtrack suggests that an attack by ninjas may be imminent.

The truth is that

A.) changing lanes on the freeway, and

B.) frustration that I am not doing something more rewarding while performing a dull chore both have one thing in common: each activity generates slight levels of anxiety in me.

And so I create music for myself.

Actually, I am not alone here. Lots of people vent their minor anxieties in similar ways. People waiting on a stalled grocery store line might tap their feet. Someone stuck on hold during an annoyingly long phone call may sketch doodles, while another person may pace back and forth throughout an intense conversation.

Others whistle as they wait for bloggers to get to the point.

Ok, so here’s the point:

Psychologists speak of activities they call “Ritualized Behaviors.” These are simple actions that help take the edge off of anxiety or emotional stress. None of these activities — pacing, finger drumming, toe-tapping — have a tangible, constructive purpose. Someone who paces in a waiting room is not actually heading anywhere, just as someone who chews her nails is not attempting to grab a quick snack.

The great anthropologist Margaret Mead pointed out that when stress is shared communally, ritualized behavior often shifts into something far more powerful. Imagine this scenario:

It’s a stormy night on a small island somewhere in the South Seas and its indigenous tribe is being assailed by a full crashing thunder and flashing lightening experience; they huddle together for support.

Then FLASH! BOOM! A nearby tree is blasted into pieces. The people shout out in surprise and fear, in one united but somewhat freaked-out voice.

Another close hit. Another shout.

As the storm batters, the shouts continue, developing a rhythm, and in short order become a defiant, unifying chanting against the threatening elements.

Then afterwards, whenever such a storm threatens, they chant and drum to ease their anxieties, in a demonstration of defiance against the power of nature. Over time, different chants are created and performed in response to different situations. Stories are added or embellished; eventually these ritual pieces are established as part of the cultural life of the tribe.

Story telling for its own sake is also a kind of ritualized behavior, though a more sophisticated one. As a matter of fact, participating in any of the creative or performance arts (writing, theater, making a film, creating a painting, etc.) are considered ritualized behaviors, and creators and audiences alike benefit from these activities; participation of any kind is in itself healing.

With that in mind, it is not difficult to connect the dots from nervous toe-tapping… to chanting… to a community drumming circle… to a Beethoven symphony… to the creation of “The Godfather.” A movie whose soundtrack I found myself humming while pulling up weeds just the other day.