I learned to trust the muse a long time ago. So long, in fact, that I can’t remember when it occurred. Music speaks to me in ways that I cannot speak for myself. When words are log-jammed and my brain can’t figure out how to articulate what my heart is feeling, a song is usually the thing that gets me unstuck. Often, when I need it, music can deliver truth in seed form, and hitting repeat is my ticket to linger in a moment that illuminates my darkness.
Those who know me well know that I express myself best on the page, where I can sculpt my thoughts into something useful. I often wonder why I don’t hear theme music at those critical junctures in life. Where is the soaring score that underlines the fact that you have just passed some life test, completed passage into some higher level of wisdom or maturity? When my father passed away suddenly, I found myself at one of those places where more is required of you than you know how to deliver.
Those who know me well know that I express myself best on the page, where I can sculpt my thoughts into something useful. I often wonder why I don’t hear theme music at those critical junctures in life. Where is the soaring score that underlines the fact that you have just passed some life test, completed passage into some higher level of wisdom or maturity? When my father passed away suddenly, I found myself at one of those places where more is required of you than you know how to deliver.
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