Sing

I woke up early this morning. It was bright blue and gorgeous outside. Instead of the usual NPR, I threw the CD player on shuffle. And for some reason — sheer exhaustion, marathon anxiety, nicotine withdrawal (sorry Mom, I’ve been making a rock record) — every song left me on the edge of tears.

On the edge of tears in a good way. I mean, what’s more meaningful, what’s more important, what’s more moving than a beautiful song? REM’s ‘Nightswimming,’ Nick Drake’s ‘Fly,’ Elliott Smith’s ‘Needle In The Hay’ — there are a million of ’em. And thank goodness.

Lemme’ make this clear: all is quite well with me and my world. I left my apartment thinking ‘I love my apartment.’ I walked down Ninth Avenue thinking ‘I love my neighborhood.’ I turned west onto 47th Street thinking ‘I love New York.’ I walked into work thinking ‘I, well, like this job.’ And I love my friends, my family. And my record’s done. And I’m excited to run the marathon. Etc Etc Etc. Life’s just funny sometimes. Overwhelming, but in a good way. And it makes ya’ feel. And appreciate. And hope.

And sing.