Faith that the passage of time will reveal its value

Songwriters often use placeholder words to fill the holes in their lyrics.

These words are meant as conveniences until real lyrics can be found.

Beatles fans know the story about scrambled eggs, which was the placeholder term for what would become one of the most covered songs in all of music history.

But sometimes placeholder words can take on a life of their own. Sometimes you practice singing something nonsensical for so long, by the time the song is finally done, that term somehow makes sense with the context of the music. You no longer remember that the lyric was only intended to be a nonsensical patch, not a permanent part of the song.

Hendrix famously sang, excuse me while I kiss the sky. That became among his most iconic phrases.

But legend has it, he only sang those words because they sounded funky and psychedelic. It was meaningless. And yet, without it, the song wouldn’t be the same fifty years later.

Excuse me while I kiss the sky is integral to the final composition of the song. It has unique and memorable elements that might not have been initially intended, but end up defining the song’s character.

I have named this the placeholder placebo, since the words have real effects despite their inert nature. And this is the beauty of language, it’s dynamic. It adapts to the needs of the user. Words and ideas can gain deeper significance through their context, repetition, and reinterpretation.

Ebbinghouse, the nineteenth century psychologist who pioneered the experimental study of memory, wrote in his book that with repeated exposure, information becomes more firmly ingrained in memory, often taking on new significance through the process of reinforcement.

Therefore, meaning is imbued through the passage of time. As we evolve as people, our words take on a life of their own.

I know this because I have written hundreds of songs in my life. And sometimes my lyrics will only make sense within the song’s overall narrative and emotional landscape, one, five, ten or twenty years later.

It’s like, wow, that depth of meaning wasn’t there at the start, but it sure hits home today.

To me, that’s one of the blessings of art making. Creative integration. You have the privilege to consciously use placeholders in your work and let them evolve.

And if you’re open to the unexpected meanings they might acquire, new layers of fulfillment await on the other side.

The difficult part is trusting. Putting something in your work that, in the moment, might not hold much weight, but then having faith that the passage of time will reveal its value.