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Day One Hundred and Fitty Eight:  I’ve been searching for a Heart of Gold

And I’m getting old

Part of me wants to just end it there.

I’m having a hard time putting things together that aren’t lyrics at the moment.  Neil Young, Bob Dylan, the melodic mates to my soul, that sort of waver around me and pierce through my introverted bubble every so often.  Their words, among many others, tend to bring me back to reality.  How ironic is it that people I’ve never known tell me how life is more than those around ,e…

Most people I know depend on music to bring feelings, emotions, memories, and comfort.  I’ve always said that music wouldn’t be my life, and yet what do I turn to when I need that last push to do something?  You guessed it.  I wonder often what other people’s comfort music is.  The other day at work Jess mentioned one of her songs that she listened to when she needed to get herself back up and it got me thinking:  I’m not the only person who does this.  Music therapy is a real thing, it exists for more than just me, and that in itself is comforting. 

Let it be the classics, the unknowns, the hated, the loved, the comforting, the provocative, or the undoubtable fantastic, I hope that whatever music greets you at your worst finds you tonight, it’s sure finding me.

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