Sound Doesn't Carry In Space (How I Quit Music)

PHASE 1: I QUIT MUSIC

I can’t really pinpoint when mine officially started, but I remember when I quit music. Something my late Gen-X self swore she would never do. My dream was the one constant in my life. My over-arcing identifier. It was the box everyone (including myself) knew they could always keep me in, even if they couldn’t figure the rest of me out. And it became my excuse for everything as well. My empty bank account, the holes in my shoes, the 3 year old broken tooth in the back of my mouth. It was my answer to every probing question about my marital status and why I didn’t want kids. When I quit, I began to float aimlessly like an ill-fated astronaut cut loose from the space station. The earth looming in the background behind me as I tumbled in slow motion towards the cosmos. It didn’t feel good or free. It felt dark, and empty. And I hadn’t even been sucked into the black hole yet. That came later. Now there was no excuse for my failed finances and my suspiciously empty nest. And I needed to see a damned dentist. I stopped going to shows and listening to music. I couldn’t handle seeing others pursuing their dream. It was heartbreaking. I hated hearing someone’s soul being laid bare on a record. It grated on my ears. 2 years later, it still does. It’s better..ish, but I still have a hard time listening to it.

I went sort of "cold turkey" and pushed so many musical things about my life away. Including the people I played music with. I found their eager hopefulness nausiating. I tried to amplify (no pun intended) other parts of myself. I really liked wine and food and started writing about that. I even had a column in a local magazine. I took photos.  All things that were fun distractions. But I still felt empty. Lost. Now there are times I feel like I've drifted so far, I'm somewhere where no one can hear me anymore.

Sound needs molecules in the air to be heard.  So, in deep space, sound doesn't carry. I can't see the space station anymore. At some point these secondary creative pursuits helped re-tether me,  but I'm still drifting on what feels like a very long extension cord.  My songs don't reach anyone from out here. Do I just set up camp on some star out here and start over? Can I ever get back to the station, let alone earth? All questions that I don't have the answers for.

I will admit, I've watched Thelma and Louise too many times and the thing is I don't want to go back, but I don't want to drive into the Grand Canyon either. (I drove there already and managed to stay on the ledge). I want more for my music. Almost like I want to give it up for adoption. It's not my songs' fault their mother can't take care of them anymore. It's a perfectly good body of work that deserves to live on.  And out here in space...there are no molecules to carry it to dry land.

Aw crap, I'm stuck between two completely different metaphors again. Jesus, I can't even get writing about writing right.


Oh well, tune in next week where I talk about my dog.