I don’t know what made me dig up this old-times college project. Going down a line of thought where I took a different path and actually saw a particular endeavor through, perhaps?
Thinking about a record player. Playing a record over and over. You memorize the warps and skips and they become part of the song.
The changer drops the next record down with a clack and thunk. Trying to find the right song. Scratch. The one with the great hook but the bridge goes nowhere. Scratch. The one you haven’t heard in ages that takes forever to get out of your head. Scratch. The one with the melody that sounds so familiar.
The scratches are jarring and unexpected but the songs are sweet. Maybe the song you’re looking for is on a different album.
Lots of messages with people today and words of encouragement going in both directions. Lots of people doing hard things and supporting bravery and honesty in actions and words. A few months ago, I thought to myself that although I knew I had some good friends, I realized that I wasn’t sure I had the kind that I could feel comfortable dumping a little bit of angst on when necessary. But then I let myself open up and be a little vulnerable to a few because I absolutely needed to. And I realized that they were there – I just hadn’t recognized that yet.
Sometimes your kid makes you buy a flowery phone case, even though you like your black and gray phone cases. METAPHOR ALERT: your black phone case is your constructed exoskeleton and it won’t kill you to buy the flowery one and enjoy it much like it won’t kill you to exhibit your soft underbelly from time to time.