Not Wanting To Make Sense All of the Time
Updated: May 18, 2021
I think we are still Groundhogging. And for me that means pushing the pain away as much as is possible. Sick of sad. Sick of crazy and mad and tantrums. I can't make sense of my relief in not having to socialise much, to confine myself to Facebook, the random meaningful email, nods and thumbs up to neighbours when walking an imaginary dog. I lost my job to the Pandemic. I lost music clients. Yet I made some incredible virtual friends. People I swear I love deeply whose skin I have never touched, whose bodies I have never whiffed.
It is a kind of reality that keeps making sense. We make it that way. Fear becomes a convenient manager, and rationale for a life in the convent of your own creation.
I am one of the lucky ones. I was able to make an album, and now it looks like the little record might grow up, have legs, walk, even fly a wee bit.
And I have met so many other artists who have used the quarantine to create , to dig deeper, to make new music, write new stories, poems, create videos.
Removing yourself, throwing yourself into a world of sound. Playing your heart out. Singing. Not caring about anything outside your own walls.
I am almost a happy captive. The routines are comforting.
Yet in every pretend moment lies the seed to an explosion, a death, and the kind of nonsensical violence that invades your dreams, try as you might to feel safe in the cocoon.
A friend whose daughters I taught guitar has died in his sleep. An unexpected loss.
My own father-in-law at this very moment is making the journey from this world into the one we don't know. It's scary. It hurts. Being so far away.
So I come to this conclusion. That even if I do want to make sense of what is going on, inside me, outside in the world, and within the lives of those I hold most dear.. I am still, beyond my numbness,
dumb to truth. I can't know. Oh so much.
And so the little things that fall short every day. But probably my heart is in the right place.
Why do I say that? Because like you, I keep trying. I keep reaching out. Not that I understand. More that I am willing not to, and growing to accept that this is ok, and that we will be maybe sort of.. all right, whatever we know or don't.
Does that make sense to you?