I start feeling everything around this time of year. Not that I don’t usually have a lot of feelings, because I do. Just that all the sensations I’ve felt for the last twelve months and all the sensations I want to feel for the next twelve months suddenly collide and explode in the middle of my chest and it’s all incredibly dramatic and it’s all extremely cathartic and it’s also all I can think about for the last two days of December and the first two days of January.
My years always end in reflection and in hope. I think back on the three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of chaos and joy and hurt and truth and dejection and creation and connection and each singular sensation muddles itself into the next. And I think about the next string of days, three-hundred-and-sixty-six this time, and so much of what moves through my head is about beauty, and love, and freedom, and authenticity, and intimacy, and intention. But so much of it is also about what hasn’t happened yet, and what has been difficult, and what I think I’m missing, and what I want more and less of, and what I want to lean into. It’s a mess of feelings. I cried this morning before the clock even hit ten. It’s a process.
All the feeling folds in on itself. I have to push it out of my body somehow. I wanted to dance, and I wanted to sing along to words I know, and I wanted the music to feel messy and disjointed, to mirror my insides. I put this record on. “Roadrunner” is the first song and the best song. I danced and I sang while I put clean sheets on my bed. The newness, the beginning of a record, the first words out of my mouth, it all felt good.
I love this album because of how it sounds and because of how effortless the vocals are and about how mundane the lyrics can be if you take them at face value. I love that they recorded it before anyone was listening or paying attention and by the time it was released the music they were making didn’t sound like this anymore. It’s a fossil. It’s sixty minutes of expression reflective of a very specific time period. It’s life that never changes.
I wanted the record to remind me of the beauty of feeling and the blips of understanding in the midst of intense overwhelm. I wanted to know I’m not the only one who holds everything deeply and lets in rise in her throat and pile up until there’s nowhere left for it to stay and it has to be let out into the world. I wanted “I’m Straight” and “Someone I Care About” and “I Wanna Sleep in Your Arms” and “She Cracked” and I wanted them loud. I got them. The album made me forget about everything for a while. And then it brought me back into my heart, this time with peace, with the knowledge that a lot of the time everything feels like too much but it’s actually exactly what it’s supposed to be. And I’ll carry that into the new year.
Babbleogue. 