Music. To my ears....

For the past few years I'd felt the need to be constantly paying attention; news radio for the win.

And I became comforted over the bond of shared trauma I was discovering.

We all, internationally, were losing people to Covid.

Every country faces turbulence, at some point.

Violence. Is. Everywhere.  Not just here.

I found it a strength, this bond, and I sought it out for my own insecurities and fears.

It's group therapy.

It's advice columns.

It's late night satire and stand up comedy.

And this mutual suffering was what helped me relax my shoulders, pop another 'stress mint'* and continue on with my day.  Mostly.  It didn't always work as quickly as I would've liked.  And I didn't always remember to group myself in with others, and felt the weight of reality alone.  Then one day, I changed the channel.

I'm new to classical music, and whatever was playing that day filled the space and I recognized it immediately as a balm.  As something so starkly different from what I had been bathing in.  I wanted to close my eyes to take it in but I was driving so I just kept going, and absorbing, and allowed it to remove me from the tension and divisiveness of what had become normalcy.  And something happened to my need to find comfort in a similarly suffering group.  In this music I didn't hear an orchestra of musicians playing together, rather I felt individuals contributing to a shared piece of work.  I envisioned the sacrifice of practice and failure.  The calloused fingers, the aching backs, the pride of their contribution.  When I hear an instrumental piece, I become one with each individual.  Because that is what I am.  I am just one.

Of course, I knew ABOUT classical music before I heard it that day.  The chick in Ghostbusters II plays a cello, right? (That is honestly what comes to mind when I think musician, which is grossly unfair to my exceptionally talented pianist of a sister.)  Also, I was in school band for ages!  Why now would music be affecting me in a different way?

Maybe it's a need to see the value of individual contribution, however small.

Maybe I'm searching for the building of a masterwork, amidst so much tearing down.

Maybe it's because in order to suffer with someone, I need someone else to be suffering and I just can't bear that thought anymore.

Or just maybe a part of me decided that my suffering would be more valuable as conviction.

I've gone back to news radio.  I can't seem to turn away from it most days, always on the edge of my seat to know what's happening next.  And I know the rest of the world, country, city, town, family is paying attention, too.  I still love stand up specials and I habitually take in late night satire a few times a week as I appreciate the effort involved in making us laugh at the pain and fear we're sharing.  The contribution being made.  But the classical station is also in my 'favorites'.  One button away from the day's latest updates.  And that's why my shoulders don't feel so much weight anymore.  It's why I'm okay with my one-ness not being much of anything to the world.  And it's why I chuckle at the memory of holding up that metal triangle, so many years ago, awaiting my cue to contribute to the whole.

*Stress mints.  I've mentioned them before.  I keep a pocket full of Lifesavers individually wrapped mints at all times.  I buy 3 lb bags of them every few months. When I feel tension, I grab a mint, unwrap, inhale the smell and pop it in my mouth; all in less than a second.  I'm very susceptible to scent, aromatherapy, and I immediately sense calm with the inhale.