lyrical counseling.

I was busy in 2010. I separated from my husband, got divorced and started two blogs. This one, well...if you are here, you know about it...the other one was a music blog and I think only my neighbor might have read it. I stumbled across an entry recently and I remembered why I wanted an outlet just to talk about music—sometimes when I cannot find the words, I find them there.  

I have a laundry list of song lyrics, sometimes just one liners, that help shape my voice. As a result, sharing my list is such a window into my soul. It helps me explain my passions, my frailties, how I want to live my life, how I see myself, what I value, what I fear. I have found over the years that I need music. It helps clear my head, fosters some clarity, gives me a chance to just feel and emote, strengthens resolve, and often gives me a new perspective, and sometimes even permission to feel what I need to feel—a lyrical counseling session. I am open to these messages, I'm not threatened by them, I am totally open to what they might be trying to say and then I find my own voice lying somewhere in there. When I listen to music, often I find a synergy with what my heart and mind are trying to say to me and when it hits, it sticks. I don't think this is a unique user experience, I think we find what we are looking for and sometimes it's not even close to maybe what the songwriter intended, but I think most of us absorb it like we do poetry. Letting the words tumble over us and we hear what we need.

I just returned home from our first 'whole clan' vacation with my boyfriend ('C'), his children, my daughter and her two friends. One evening, as our clan drove back from dinner, we snaked through the sunset-lit hills of my favorite mountain town and all eight of us sang along to a James Morrison version of Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror." Two adults, three teens, an eight year old and a six year old (the 3-1/2 year old currently sticks to the lyrics in "Jigsaw" by Radiohead and doesn't seem game to learn a new tune :) all singing in unison with the sunroof and windows open and feeling whatever we each individually let come over us in that little moment of time. For me, it was joy, contentment and a very grounded realization of how different my life is...and a sense of peace about that. This sense of peace doesn't come as easily as maybe one might think and in that moment, I let the music, the lyrics, the voices of the people I love, the mountains and the air wash through me and let me exhale. Music can do that.

Later on we got to talking, the teens and I, about how we always assign a song or two to every trip. For example, the soundtrack for a fortunate trip to Hawaii in 2011 was "Pricetag" by Jessie J (no worries, I get the irony). A summer road trip through Montana, pre-C with just me, my daughter and her friend, was scored by "American Pie," and this summer's ten days in an Idaho mountain town was "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers. We also played Bon Iver, Hey Marseilles, old Tracy Chapman, The Allman Brothers, Radiohead (a 3-1/2 year old is very convincing), Airborne Toxic Event and many one-hit-wonder songs. The latter leading to an unforgettable dance party on the back of a pontoon boat with the teens and a six year old girl beaming in the center. We discussed new music, Shazam'd some more, played a full Madonna playlist to get ready for the fall concert, and snuck some N.W.A. onto the golf course. Of course Justin Bieber was also a regular guest at our party, and we unabashedly joined voices with Katy Perry and Jay-Z. It was a blast.

Back at home, I took a walk and put my iPod on full shuffle. Obviously I only got through a few songs, but the exercise reminded me that there are some lyrics that hit me through the eyeballs every single time I hear them. Many will always remind me of a specific place and time, like the 'vacation' songs, but some also ground me to a feeling, a part of my story, a way I have lived and a way I want to live in the future.  So in that spirit, I thought I would list a few of these lyrics, like lines of poetry that I could recite over and over again, and see how they looked in black and white:

After all of the dreaming, I come home again. (Counting Crows | Rain King)

Walking in the wild west end, walking with your wild best friend. (Dire Straits | Wild West End)

You've been waiting for some magic to come. You should know by know that you and I are the one. I keep on wondering why a woman like you keeps on resisting this. Can't you see that I am in love with you, it's not just that I know the right things to say.  (Renegade Saints | Know by Now)

One foot in, one foot back. It don't pay to live like that. So I cut the ties and I jumped the track. Are you aware the shape I'm in? My hands they shake, my head it spins. (The Avett Brothers | I and Love and You)

Home. Where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. If someone asks, this is where I will be. (Talking Heads | This Must be the Place)

Did you say, 'no this cannot happen to me?' (Jeff Buckley | Last Goodbye)

One wing will never ever fly dear, neither yours nor mine. (Wilco | One Wing)

Somebody remembers the rose while the other forgets how it grows. (Whiskeytown | Somebody Remembers the Rose)

So show me family, all the blood that I would bleed...I belong with you, you belong with me (The Lumineers | Ho Hey)

Happiness, it come like a train on a track. Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back. (Florence and the Machine | Dog Days are Over)

Put your trust in me. Give me a chance, I will try. You see it's been a hard road. Just sayin' so you understand that right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can. (Tracy Chapman | At this Point in My Life)

You think I want to run and hide. I just want you to find me. I'm not lost, just undiscovered. (James Morrison | Undiscovered)

For fear of living in regret, I've changed since from when we first met. (The Ting Tings | Shut Up and Let Me Go)

All of these places have their moments, with lovers and friends I can recall, and in my life, I've loved them all. And in my life, I love you more. (The Beatles | In My Life)

