Who am I?

A few years back I was telling stories in a low security detention center in Minnesota. During the Q&A afterwards a young woman looked me directly in the eye and asked, in a pretty challenging way, “Who are you?” It’s no small question. At the time I stammered out some nonsense about being a storyteller. Of course, I am a storyteller. I’m also a husband, a father, a cookie lover, a chess player, and a lot of other stuff. But is it all the sum total of me? Of who I am? Pfft.

Most of us get to ignore this question for the vast majority of our waking hours. Up until my diagnosis I was no exception. As an “independent artist” I would periodically be called upon to revise my bio for promo and web-site purposes, or occasionally to author an “artist’s statement,” – a few paragraphs that explain (or fabricate) the profundity of the artist’s work. Sort of a write-your-own-Cliff’s-Notes. But, “Who am I?” Ha!

To a storyteller a “bio” is an anathema. It’s a recitation of events and accomplishments completely disengaged from any hope of personal meaning to the reader. “Kevin McMullin has performed on four continents, produced three musicals, seven CDs, scored a film…” blah, blah, blah. I understand that for people looking to hire, a bio is supposed to provide some kind of cred. Is this artist the real deal, they want to know. The problem, of course, is that a performing artist presents their work on a canvas of time. In the instant it is created, it is gone. In the music business they tell you, “You’re only as good as your last gig.” That’s being generous. In the performing arts, as in life, you’re only as good as what you’re doing right at the moment.

And getting diagnosed with a brain tumor, caring for and watching your father die, and living in the aftermath of all that, only drives home the point more forcefully. Much more forcefully. All of the stuff that I’ve done: the travels, the gigs, the dances, the creative collaborations, the awards, the students taught, the workshops offered – they happened a life-time ago. Somebody wants to know how many times I’ve performed at the Big-Top? Seriously?

These days the question, “Who am I?” looms plenty large. And it doesn’t have anything to do with marketing. I grapple with it daily. Am I my diminished abilities? Am I the dizziness? The anger? The depression? The anxiety? Am I – God help me – the work I do? The people I touch? The granola I make?

I meditate in various ways. And therein lie worlds of exploration of the self, identity, compassion and I don’t know what all. It has helped me survive the challenges life has thrown at me. But it doesn’t offer much for writing a bio.

The new material I’ve been creating is a kind of bio. The best I can come up with for now, anyway. Into the Black Sea: Stories of Darkness and Light is a collection of written and performance works that I’ve assembled to help me make sense of it all. It turns out other people find it worthwhile too. So, who am I? Well, I’ve got a few stories to tell you. If I tell them right, you won’t need to ask.