Dylan on a Sunday

Joni Mitchell was interviewed recently and had some unkind things to say about Dylan. To wit.

"Bob is not authentic at all. He's a plagiarist, and his name and voice are fake. Everything about Bob is a deception. We are like night and day, he and I."

Dude.

I'm not a Dylan can do no wrong kind of guy. I write about Dylan, not because I think he's the greatest, but because he's interesting and provides the occasion for commentary on so many different topics.

One of those topics is identity and self. Who is Bob Dylan? Is he the real deal, or a fiction? Is that really the way he sings, or was this simply the stylings of an opportunist? Is he a prophet of conscience or a social chameleon, trying on positions like socks? Joni's not the first one to take the side of "fake" in the great Dylan debate.

These ways of framing the discussion, however, miss the point for me. There's not one of us who don't live in relation to some narrative, some account of ourselves, that is a selective telling. This is a complex enterprise, especially at the level of authorship. We are co-authors of that narrative, but make no mistake, all of us author an account of ourselves that we in turn perform.

It's possible to play a role that doesn't correspond at all to the facts on the ground, and thereby to betray trust in others who depend on our authentic performance. And to the extent that authenticity has to do with the capacity to integrate more and more details of our life, the good and the bad, it is possible to label a performance inauthentic that radically compartmentalizes, etc. But Dylan has been doing this long enough now in relation to others that this is who he is. This isn't Miley Cyrus being Hannah Montana. The former Robert Zimmerman is Bob Dylan.

But beyond all that, why would Joni Mitchell feel the need to say something like this? Even if she believed it, why would she say it? It is so un-generous. And that's a big deal to me, especially from someone like Mitchell who has enough accolades of her own to be generous with others without any fear of diminishment.

This is not a defense of Dylan. Maybe Mitchell is right. Maybe he killed her cat at some point and this is evening the score. Maybe we all need to be protected from Dylan's pernicious fiction. She's merely being a thoughtful public servant. And maybe this need is so great that she is willing to take the hit for appearing petty and mean-spirited so that we might all be better. Perhaps.

This is the thing for me. Having just turned 50, I am thinking a lot about who I want to be at 60 and 70. And I want to be generous. While I want to be discerning and insightful, I want to make sure that I'm making room even in the categories I choose as interpretative lenses. I want to honor the miracle of the ordinary, that people make meaning out of the simplest things and even out of poorest performances. I want to be better when I'm older.

I'm afraid I couldn't tell a very convincing narrative that this is who I've been to this point. But I've seen it in others. I know what generous of spirit looks like. And I think I'm beginning to see how that might be me as well.