Personal Anthem

I had a conversation with a friend today that reminded me of a journal entry I’d written back in January, when it was still cold and windy, especially at night.

I have always been someone who has found solace and vindication and understanding through music – or more specifically, song lyrics. And I don’t mean playing or writing music. I do not play any instrument. I do not have a good singing voice. But I am an avid (read: rabid) music lover with a voracious, nearly insatiable appetite for songs I can add to the soundtrack of my life.

So music is the thing that really juices me. I’d like to believe that everyone has that one thing that really – pardon the cliché – makes their heart sing, be it hiking through the woods, or painting, or taking their grandkids to the beach, or enjoying downtime in their favorite coffee shop, or playing a round of golf, or planting flowers in their yard... But I’m not sure that’s the case. I hope you know what that thing(s) is for you, and that you make time for it as frequently as you can.

Below is my brief commentary on the reminder I received, in an unlikely moment on an ordinary night, about the impact music can have on my mood, my perspective, my life.


January 10, 2009

I haven’t been so affected by a song in a long, long time.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t slept much over the last week. I met a friend over drinks and we sat around restlessly, talking about nothing until the lights came on and we had to leave. I said goodbye on the sidewalk in the cold and headed for my car, shoulders hunched up nearly to my ears, my breath escaping in little white puffs.

I turned the car on and just sat there in the yellow glow of the streetlights, wondering what to do next. I turned the radio on just as they introduced a song. I wasn’t listening to anything but the blank space in my head, so I didn’t catch the name of the song or the band. I never listen to the radio. I snapped to attention in the opening chords. I was instantly wrapped in the song as though it were a sleeping bag. I had never heard it before, but it felt like an old familiar friend. It was my story. My right now. I cranked the volume as I put the car in drive and pulled out onto George Street.

I wanted to curl up in those lyrics and take a nap. It wasn’t until it ended that I realized I was driving aimlessly, no longer pointed in the direction of home. The roads around me were completely deserted. It was as if I were the only person out on this cold night, the only one to bear witness to the first flurries of the alleged storm to come.

Some quick research this morning turned up the song info and I went to three stores before I found a copy of the CD. I wanted to hold it in my hands. I wanted the liner notes to have a home in my house. I never buy CDs.

I want to listen to the rest of the CD, but I am not ready to take this song off repeat.

Everyone should be so lucky as to find the songs, artists, writers, etc. that they best connect with, the pieces of art and expression that speak clearly – and with force – to them as if they are the only person on earth.