In times of emotional turmoil, having something that is healthy to rely on can be an undeniably useful thing. To make things simple, for me, that thing has always been music. There is a piece of me that has always become fulfilled when it greets me. Even if all else were to fail, music would not. Even in my mind’s darkest hour, I can still feel its effect lingering in my heart.
Some days, I would lay for hours at a time. My room was always quiet, a very quiet room. My eyes would drift around the ceiling, searching for ideas, searching for comfort. By my side, the stereo. A simple but marvelous device. Not only could it pick up on radio frequencies, but also play compact discs as well. Opening a long black case, I sifted through a collection of hand-me-down CDs. Many have been worn down over years of usage, however that did not stop me from slipping out a personal favorite and popping into the disk slot of the stereo.
Music has a funny way of connecting our memories and emotions. We associate the feelings we had when we first listened to it with the song itself, and those emotions may be recalled as we relisten in the future. When I listen to that album, I feel myself being transported back to when I was a young boy spending weekend nights at my Grandmother’s house. Sitting down with a radio, a notebook, and a set of playing cards, if I wanted entertainment, I knew I would have to create it.
Creativity is a powerful tool, and even at night while the whole world felt still I could hear music drifting in and out of my head, traveling down my spine. The emotion I heard in music was the emotion that encompassed my being. Now years later, the inspiration still holds true. As I hold an instrument in my hands, I feel power at my finger-tips. Emotions of anger, sadness, frustration with the people around me don’t have to be kept inside anymore. However with this inspiration comes a need to refine it, make it as complete as it can be. If I was going to create something; I wanted it to be as fine-tuned and deliberate as possible, there was no room for mistakes. Finding trust in the self was hard, the weight of perfection is an overbearing one.
Listening back to that album, in spite of the emotion nostalgia may bring, I now do notice its flaws. No matter what connection I may hold to any one object or idea, they will always be flawed. As now I do look at myself and my own work, the music I’ve made, the stories I’ve written, and experiences I’ve lived through, I know that I cannot avoid flaws either. To be flawed is to be human, and to embrace being human is to embrace fulfillment. As difficult as it may be to push forward sometimes, I know that I don’t have to be perfect to be happy. Expressing my emotion through the artforms I come across adds a nice light to my life, one that I never want to die out.