Stories are everything. It’s how we teach and persuade and find comfort. But most of all, it’s how we connect…to ourselves, to others, to those not yet born.
I have all the musical promise of a potato. I’m tone deaf too, a fact that was used against me all throughout high school. But I love few things more than good music. Like most normal-functioning people on Earth, I find music to be the medicine that gets me through rough days and the friend that helps celebrate good days.
Music are stories, and if you listen carefully an entire life or love affair or heartbreak can be discovered in a single song.
Stephen King once described writing as a magical connection between two human beings, the writer and the reader, across time and space the moment the reader starts the journey. I love that. I revel in the idea of taking Stephen King’s arm as we wander through some scary town in Maine.
Writers of music – I’m sure – connect in similar fashion to listeners. Dinah Washington sings Cry Me a River in a way moves me each of the 5 trazillion times I’ve listened to it. I believe I now know Dinah. We’re friends. She gets me and she’s all the sass that I need on any given day.
A friend recently sent me a link to Taylor Swift’s song: Soon You’ll Get Better. I like many Swift Songs, but this one reached in where other things are unwelcome and it uncovered experiences that were wrapped in cloth because it’s not the type of stuff you talk about with friends.
The song lifted me from my study and took me back to the ridiculously cramped room in which I was told my mother’s cancer had spread almost everywhere. Someone understood. Someone was there too. Maybe not my room. But a room. A room in which hearts broke.
You can only describe the desperate feeling of hoping for someone else’s health when that health is slipping away, if you have come to know that feeling. And this young woman clearly has.
I don’t know here and I never will, but it moves me to think how her story has re-awakened me to mine. And more, that her story has reminded me that I’m not alone. That we are not alone.
But now I’m sad again. So damn you, Taylor. And thank you.