What Do You Get When You Get It?

People thought the song was about the Vietnam War.

                                     “I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain? 

                                      I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?“

The ominous lyrics penned by John Fogerty fit the mood of the country in 1970 as the controversial overseas conflict waged on. Even sunny days were plagued metaphorically by rain. But people were wrong about the song. The Creedence Clearwater Revival hit didn’t have anything to do with the war. Instead, the doomy tune told the story of a conflict happening much closer to home. The band who finally had it all together was coming apart at the seams.

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John Fogerty, Tom Fogerty, Stu Cook, and Doug Clifford were first The Blue Velvets, and then The Golliwogs, and then, ultimately, Creedence Clearwater Revival—one of the most popular rock bands ever. The four northern California boys who played southern bluesy music toiled for two decades to climb to the top of the best-of-the-best lists. In the early ‘70s they found themselves there, and then in what seemed like an instant, they imploded and were gone. 

What do you get when you finally get what you wanted?  Typically, what you always had (on steroids). Plus a whole bunch of other stuff you’d just as soon give back.

The band members, especially the brothers, had consistently squabbled a bit. But then success soaked them and inflamed their pain points which doubled and tripled in size. Additionally, a deluge of new tensions stemming from their relentless schedule and overwhelming popularity polarized them. Self-inflicted “rain,” John, the band’s lead singer called it. Blinding sheets of negativity cancelled out the sun.

The band’s story of fame-to-fallout is not an anomaly. They’re just one on a long list of many who got what they wanted and then didn’t know what to do with it. Success implosions happen a lot. In music, in sports, in life. Disillusionment, as it turns out, sits at the end of the rainbow as often as the pot of gold.

After Billy Donovan coached the Florida Gators men’s basketball program to back-to-back National Championships, he admitted he was depressed. He said he “lost total sight of what it was all about.” In the all-encompassing trek to the summit, he had unintentionally stepped over the most valuable thing—the people who were on the journey with him. When he got to the top of the mountain, he had what he thought he wanted in the outstretched palm of his hand. But it didn’t feel like he imagined it would. It felt like he was holding air.

Billy discovered that “winning doesn’t change your life one bit” (his emphasis). The days and all they hold continue moving on. The hot water heater goes out, the grass begs to be mowed, your mother gets sick, your best friend moves away. If you don’t like the way you look in a pair of jeans, you still won’t like the way you look in a pair of jeans the day after you win it all. If you have a testy relationship with your spouse, you won’t get along any better just because somebody handed you a trophy and threw confetti on your head. If you’re not sure you matter, you still won’t be convinced. 

Who we are is who we are, with or without the prize. 

Tom Brady said on “60 Minutes” after Super Bowl win number three: “Is this what it’s all about?” Like a kid staying up through the night to catch Santa, he sounded like he had been duped. I’m not sure what we think massive success will bring, but what it hands us is usually something entirely different than we thought it would be. Certainly, financial wins can alleviate making-ends-meet anxieties, but money can stack up as many stressors as it takes away. And while fame can get you a table or open a door, it often comes with tangly strings you can easily strangle on. Mostly, big success is disconcerting and confusing. It’s hard to know what to do with a thing you can never quite pin down.

Sometimes triumph can be even harder to handle than disaster. Failure is heavy. It has depth and breadth making it tough to carry and tricky to maneuver. But at least you know what you’re dealing with. Conversely, success is mysterious and slippery. It can be needy and duplicitous, and it often comes bearing “gifts” that eat you from the inside like a termite, making it hard to see the damage until the damage is done.

John Fogerty went on to have a brilliant solo career after the demise of Creedence. He cut beautiful songs like “Joy of My Life”…fun songs like “Centerfield”…dark songs like “The Old Man Down the Road”…. But his throaty angst in “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” still touches us in places where we don’t have any skin. Who doesn’t know what it feels like to watch the doors slowly close?  As Fogerty shreds the notes that lay over the percussive strumming of the acoustic guitar, the descending riff of the bass line takes front and center in the song. They have it all, yet they have nothing. Happy has slipped out the cracks in the walls.

Success is a mirage and the fame that often accompanies it rarely, if ever, fixes anything.  A windfall doesn’t make you pretty. A trophy doesn’t help you sleep. The thing that looks like the Holy Grail from a distance is just a cup up close. It’s the getting there—wherever it is “there” happens to be—with those you love and respect that is the magic. The along-the-way is the prize, regardless of what they give you in the end.

P.S. Matt Damon Gets Emotional Talking About Winning An Oscar