“I wanted to be a writer, that’s all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it’s all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed. No matter what you start with it ends up being so much less. Sheer fucking pride and stupidity.” – Richard Brown in The Hours based on the book by Michael Cunningham (clip here)
I have a healthy self esteem. Maybe too healthy. I know I don’t appreciate my healthy self esteem enough. Basically, it it requires me to use my brain, I can figure it out. I am not a genius and there are lots of things that would require me to work very hard – advanced mathematics, learning to read a foreign language, most physics. I would have to work harder and take longer than most, but I could figure it out with enough time and effort. I can do anything that requires patience and study. As I walk this life, I realize not everybody feels that way. That lots of people have been told terrible stories about themselves that means they doubt their ability to learn and achieve.
I am kind. I am smart. I am tenacious. I am generous. I am lucky. I am creative.
I think I would trade all of that for the ability to write a good song. Like everybody, music saved my life. Mirroring my angst, my joy, my hope. Ani Difranco, Jeff Tweedy, Cake. A good song makes me feel the flutter of that thing that might be my soul. I feel my chest tighten and something pushing on my head from the inside – a stress that I can never describe or understand this feeling. The pain and joy of connection. The pain and joy of recognition. The god in your song sees the god in me.
I have been listening obsessively to Sun Kil Moon’s album Common as Light and Love are Red Valleys of Blood. I have read pieces of articles that say he is rude and a sexist – I look away – that may be true but nothing is allowed in to ruin the peace and inspiration and exultation I get from listening to his music. His ability to mix his earnest deadpan with music and insight and..«
I wish I could write songs. I can’t find the words. I can’t share the feeling.
I can’t prove my point through exposition, so if you get a chance, listen to the music… my two favorites…
There is healing in writing poems
There is healing in psychotherapy
There is healing in taking walks along the beach
But never underestimate the healing of music, baby
Some songs are funny and some are sad
Some are short, some are long
There is nothing as healing and powerful
As the power of song
As the power of song
As the power of song
As the power of song
As the power of song
weeknight quilting 