Day 10: Lostwithiel — Four Words That Became a Mission

Today was another day without any miles. The VOK is still waiting for parts, so there was no cycling while we wait for the engineers to assess the issue and get me safely back on the road. There was no busk either.

Instead, I used the day to catch up on some of the less exciting jobs that come with travelling and working from the road, including getting the screen replaced on one of my phones. Because apparently breaking one thing at a time would be far too sensible.

Being forced to stop is frustrating, but it has also given me time to think about what I wrote yesterday. I talked about ADHD, addiction, recovery and the way judgement can affect how I react to people. Today, I want to explain where the words Don’t Judge — Just Listen came from, and why they have become so much more than a slogan to me.

Before the piano became my life, I was working long hours as a chef, struggling with addiction and moving closer to homelessness. I used to spend time in St Pancras station listening to the pianists play. For a little while, the noise in my head would settle.

Eventually, I sat down at one of the station pianos and began teaching myself how to play. I discovered that my mind could understand music in patterns and sequences. If I could hear a song clearly enough in my head, I could usually begin finding it on the keys.

One day, I was sitting on the floor waiting for another pianist to finish. An older couple looked at me. I was not especially clean, physically or mentally, and one of them said:

“I bet you wish you could play like that.”

The pianist heard them. He also knew me. He stood up and gave me the piano.

I sat down and played.

When I finished, the couple were still standing there, looking at me as though the person they had decided I was, no longer matched the person sitting at the piano. I stood up, looked at them and said:

Don’t judge. Just listen.

Those words were never created in a meeting. They were not part of a branding exercise. They came from a moment when two people decided who I was before they had heard a single note.

Judgement has followed me through much of my life. I have been called a grifter. A bum. Dirty. Homeless. A beggar. The Kick-Off King.

People have judged the way I dress, questioned my personal appearance and cleanliness, and treated the most difficult moments of my life as though they are the only ones that define me.

Sometimes people form an entire version of who I am from a short video, a photograph or one moment when I did not handle a situation well. They see the surface, attach a label and rarely stop to ask what might be underneath it.

That judgement has affected me. At times, it has made me expect criticism before it has even arrived.

It has also made me very aware of the people most of society passes without looking at.

The people living on the street are often among the first to notice when I arrive in a town. They hear the piano. They come over to talk.

Some stay for a few minutes. Some stay for hours. Some simply want another person to acknowledge that they are there.

For some of them, it may be the only conversation they have that day in which they do not feel judged, moved along or treated as a problem somebody else would rather not see.

I have met some extraordinary people through busking. I have also found extraordinary talent in places many people would never think to look.

One of the finest pianists I have ever heard is a man living on the street. He struggles with mental health and addiction, but those words do not come close to describing all that he is.

Every so often, he hears the piano when I’m in Scarborough and comes over to find me. He asks whether he can play. Then he disappears for a while, gets himself cleaned up and comes back ready to sit at the piano.

When he plays, people stop. He has the kind of ability I still hope I might reach one day.

The people listening do not know where he slept the night before. They do not know about his mental health. They do not know about the addiction he is living with. They do not know the labels other people may have placed on him.

For those few minutes, none of that matters. They hear the music. They see the pianist. And when he finishes, they applaud.

It may be one of the only opportunities he gets to sit at a piano and use a talent that deserves to be heard. It means the world to him. It means a great deal to me too.

The piano does not ask him to prove that he is worthy before allowing him to play, it simply gives him a chance.

Music never asked me to prove that I was worthy before it changed my life.

Why do people so often ask that of each other?

So many of the people I meet on the street are living with addiction. The longer I have lived around addiction, the harder it has become to separate it from mental health.

Sometimes addiction is the illness. Sometimes it is somebody desperately trying to quiet another illness. Sometimes it begins as a way to escape pain, trauma, fear, loneliness or a mind that never seems to slow down.

That does not remove personal responsibility, but it does mean the story is rarely as simple as deciding someone is weak, lazy or beyond help.

Everyone has a story. We almost never hear enough of it before deciding who they are.

Mental health is talked about constantly now. There are awareness weeks, campaigns, challenges, hashtags and viral videos.

Awareness matters. But awareness should be the beginning of the work, not the end of it.

I was asked to take part in the Ice Bucket Challenge. I chose not to.

I watched countless influencers pour ice water over themselves. Some may have donated money. Some may have helped raise awareness. Others appeared to enjoy the attention, the views and the praise that came with being part of a viral moment.

But I kept asking myself the same question: What happens when the camera is turned off?

Tomorrow, there will still be someone sleeping rough.

Tomorrow, there will still be someone living with addiction.

Tomorrow, there will still be somebody sitting alone because nobody wants to speak to them.

Tomorrow, there will still be someone who has been reduced to a label by people who have never asked what happened to them.

I was not interested in one viral moment. I wanted to build something that still mattered the next day.

If mental health is more than a hashtag, then it has to show up in the way we treat people when nobody is watching.

It has to matter when somebody looks different. When somebody is not clean. When somebody reacts badly. When somebody lives in a van. When somebody has an addiction. When somebody is abrupt, overwhelmed or difficult to understand.

Mental health cannot matter only when the person living with it is easy to support.

We say mental health matters, but only until we meet somebody whose mental health is not tidy.

That is one of the reasons it has been so important to both me and my business partner that the PianoMission becomes something real.

We have struggled with how to talk about mental health without simply attaching another hashtag to the project. Both of us know that mental health has real consequences.

It affects relationships, work, money, decisions, confidence and the way people see themselves.

We do not want to build an organisation that talks about mental health while doing very little for the people living with it.

That is also why we have tried to be completely transparent about the GoFundMe.

The money is not paying for this ride. It is not paying my wages. It is not paying for food, hotels or my daily living expenses.

The donations are for the PianoMission. They will help us purchase, refurbish and place pianos in communities where people may not otherwise have access to one.

The purpose is to create more opportunities for people like the pianist in Scarborough.

Music gave me a future. The PianoMission is about giving somebody else the opportunity music gave me.

That is what we hope the PianoMission becomes. Not another hashtag, not another campaign people support for thirty seconds.

A place where somebody feels seen, a place where music becomes the conversation, and a place where dignity comes before judgement.

We talk about mental health more today than ever before. That is progress — I guess.

If we are becoming better at talking about mental health, are we becoming better at listening to the people living with it?

We will not always understand each other. But perhaps we could all spend a little less time deciding who somebody is and a little more time listening.

Don’t Judge — Just Listen

— James

Day 10 Counter
Lostwithiel
Miles travelled: 0
Average speed: N/A
Elevation gain: 0 ft
Elevation loss: 0 ft
Locations busked: 0

Journey Total
Total miles travelled: 89.3
Total locations busked: 6