One of the special features of our on-its-last-legs car is that we have no capacity for audio. Radio, CD, MP3 options, all dead. It becomes a special treat, then, to carefully choose some music to listen to when I have reason to be driving another car.
A week ago, I was visiting my mom and dug out an old CD I had burned for her one Christmas about 10 years ago. As I was re-appreciating all the songs I had once liked (and sometimes shaking my head at my early-20s tastes), I found myself hearing one song as though for the first time. Not that I didn’t remember the song, but that as I heard the lyrics, I realized that ten years ago, I had completely missed their meaning. Not in a subtle way where the implications of the poetry were lost on me, or in a never-really-stopped-to-think-about-it kind of way, either. It seems that I had somehow heard the chorus and not bothered to listen to the verses, which frame the content of the chorus in a completely different light. And suddenly the song hit me with such force that I almost had to pull the car over because I couldn’t stop crying.
Somehow I had completely missed the verses when they didn’t apply to my life, and only heard them now, when they do. I said in my last post that I’ve been resistent to the idea that having a child has changed me, but it has. Things are still the same all around me, but I hear some of the ones that I ignored or somehow missed before. I don’t know what that means for what and how I can write now. I’m hoping that stopping to listen will help me find out.