Nothing panned out as I planned. Standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize until you agony is your heaviest load. When you are learning to face the path at your pace, every choice is worth your while. (Indigo Girls | Watershed)

Stay with me until time turns over. I want to feel my feet leave the ground. If I could I would and I'd take you now. (Phish | If I Could)

Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers turn around and say 'good morning to the night' for unless they see the sky, they can't and that is why, they know not if it's dark outside or light. (Elton John | Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters)

Momma once told me, you are already home where you feel loved.
      Is that bridge gettin' built, are your hands gettin' filled, won't you tell me my brother? 
     ...We can start moving forward. (The Head and the Heart | Lost in My Mind)

Wow. That was helpful. A lyrical counseling session made possible with $1 deposits into my iTunes account. 

invest.

I love the Talking Heads. It always feels like David Bryne is struggling to burst through his shell at any second and just lose his mind in a kooky, organic way. He's just feelin' it, man, and I love it. It speaks to my own kooky, organic side and I love the way music can make you feel something on a visceral, physical level. Maybe for this entry any reader should be required to YouTube-up, "Once in a Lifetime" and feel it in the background.

Pause for YouTube search.

It's been about five months since I last wrote anything. I was afraid that would happen. It's not as though my material dried up (HA!), but there's an interesting rhythym to the process of any major personal transformation and I've been mired in the "debris clean-up" phase, which also has a nice layer of "ok, what's next?" and a dash of "Dude, where's my car?" tucked in there. All of which puts a serious crunch on the desire for more vulnerability, the kind that writing this blog can suggest. And not because I know people read this, but because at times I have been exhausted by the self-examination, the problem-solving and the re-building.

When I first separated from my ex-husband, the emotions were overwhelming and intense, but often there was also a sense of giddy anticipation. The latter was partially a reflection of the relief I felt over having finally reached the day when I had the courage to make a change, and partially the excitement about the promise of a different kind of future — one in which I knew had to be better, whether we stayed married or not, because it was finally intentional. I was focused on making things right, better, more grounded and more fulfilled. I was focused on saving myself, and the momentum of that intention often felt really good. I can hear it in my writing at that time. Much was opening up around me and within me. Those close to me know that much of last year I found myself having some of (if not 'the') hardest, but also the best moments of my life. Finding yourself again and investing in yourself and others is an incredibly powerful, emotional, exhilarating thing.

So what is ridiculous about the last few months is that I've let that slip, and just yesterday I had the kind of quick, but poignant conversation where the mirror was held up for me and I saw it clear as a bell. I didn't like it. I have not been wholly myself for months. I had stopped investing even though I had convinced myself that I was. After the shock, I ended up laughing. Oh, how hard habits are to break, right?

One of my strengths, I think, is that by and large, I invest. It's made me a more capable and conscientious mother, a successful professional, a loyal and considerate friend. I am present. Being invested, in my mind, means bloom where you are planted, see and look for good and valuable things in others, empathize (much more intentional than sympathizing), remain flexible and be up for most anything. Be open to change and ideas. I'm competitive, so I am a goal-setter, but I don't often think too far down the road. I'm investing for today. I get up in the morning and I am choosing my day, my actions and my reactions to the best of my ability and all of this is pretty intentional. I feel a true obligation to my life and the people in it to invest and, as I was just having this conversation with a close friend today, living with the intention to focus on an obligation is powerful. I think it means you are conscious of the investment and this opens you up to be more present, more available, a better listener, more informed, more empathetic — there's just flat out a bigger energy to your life. I think it can take you places you never thought possible.

In my own life, I have always seen the power of intention and investment, but I would venture to say that most of us have lots of reasons why we fall short in this area. Making an investment inherently also creates vulnerability. There's real or perceived risk, insecurity, uncertainty, change. I have battled the vulnerability, more so in the past few months, and I have not been wholly myself in all areas. In some ways, I was even paralyzed by it. Not just emotional vulnerability, but also financial and physical. The positive aspects of the momentum created by the separation and divorce waned, as I was afraid it would, and real life and debris clean-up forced down any desire to stay open and vulnerable.

Investing takes time and there is no clock, nor even any milestone for the vast majority of things worth investing in. Being invested means that one thing breaks open into the next and amazing things can happen, but you have to be open for the ride. I know this and little by little, through a series of recent events, I am waking back up to all of this. This week alone, I am grateful for more than one thing that helped break my paralysis, including valuable conversations, even the uncomfortable ones. Thankfully I listened. I was present.

Tonight I'm headed over to celebrate two friends' 40th birthdays infused with good friends and a ridiculously fun 80's theme. My silly 80's aerobics instructor outfit is ready to roll and I'm feeling grounded and good. I am excited to celebrate two men who, no question, invest in their lives and for people like this, you can't help but feel grateful to know them. I'm also certain there will be some Talking Heads goin' down and I'm excited to be very, very present on that dance floor.

You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

You may ask yourself, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold you down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

You may ask yourself, how do I work this?

Remove the water, carry the water

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us, time doesn't hold you back

—favorite lines from the Talking Heads', "Once in a Lifetime."