Living Out Loud. (V9). Your Theme Music.

Listen to the headphones on my office computer, and you’ll usually hear one of two things: the Eagles, or 70s music. If I could have been a “grown up” (whatever that means) in any time other than my own, I would have been an adult in the late sixties and early seventies. The now-classic rock, disco and pop ~ a combination of evolution, revolution, funky, sappy tunes ~ are the soundtrack mix of my formative years.

Julie Do You Love Me supplied me with my first taste of longing and heartbreak and an almost pathological crush on Bobby Sherman at the tender age of six. Ricki Don’t Lose That Number (Steely Dan) put music to real life in the form of the first man I ever loved from afar, a fellow 4-H camper named, of course, Ricky. And the Doobie Brothers’ Black Water will forever place me in the backyard of our Nelson County home, pumping the handles and pedals of the whirly-bird with Janet, spinning in circles to the beat of a purely southern tune from a cheap radio on a gorgeous southern mountain summer morning.

In the eighth grade, Nick Childs would sing Brick House every time I walked into English class, and though I was embarrassed then, to this day I think of that and smile. I mean, really . . . I was short, had tortoiseshell glasses that were bent from a horseback ride in the woods gone awry, and my hair . . . let’s not even go there. Nick was probably the first person that pointed out something I didn’t see, and wherever ya are, Nick, I thank you. We Are Family conjours sitting on the porch with Margaret while she writes in my yearbook the usual blahblah along with hilarious and insightful comments on our classmates. And Queens’ You’re My Best Friend is musical affirmation of  a 35 year friendship that has not only lasted but gotten stronger over time.

And of course, there’s Hotel California. That mysterious tune with the haunting, symbolic and often misunderstood lyrics has seeped itself into my blood, thought it wasn’t until 1993 that I first heard its music with my heart. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave. Yes, how true that has proven to be for me. The first time I realized I was actually heading to LA . . . understand I did not so much make the decision as it made me . . . I awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, pulled out of dreams by one thought: oh. my. god. I’m. moving. to. Los. Angeles.

It is in the early hours of the morning that fear finds me the most. That time when all is dark and quiet and still is the time when my soul speaks the loudest, when dreams and desires mix with doubts, when who I am joins with who I wanna be ~ I used to avoid listening to avoid the confusion it created. That didn’t work.

So I began rising early and sitting in the dark. Just sitting and breathing, and listening, letting all that fear and all those thoughts come up, come out, be ghosts in the room, swirl around, electric-charged energy, this part of me that had to be released, allowed to flow, reclaimed again. Over time I become aware of and in tune with the me behind the emotion, and I trust her.

This morning I sit in the dark, coffee in hand and sleeping dogs at my side, wondering what in the world I’m going to choose as my song. I glance at the little rose quartz buddha on my coffee table, quietly staring back at me, and I hear, softly, learn to be still.

I travel from the east coast to the west, in search of me. This confuses the people who love me most. It is not a path I choose lightly to tread, well-worn as it may seem to be. It is, however, what I feel in my heart is my course, and I have come to this place of acceptance that will no longer let me deny it with attempts to just be. I Learn To Be Still so I can learn to be me.