Oh…. Yeah.

13 06 2014

There’s this thing I forgot all about. You know when you forget stuff that you think should be important enough to remember? Like the year you got married, or a fifty dollar bill in a coat pocket, or how much you used to love studying British literature because of that one professor who made it come alive…
This thing I forgot, it got lost. In porphyria. In motherhood. In budgeting. In laundry. In potty training and breastfeeding and doctors appointments and pain and stress and fatigue, in wine and Cymbalta, in isolation and play dates.
But, y’all: I remembered it last night.
What I remembered is: that music is at my cellular level. It is my stardust. I am made of it, and it of me. It tingles through my tissue like blood pulses through my veins. It is home to me. It is The Thing. Of my life. My Thing. And for years I was intimidated away from letting it happen, and had excuses of no time, not the right people, not the right equipment, no money, a disease, kids… All this shit that in my mind meant that I’d missed my boat and that was that. I lived ten years thinking I failed my potential. It never occurred to me (and WHY DID IT NEVER OCCUR TO ME) that I did NOT miss my chance. I’m not too old. Too tired. Too busy.
I remembered last night that making music wakes up little tiny places in me that have been dead for the longest of time. Like, I sat on my foot for ten years and it went numb, and last night it finally dawned on me to just stop sitting on my foot, and the feeling came back. And it was uncomfortable and tingly and tickly for a few minutes and I couldn’t put weight on it, but when the blood filled up the space again, I was all like “oh yeah! I have another foot! I can walk!”
It was like that. I found my other body part that had gone so numb it disappeared from my psyche. And can I just say, ahhhhhhhhhh.

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