What I Learned from The Listening
AJ Damiano
Creative Citizen: Admin Assistant (vol.)
Almost a year ago now, I walked into an open, wood-toned room in a large brick building downtown I’d never been to before. I remember excitement and trepidation to be finally in a space, face-to-face, with a group of people I had grown to admire and appreciate from afar. But at that moment, at first, there was only one person. The first person.
Nick George (the Poet).
Nick, the Founder of The Listening, sat me down and portrayed to me a question that despite answering then, I would continue to find answers for even to this day. He asked me,
“Why The Listening?”
All my life, I’ve had a resounding passion to help others. To uplift my peers. To be their shield, their supporter, the healer. And in many ways, I have achieved a lot of these goals through my career as a medic. In many ways, I yearned to do far more than just be a medic. I told him that what finally lured me to The Listening over any other non-profit I could’ve shared my time with was the passion. The creativity. I told him the story of how, when I was young, my first true loves were the arts. Writing, music, drawing and painting. I told him that despite my life leading me in vastly different directions in the way it often does, I found my ancient roots starting to writhe through the earth and beckon me back to my more artistic origins. Here, with The Listening, I could find all the things I loved in one place. I could help people, provide support, teach wisdoms, and share love, all while doing so through artistic expression.
But that was my answer then, and as the year has weathered through the seasons, so has my love for The Listening. It has grown into something more than I originally thought it could be. When I first came to The Listening, I came to help others through artistic expression.
What happened was that The Listening helped me through those very same tools. In the waning moments of 2020, at the brink of December’s end, I know that The Listening was a vital catalyst in helping me to love and express myself.
This began with the “We the People” events. The first was my first ever open mic. I remember greeting everyone as they came in to be seated, and marveling at the simple but awe-inspiring stage. And that night, I’ll never forget. Artists of gravely different origins and upbringings, of different colors, sexes, and creeds, got up on that stage and all shared these intimate pieces of themselves. Some were poets, others singers, and some hip-hop artists or producers. All masters of themselves in their own element. Some shared humor, others solemnity. Altogether, it moved me. There was an energy in that building the likes of which I had never known. A love so powerful, so rich, it was almost as tangible or visible a power source as the electricity that kept the lights on.
The second part of these events was less artistic. I was curious to see a more conversation-based outreach with our community. We invited people of all sorts to join us, and we made two great circles with a thoroughly assorted group of Listeners. Our rules? When one person speaks, you listen. You do not give advice. You just listen. An idea, word, or phrase would be brought into the group, and people would speak or share something of themselves to it. We began as total strangers, but by the end of it, felt so much closer. I realized in that circle, that I had so much I wanted to say. So much of myself I felt needed to be shared like this. I wondered how many others in those circles had felt the same. An almost desperate desire to crack one’s self open and let the contents, beautiful, raw and twisted come pouring out.
Another group in the city held an event in the spring, just before COVID-19 had us hitting the brakes. Blackwater Branding hosted an event called “Dilla Day” to celebrate the artistic and groundbreaking works of J Dilla, and all the works that his magic inspired. I went there, still feeling a bit introverted but trying to be quite a bit more social as to attempt this networking thing with my newfound non-profit family. A local artist who was one of the first creative citizens I met in The Listening, “Jiggy M” or Jaylin, was there. He took a few moments to introduce me to several people. I met an amazing and spirited guitarist. A witty and philosophical drummer. Business owners, beat-makers, singers, producers, poets. I had never been in a single place where there was so much overwhelming, awe-inspiring talent before. I was like a child, looking at all of these people who had truly aspired to be what they dreamed to be.
A man approached me. He exuded charisma and artistic passion.
“What do you do?” He began.
“I’m a paramedic.” I said.
“No, I mean your art. What do you create?”
That night, I was inspired by a conversation with a local producer known as Phinestro, to create again. It was the teetering final touch after The Listening electrifying me with a desire to tap into my old passions I needed. That night, I went home and wrote a poem on a post-it note.
Young, Lit, & Free (YLF)
A program focused on providing a free after-school activity for teenagers had kicked off. I was beyond blessed to work with the fierce and motherly Seymone, eloquent and impassioned Maliyah, and of course our one-man band and entrepreneur Jaylin. More blessed was I to get to know the kids we had for the time we had them. Young, Lit, and Free became a place where we invited these young adults to truly speak their mind. Pour out their thoughts and express themselves. Our space was one free of judgment and full of laughter. Those kids and the instructors of YLF really stole my heart. Even on my days when I struggled. When I was tired. Depressed. When my job exhausted me to the marrow of by bones… I found a spark of eagerness when it was time to meet up with our group.
And I was even more inspired. As Seymone, Maliyah, and Jaylin coached and encouraged the kids to write poetically, I too was taking notes. Learning from the best, it seemed, how to open up and express myself.
Coronavirus came...
2020 began its rocky downward descent into madness. Our in-person programming screeched to a halt for the safety of others. We pondered how to move forward. What to do without Freedom School, and where to turn in our effort to create positive community engagement. In my personal life, as my interactions with The Listening were now made scarcer, I found myself starting my own rocky downward descent into madness. My career at the time was wearing my sanity thin. My joys in life- The Listening and the energy of all the artists I met through them and other art venues- felt boxed up and shoved into the proverbial attic of social distancing.
These interactions were, to me, matchsticks in the darkness. Brief ignitions of passion, giving me warmth and light. Reminding me of the things I loved so dearly.
Over the next half year, my interactions with The Listening were scarce. We met only when it was absolutely necessary to raise our voices in unison, or to bring the hush of silence and listen. These interactions were, to me, matchsticks in the darkness. Brief ignitions of passion, giving me warmth and light. Reminding me of the things I loved so dearly. Reminding me of the people I was so enamored and encouraged by. I think only now, as they are also reading this, do some of my Listening fam realize how those Zoom calls and Facebook chats gave me the will to push on. Made me smile when I had nothing to smile about. Brought laughter when I was otherwise in tears.
I found the courage one day to let go of the things that brought me distress. I made drastic changes for my own well-being. I chose not just to love myself, but to treat myself as if I deserved to be loved. I spent the year writing poetry, and slowly learning to share it. Starting in a small circle of friends, to soon performing openly and sharing it on social media. I have begun painting, writing, singing, creating. I have rekindled loves long since lost to me. I discovered the panacea of my spirit in inkwells and open mics. And I am still growing. This metamorphosis is recent, my wings still damp from emergence. I haven’t even taken flight yet.
But at the brink of December’s end, in these final waning moments of 2020, I smile and think back on it all. I think that if I had not found The Listening, I would still be stifled and silenced. I would still be bottling myself up with all the hopeless retreat of a glass-trapped vacuum. Though this year has been a struggle, and I almost lost touch with the group that started my impassioned journey of self and society, I still made it. As have you.
I know that my journey began in that most humble of moments: in a wood-toned room in a large brick building downtown I’d never been to before. It began when a man turned and offered me a warm smile and invited me to be apart of his troupe of do-gooders and go-getters.
And now I invite you to do the same. Now is as good a time as ever. This is my story, and our arms are open for any who wish to take part in the next chapter. Let’s change lives, starting with our own.
Welcome to the Listening.
We Need You.
Our organization is only able to make an impact with the performing arts with your help. Hit us up, and see how you can join our movement.