Try it. You’ll like it

It’s not that I dislike the music of Leonard Cohen, it’s that I don’t like being “told” that Leonard Cohen is good for me. Or hearing that someone can’t believe I’m not a fan of his work, or worship at the altar of Cohen. Maybe I haven’t been told as much in as many words, but the look I get when I hint at my dislike of his works. I’m like that, you know. I resist things that are supposed to be good for me. Call me sceptical, but if someone tells me something tastes like chicken or someone has the voice of angel, you can bet I won’t dig in or crank up the volume. As an adult, I think I’ve earned the privilege of resisting what others believe is good for me. Honestly, it’s not just the late, so-called “great”, Mr. Cohen. Recently, a friend asked if I had heard someone (or another) discussing something (or another) on CBC Radio. She was crestfallen. Her fallen crest turned to abject horror when I told her, “I don’t usually listen to CBC Radio.” I think I heard her gasp, even through her mask and six feet distanced. Don’t get me wrong, I like music. In fact, I love music. I may even like some of Leonard Cohen’s art (in fact, I know I do), if someone else is performing it. And, for that matter, I do listen to the radio, a lot. What I don’t like is what I don’t like. What I do like is to hear how y’all feel about something, and what I like even more is not being told I should feel the same.

When I was a student, I remember being given the reading list for an English class. I had chosen to read Canadian Literature that year and the list was very heavily weighted with female Canadian authors; in fact, it was an all-female lineup. When I discussed the selection with my advisor, I told her I was dismayed by the choices someone had made for us. She wasn’t impressed with my complaint and tried to staunch the noise with a “There’s nothing wrong with Margaret Atwood or Alice Munro or Margaret Laurence or Carol Shields.” Indeed, there isn’t anything wrong with any one of those authors, but surely there had to be others. I asked her if the school had a commitment to limiting their list of Canadian authors to those four. She wasn’t impressed, but suggested I could make a written request for a change. I did. I was told those authors were, basically, good for me. If you know me, and mostly you don’t, you’d know that answer didn’t sit well with me. But I read all on offer and did what I had to do to “make the grade”. The advisor said (more or less), “See, it wasn’t so bad. You aced the course. What were you on about?”

I know I just like to form my own opinion. If you’ve read something you’ve really enjoyed or you’ve heard a piece of music you just can’t get out of your head or you’ve seen an art installation which made your heart skip a beat, by all means tell me about it. I want to hear how a book or a score or a painting made you feel. I may be inclined to “give it a whirl”. But be prepared, my opinion might not be the same as yours. Our good travel buddy, who lives in Toronto, spent hours telling us how much she loved the works of Jackson Pollock. She waxed loquacious about being transformed by the installation of his works at the AGO a few years back. So compelling was her interpretation of the show, LOML and I decided we’d hop in the Rolls-can-hardly and take advantage of our AGO membership. Hmmm. Let’s just say I was “whelmed” at best. However, she was just fine with my take on the show. We discussed it. I didn’t like it. She did. She didn’t tell me I was wrong. I didn’t tell her she was right. She didn’t suggest that loving Jackson’s work was good for me and she didn’t stop telling us about shows she’d enjoyed. She doesn’t “tuttut” when I say what’s on my mind. A sign of maturity.