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Music has always moved me, in fact, many things affect me in a visceral sort of way. I love intensely. I speak passionately. I've never done much of anything halfway. I cry easily but I seldom cry in front of people. I have mastered my emotions but I choose to be blatant about pretty much everything. In short, I feel too much but I show very little of those feelings.
When I was growing up, I talked to myself a lot. I grew up in rural Oklahoma, with no one around for miles. Those people who were near were geriatrics or were pre-pubescent boys who had little to no interest in the thoughts of a girl who was quite younger than they. So I talked to myself or I talked to the willow tree in my grandmother's yard. It was a young tree, likely no older than 10 years or so. But it was big enough to support me and so I would often lie cradled in it's smooth branches. I would take the occasional book to read...I favored Anne of Green Gables or Gone with the Wind. But mostly, I would lie in those branches and think. Dream. Toss the facts of my then short life around in my head like a racquetball. I didn't know I was lonely...I had wonderful stories in my head of a life that I wasn't living. Usually, in these stories, I was a victim of some horrible thing...abandoned by my parents or captive in a life of drudgery and solitude...stories close to my real life, but far more intense and dramatic. In my head, I was always rescued by a prince or a kind gentleman and I'd be taken to "the city" where I'd live a glamorous life of high energy work and love.
These stories shaped my life for many years. For too long, I wanted to be rescued. I wanted someone to come along who could fix me and my disheveled past. You see, my life was not all bad. It truly wasn't. But it was enough to break me in some ways. Those wounds...abandonment, abuse, pain, solitude...they molded me. Worse are the coping mechanisms I developed. I hate being alone, so I surround myself with people and make them need me so they won't leave...effectively infantilizing everyone I know. I am closed off...so much so that I cannot bear being touched by the opposite sex unless I know them very well. And most insidious, I am shockingly self-reliant but desperate to be cared for. I CAN do anything I need to do. Cook, repair, change my oil, hang a shelf...but I WANT someone to insist I shouldn't have to do anything. A hero, if you will. A gentleman.
I am not alone in my need for a hero. I see it all around me. The desire to be saved. Young women across this country, and possibly across the world, are so self sufficient...so brave...but they do want someone to do things for them. Recall the movie "The Breakup". There is a quite funny scene where the woman character is admonishing the male for not wanting to do the dishes. He tells her to just ask him and he'll do them...she replies she wants him to WANT to do the dishes, she doesn't want him to do them. OF COURSE this makes no sense at all. But I understand, the scene is resonant and funny for a reason, and I daresay many of you relate too. We've very efficiently trained ourselves to be prepared for anything but deep down, we sometimes still want someone to take it away and do it for us. We want to be rescued.
And so I come back to music. I am often teased for my taste in dramatic and possibly emo music...but these songs, these lyrics, they allow me to feel without being judged. To cry with no consequence. To emote with no fear of being overwhelmed. I often hear a song during my days that I want to share with someone...hints of the feelings I have for them and want so desperately to convey...and if they aren't right there with me, I can't. And even, in Andy's case, sometimes he is there...but the feeling I'm trying to share...the moment I want to get across to him is too ephemeral, too fleeting. And so, I'm left with just notes in my head and a breaking heart at the intense love I can often not show.
When I was growing up, I talked to myself a lot. I grew up in rural Oklahoma, with no one around for miles. Those people who were near were geriatrics or were pre-pubescent boys who had little to no interest in the thoughts of a girl who was quite younger than they. So I talked to myself or I talked to the willow tree in my grandmother's yard. It was a young tree, likely no older than 10 years or so. But it was big enough to support me and so I would often lie cradled in it's smooth branches. I would take the occasional book to read...I favored Anne of Green Gables or Gone with the Wind. But mostly, I would lie in those branches and think. Dream. Toss the facts of my then short life around in my head like a racquetball. I didn't know I was lonely...I had wonderful stories in my head of a life that I wasn't living. Usually, in these stories, I was a victim of some horrible thing...abandoned by my parents or captive in a life of drudgery and solitude...stories close to my real life, but far more intense and dramatic. In my head, I was always rescued by a prince or a kind gentleman and I'd be taken to "the city" where I'd live a glamorous life of high energy work and love.
These stories shaped my life for many years. For too long, I wanted to be rescued. I wanted someone to come along who could fix me and my disheveled past. You see, my life was not all bad. It truly wasn't. But it was enough to break me in some ways. Those wounds...abandonment, abuse, pain, solitude...they molded me. Worse are the coping mechanisms I developed. I hate being alone, so I surround myself with people and make them need me so they won't leave...effectively infantilizing everyone I know. I am closed off...so much so that I cannot bear being touched by the opposite sex unless I know them very well. And most insidious, I am shockingly self-reliant but desperate to be cared for. I CAN do anything I need to do. Cook, repair, change my oil, hang a shelf...but I WANT someone to insist I shouldn't have to do anything. A hero, if you will. A gentleman.
I am not alone in my need for a hero. I see it all around me. The desire to be saved. Young women across this country, and possibly across the world, are so self sufficient...so brave...but they do want someone to do things for them. Recall the movie "The Breakup". There is a quite funny scene where the woman character is admonishing the male for not wanting to do the dishes. He tells her to just ask him and he'll do them...she replies she wants him to WANT to do the dishes, she doesn't want him to do them. OF COURSE this makes no sense at all. But I understand, the scene is resonant and funny for a reason, and I daresay many of you relate too. We've very efficiently trained ourselves to be prepared for anything but deep down, we sometimes still want someone to take it away and do it for us. We want to be rescued.
And so I come back to music. I am often teased for my taste in dramatic and possibly emo music...but these songs, these lyrics, they allow me to feel without being judged. To cry with no consequence. To emote with no fear of being overwhelmed. I often hear a song during my days that I want to share with someone...hints of the feelings I have for them and want so desperately to convey...and if they aren't right there with me, I can't. And even, in Andy's case, sometimes he is there...but the feeling I'm trying to share...the moment I want to get across to him is too ephemeral, too fleeting. And so, I'm left with just notes in my head and a breaking heart at the intense love I can often not show.
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