I think the types of music a person gravitates to can say a lot. Please feel free to tell me what this list says about me. This list is in no particular order.
1. The Sundays 2. The Smiths, Morrissey 3. Tori Amos 4. The Drums 5. MGMT 6. Innocence Mission 7. Ghostland Observatory 8. Psychedelic Furs 9. The Shins 10. Mark Mothersbaugh 11. Badly Drawn Boy 12. Radiohead 13. Debussy 14. Cut Copy 15. Iron and Wine 16. Beethoven 17. Danny Elfman 18. Ella Fitzgerald 19. The Decemberists 20. David Bowie
If you listened to nothing save these artists for the rest of your life your ears, heart, mind, and soul would be in very good hands, voices, beats...whatever. I encourage you to give a listen to someone you may not be as familiar with on this list. This is ALL really yummy stuff, all of it. Try creating a PANDORA station or two to hear some of these geniuses. Let them serve you! Top to bottom, anything these folks do is pretty much luscious. Trust me.
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(Response to friend Stephanie's Interesting Blog Post on Personal Power and How One May Find It)
"This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man." ~W. Shakespeare
I like voicing my fears, concerns, questions, and revelations. It makes me feel connected and aware. It's also worthwhile enough to cause me to hope for some sort of insight after the telling, which is one MAJOR reason I write. Not knowing the source for personal power leads one to begging questions, which, in turn, gets us on the path hunting for answers, seeking qualified advice, critically analyzing the findings, and eventually fashioning a plan of action. Change is never easy. But it can be exhilarating. And the research says it's good for your brain, to boot! Stagnation, old routines, and overly systematic living actually contributes to memory loss, fewer synaptic connections, and lower levels of serotonin. People who know how to change things up, move things around, revel in change, and thrive in unfamiliarity are those who will enjoy more useful brains for longer. The human brain needs challenges, just like the body. Our brains plateau when we feed it the same stuff all the time. Again, this parallels the case with the body. Mind, body, and spirit thrive on new material, diverse material, and challenging material. This can be dangerous for smart people, or people in general actually, who get in the proverbial rut because they feel comfortable playing to their strengths. For example, mathematicians may gravitate to algorithms and permutations while literates gravitate to poetry and other forms of literature. This is fine but once the brain establishes certain synaptic pathways these channels get deeper and deeper and sort of begin to make a person a bore, not just behaviorally but chemically/biologically/physically. The brain gets used to certain activities and becomes less challenged. Certain departments shut down because they think they're not needed. Here is where the research says things begin to degenerate. Moral of the story: writers should try Sudoku and math people need to try a hand at a crossword and both should run a few miles a few times a week. Oversimplified, perhaps. Still, you get the picture. To address the questions and concerns around finding the sources to certain powers: How does someone become a better runner? By running. How does someone become literate? By reading. There are no secret shortcuts. I love this notion. My brother Dave and I talk about this often: If you want to be a good artist you have to be willing to be a crappy one for quite a while first. Let us try and remember this: EFFORT CREATES ABILITY.
This was a line in a movie I saw recently called Another Year. This was an absolute masterpiece in my opinion. I was so moved. I'm not going to highlight any specific scenes for you. Just see it. I want to write about other things just now.
Life isn't always kind. This is very true. My life has been so kind so often. I was born to two amazingly good and gorgeous people who stayed in love. I shared my childhood with especially effervescent personalities, gorgeous faces, exceptional talents of all shapes and kinds. I got a great education in both academic and not-so-academic ways, graduated from a wonderful university, studied exactly what I wanted to, got the job I wanted immediately, worked with the very people I would've hand picked to work with. Life has been very kind indeed.
Then, at other times, life hasn't been so kind. It kicked and punched me on the playground. It called me mean names and threw sand in my eyes. Then later it broke my heart a few times, twisted some tendons, slapped my face a little. Got poisoned a fair amount; mostly voluntarily...unfortunately. I became addicted to some of the wrong things: the approval of others, feeling numb, cigarettes, and Woody Allen, to name a few. I got engaged a lot, too. That was interesting, if not heart-wrenching. Then I really did it! Tied the knot! To someone who hated me twice as much as he loved his action figures. You do the math.
Life is not always kind. Then there was not only the math but the aftermath. Year one: numb, floating feeling, fuzzy, pretty pleasant. Year two: lots of pain, acute, searing, crying in the car because I heard that song, having to sit down at the grocery store because the label on the tuna can triggered that memory. Year three: pretty dang normal, almost, sort of, I mean, all considered. Year four: Ouchie....I need intervention post haste. Year five: Great! Paxil, will you marry me? (no response...just a wink. for some reason it's enough.)
As we approach year six, I see a lot to be grateful for. Maybe I'll stop calculating time the way I have, years post divorce. Maybe it's a new age? It's not the golden age. Not enough earned yet. Maybe it's the age of fleece, not golden fleece, mind you. No. Pink. Pink fleecy blankets. The age of pink, blue, mint green, lily yellow. Here we go, baby. Buckle up.
