My Brain on Music

People who don't know me (or don't think the same way that I do) often don't understand the way my brain interacts with music. My brother, for example, thinks that my use of the phrase "this song is my life right now" is horribly affected, although in my mind it's completely true. My roommate understands what it means to "love" a song, but she doesn't have the same kind of reaction to music as I do. I can only think of, oh, maybe three or four people off the top of my head who have this mentality.

Sometimes, like today, the way I feel is perfectly matched by a song and I need to listen to that song as much as I can. Sometimes it's one artist in particular, but most of the time it's one song whose lyrics, music, and style fits like a puzzle piece into my overall emotional and physical state. Even if I'm in a horrible mood, as that perfect song slides into place, my body and mind relaxes. "Oh," my body says, "that's what that missing piece was. Okay. You can go on now. You've found it."

I don't exaggerate when it comes to songs and this little personal phenomenon and I love nothing more than when I don't need to explain myself. Last semester I walked into a class with one of my musically-minded friends, looked her in the eye and thanked for for the Carbon Leaf album she'd burned for me. I said, quite simply without any melodrama, that the song "What About Everything" was saving my life at that moment, and she didn't need any further explanation. I didn't mean that the one song was single-handedly preventing me from killing myself (obviously- I'm a happy emo and lack suicidal inclinations), but at that time my life was so hectic and crazy and this one song about the important things in life and the search to find the real and true things about human existence kept me grounded. I love how when I was adjusting to the realities of a long-distance relationship this fall, I could call up another one of my friends and say, "I'm listening to (Damien Rice's) 'O' on repeat" and his immediate reaction was "Fun. That's not good. Let's talk." No explanation necessary. With very few exceptions, you can tell how I am by what music I'm listening to, and few people in my life understand this.

Songs move me. Music moves me. I can't just listen, and I can't just see or hear music for what it is. That's why I adore TV shows like Scrubs that use music as it's supposed to be used, to add to the overall viewing and, in my mind, living experience.

My life has a soundtrack. I have my musical obsessions, like everyone else, but I have my instant, no hesitation, mood-changing music. James Taylor and Carly Simon soothe me like nothing else, because I associate them with my parents and my childhood. They remind me of my parents and their love for me. Classical piano music, especially Chopin, immediately focuses my brain, because of my intense piano training as a child (and my scary, scary piano teacher).

I don't understand people who take music at face value. It's so much more than that.

And, just for the record, the song I've listened to on repeat to day is Joshua Radin's "Winter." Make of that what you will.

Fmylife.com

On days like today, when I have overslept and arrived late (we're talking very late) to my favorite class, with my favorite professor, I am reminded that there are people whose lives are much worse than my own, courtesy of the delightful http://www.fmylife.com

I'm really pretty okay! For example, my parents haven't been celebrating my birthday on the wrong day my entire life. I'm not pregnant. I'm sure my boyfriend isn't cheating on me. So yes, I may occasionally say "fuck my life" on days like today, but in reality I'm fine and should suck it up.

Piscean Love Song

They never tell you the silly little things you'll miss about home when you head off to college. Like water. Moving water. Rivers and oceans.

Take today, for example. Horrible day. I'd rank it about a 7 on a shit scale. Started with my roommate going off on me at 3AM (I deserved it, but still...) and ended with the meeting from hell. Not to mention classes and normalcies of college life in below freezing temperatures in between.

In high school, on days like this I'd wait until my parents were asleep and climb out my window onto the kitchen roof. From there, I'd sit, wrapped up in a blanket, and watch the moon rise over the river. If it was a truly nasty day, I'd climb from the roof to the deck to the ground and walk out to the dock. I'd sit, my toes dangling in the water, until everything felt right again. Something about water has always soothed me. I miss that at school. I suppose it's nice that we have two lakes, but they always freeze over, and even during the fall and late spring, if you just stop and sit on a bench to enjoy the gentle sounds of water, the crazy jogging people give you strangely possessive looks as they run by. The lakes are not for those who wish to sit and contemplate life- they are simply obstacles to conquer, measures of distance.

Long story short, I miss the water. And if we can't have moving water, we should at least have bathtubs in the dorms. Nice, clean ones.