I have friends with connections to music that amaze me. They find enough hope/joy/sadness in three and a half minutes to plant their feet, feel what they need to feel and move forward. It always astounds me. I love music. It's a thing I refuse to learn the 'good' things about so I can decide in a gut way if I like what I'm listening to. But, it doesn't anchor me that way. A good song hasn't inspired some of the life changes I've made over the last six or so years.
It's in the words that I find understanding and inspiration. Not in poetry with it's over processing. Not in memoir and stories about real people and real things with it's navel point of view. It's in the fiction where the sense that I'm not alone reached my isolation. Where the support staff has a role to play. Where someone else can imagine a way out of a box kinda like the one I've painted myself into. Where the power of the stories we tell ourselves is illustrated and the option of changing the stories is posited.
I was driving into work last week, thinking about how I got here. There have been people to push and support. There have been mental health professionals I've offered to buy nerf bats for. And there have been the books, with their small whispers of you're not alone, take a chance, and it doesn't have to stay this way.
Tonight, it's to the books I say thank you. Your help in making my journey something entertaining and challenging is immeasurable.