Sometimes I feel like a tunnel; long, narrow, hollow, going somewhere. Where? I can see light, green leaves, I can smell something fresh and growing out of the distant pitch soil. But I never get there. I never seem to arrive. Maybe that's what this life is, longing for something, something more worthy of us, wanting something, hungry for the things of a better world, a world the spirit remembers and the senses forgot. I can feel something expansive above my view. I can envision myself, that tunnel, moss covered, somewhat hidden, none too apparent or impressive in structure. I can see me, from above, with all the air and sky between that view and that grounded self. Cloud, mist, bird, tree, flower, blade, droplet, ant, worm...all above me. The things that get between us and freedom, true freedom, the things that assume to subordinate us, they are simple in the end. They aren't always worthy foes, opponents, or even suitable playmates. When worms thrive above you it may be time to take the high road. Deep down we know it is our own doing. We exalted the worms and put ourselves beneath rot, looking for something. Treasure? But in dank, dripping concrete cylinders...empty, echoing, longing to arrive, waiting to breathe deeply and long, to see and touch the things we can now only faintly make out, we realize the perplexing sting and strange pleasure of wanting.
I feel rumblings. Something's in the air! And it's not just all the smoke from the wildfires. It's immense, all-encompassing. Like a new beginning.
Okay, so, a lot's happened. I had a few scrapes with the fates that nearly skinned my sensibilities permanently. I dated a very handsome entrepreneur, who will remain nameless, and discovered I'm not cut out for high risks of any kind. I wish I was mindful of that fact as I agreed to marry an ex-boyfriend of mine from half my lifetime ago. Don't worry, reader. As many of you already know, that's ended also. What can I possibly say other than I think I have a problem. Call it drama. Call it romance. Call it a rock-hard commitment to suffering. I don't know. I just think it's time to give the proper organs their proper jobs.
I think we all know it's safe to say I've been doing this thing with a whole lot of heart, and very little head. This thing, this LIFE thing, it's been all about love, friendship, connection, enrichment, and celebration. That's why I chose teaching. I LOVE KIDS! I do. I love the way they look when they've discovered their potential. I love their optimism and wonder, their goodness, innocence, and spark. They know how to live! In the moment!
Heart. Sometimes I think it's all I got going. My brain likes to work but it's such a tool of my heart. It knows who's boss. She's always been the boss. So why is this bad? Okay. I'll tell you why. I'll tell you, but you already know. Hearts fall for stuff. The gooier, the better. Hearts tell you to do things when you don't have the time nor the resources. Hearts like to get you cuddled and kissed even when what you really need is sleep. The heart will keep you on the phone when you know darn well you need to spend some time organizing your schedule for the next day. Hearts get you reading and writing poetry instead of good, old fashioned self-help or business articles or comic books, even! Hearts will have you listening to another sad story, and actually trying to help, when you know your own story needs a lot of work, and yours wouldn't be found anywhere near the children's section.
I like my brain a lot. I've got to give her more to do. I want to promote her but she lacks experience with leadership. She's not even applying for the position at this point. Sharp kid. Underemployed. Overqualified? Let's not go that far.
When I was 17 I walked into a local cafe with my brother, Danny, then 16. We laid eyes on a girl with light pink and blond hair. She was tiny but something shone like an aura around her that made her seem grand and immense. Turned out my brother knew her and so I got to meet her. I found her instantly charming, poised, and radiant. I had pink/blond hair, too but our similarities went far beyond that. We shared a propensity to date local musicians and an aversion to responsibility. We both loved punk rock, cobb salad, and feeding the homeless. Fast forward a bit to college: both of us were dating new local musicians so we'd bump into each other at shows about town. My brother became a close friend to Molly and so I would often see her at gatherings with mutual friends. When my engagement to my musician vaporized I called her for comfort and she invited me to make chicken and rice for the homeless downtown. It helped. I interviewed three homeless guys that day. It broke my heart in ways my breakup couldn't compete with. Peculiarly healing. I moved to Austin shortly after that. She'd often visit and she eventually ended up moving here, too. I saw her rarely; just at parties with mutual El Paso people. Then she went off to art school in Denton. Didn't hear from her much for a few years. She came back to Austin and she and my brother had turned into best buds. Danny spoke of her all the time. They had so much fun together. I was glad Danny found such a kindred spirit. Molly was always someone I was aware of and I'd ask about but it wasn't until fairly recently that she and I have become soul sisters. Two summers ago we started the grown up version of our friendship. She started inviting me over for little gatherings. We began to realize that we had a special connection. Maybe it was the fact that we had just made huge life changes; both of us had recently experienced significant break ups with nerdy, genius, cool guys. I guess we've always liked the same types of guys. Yesterday's punk rocker is today's computer genius I guess. We found we both loved strange books, long psychoanalytic discussions, distinguished and moody kitties, sparkly pedicures, and delicious ethnic food. Oh! And The Cheesecake Factory, which we visit with embarrassing regularity. Above and beyond all the afore mentioned connective aspects to our friendship was our dual commitment to health and happiness. It takes a village to raise a child. Perhaps it takes a more specialized crew to maintain a grown up. Molly's roles? Therapist, art teacher, chef, fashion consultant, comedian, beautician, traveling companion, mother, sister, docent, book/movie/music critic, photographer, pal. We are so different and yet so symbiotic. I literally have no idea what I would do without her in my life right now. With all the transition, confusion, and arduous amounts of growing up I've been up to within the last year or so, I can't think of a better person to have by my side. Molly, I look forward to all we have ahead of us and I cherish all our memories. I can't thank you enough for your sincere interest in my happiness and well-being. I respect you more than I know how to articulate. Just let it be said, you are so precious to me. With all my heart, I love you, lady.
