A Road Less Travelled

I was cooking this past Saturday and wanted some music to listen to. I was in a fairly good mood so I figured it would be safe to listen to some music that could never be described as happy. So I put on Counting Crows August and Everything After. For a portion of my life this album was a crucial piece of my musings and a cathartic release. I was listening to it Saturday and I realized that it isn’t anymore. I can still enjoy the lyrical poetry and the music, but I don’t resonate with the emotions anymore.

The first song on the album is called “Round Here”. It begins-

Step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white.

I walk in the air between the rain
through myself and back again
Where? I don’t know
Maria says she’s dying
through the door I hear her crying
Why? I don’t know

It’s moody and sad and it really felt like it fit my life at that moment. To be honest, I’m not sure why I thought this. I was upset and sad a lot and the music fit and helped me feel better. The song, though, that I claimed as my song and that would go on the soundtrack of my life is “Mr. Jones”. It’s about a man sitting in a bar feeling lonely and wishing a girl would think he was something special. The gender didn’t fit, but I was willing to overlook that. I remember one day in particular that had just been a bad-bad, no-good day and I was feeling worse than usual. I lay on my bed and listened to this song at high volume. It fit. Again, I’m not sure why, but it did and it helped.

I listened to this song on Saturday, kinda zoning as I cooked. I remembered other times I’d listened to the album and started mulling over what I’d felt in times past. I sang along with the songs and noticed something startling. I don’t have the same reaction or response to the music anymore. It hasn’t changed, though; I have.

I’m not an emotional teenager anymore. I know, shocking, right? I should know this already, but every now and again I come face-to-face with that fact in a new way and it never ceases to surprise me. I’m not the sulky teen caught in an emotional cycle she doesn’t understand. I’m not the angry girl who doesn’t know what her own skin looks like and so can’t even begin to be comfortable in it. My circumstances have changed. My personality has changed. I’m not who I used to be. And you can’t make me go back there.

I was talking with someone yesterday about times in my life you couldn’t pay me enough to go back to. The point when “Mr. Jones” was my song ranks high on that list. It might be top of the list. But I can still listen to the song and I can still enjoy the music because now, apart from still being a well-made song, it reminds me that I’m still moving forward and I don’t have to go back. It’s not my song anymore and, if God wills, it never will be again.