I am so overwhelmed by this final push at Hopkins. It’s a summer of “capstone” classes, each designed to sum up an emphasis with a large-scale project. The reading has been punishing in sheer volume, and a little frustrating by its tenuous, if any, connection to my particular aim.
Those of you who flatter me by paying attention to my Twitter stream know that I have chosen swing dancing and experimental cuisine as my outlets for stress, and both have been edifying and largely responsible for keeping me sane. But sometimes even after a night of dancing and 2am Bourbon/philosophical meanderings with good people, I come home and lie awake and wonder how the hell I’m going to survive the next month.
So I’m driving from class tonight and I shuffle through my playlist to some new music I had only taken a cursory listen to. I was freaking out. Vacillating between thoughts of defeat and misery. Next track. Next track. Then I decided to listen to something all the way through, simply for the sake of it. In this case, it was this song by Death Cab for Cutie. I heard it, and something changed in my head. I just felt a shift and thought, “I can do this. I am going to do this. In style.”
It’s been said that talking about music is like dancing about architecture. I don’t know or even care to dissect what happened, but this is just the most recent in a long string of instances when music has inexplicably healed me. Brought me back to my senses. Reminded me of my strengths and the potential for goodness in this life. How about you? Do tell.