Time to Pretend – MGMT
I write incredibly small. I think as a kid my self-esteem manifested in the font size of my handwriting, serving almost as encryption, should anyone ever be curious about the things swirling around in this crazy head of mine. I had forgotten this about myself, but once upon a time, I tried to be a poet. I have this journal from twenty years ago, filled with random musings and forced pentameter, so part of me is super glad that I eventually gave up on those pipe dreams and found a practical job. Let’s just say, life would be a bit more challenging, especially at this particular juncture in time, had my life gone that route. Anyways, I was procrastinating schoolwork over coffee, reading through it, and chuckling to myself at how annoying I was in my mid-twenties. I thought I had been over it backwards and forwards but turns out, tucked away in the void of the empty blank pages of this unfinished journal, was a poem I wrote. It is funny the cyclical nature of life’s lessons. I think even back then I knew that my kryptonite in life would be living an inauthentic life.
Here is the poem. My handwriting sucks, so I’ll transcribe here.
Faithful fact & truest conviction,
Erase a lie of the deepest fiction.
None to prove,
& none to know,
The mirror shows her greatest foe.
Goodbye sorrow, goodbye pain.
Goodbye storm, goodbye rain.
A smile unfaked
& hearty laughter,
Forbid the thoughts
Of past and after.
If only I had not ignored the warnings I clearly captured in these random thoughts of my youth. It reminded me of an MGMT song that plays in the first episode of The Magicians. Maybe I was fated to pretend. I hope not. I hope like the song says, “life can always start up anew”.
Unsent – Alanis Morissette
So one of my best friends sent me and our ex-roomie from college a heads up that they are coming out with a sequel to Practical Magic. I know. It’s not an irreplaceable classic, say for example the Godfather or Shawshank Redemption, but everyone is entitled to their guilty pleasure movies, so this ranks up there for me, along with the Princess Bride and Krull. Spoiler alert – there is a scene in the movie where a little girl witnesses a woman asking for her witchcraft practicing aunts to cast a love spell on the jaded ex-married lover that broke her heart. Seeing the desperation and pain in this woman, the little girl utters to herself, “I hope I never fall in love”. Later that night, she performs the same love spell, called Amas Veritas, much to the surprise of her confused sister, who reminds her of the earlier comments about not wanting to fall in love. She replies, that’s the point, the man she dreamed up doesn’t exist, and if he doesn’t exist, she would never die of a broken heart.
I found a journal that I kept over twenty years ago. I must have wrote in it after I watched this movie, way before any guy ever broke my heart, but sadly after seeing firsthand how love destroys two people in a marriage. I wrote my own version of Amas Veritas, putting my own spin on it of course. I wrote down qualities from guys that I either crushed on, dated, or was simply friends with, highly convinced that no one person could ever be the epitome of everything I was looking for, so there was a safety in that knowledge, but also maybe a settling.
Here is a copy of my journal entry and Amas Veritas spell. Redacted of course to use numbers instead of names.
3/16/04 2:30 am
Like Number 1 – he’ll never ask me to dance. If he wants to dance with me, there will be no request for permission, just a silent pull of my hand into his arms. We’ll dance whether it is at a party or the solitude of a living room, and whether there is a perfect song playing or no music playing at all.
Like Number 2 – he’ll think I am beautiful even when I am a mess, tired, or have zero makeup on. I will be comfortable enough around him to actually fall asleep in front of him. He’ll pull me into long hugs, without wanting more.
Like Number 3 – he’ll memorize the different ways I like my coffee and make me the perfect cup and offer it to me before I even have to ask for one.
Like Number 4 – he’ll bring music to my soul, playing the perfect song when I’m happy, sad, mad, or sleepy and it will perfectly capture or improve my mood.
Like Number 5 – He’ll have the scars of life and brokenness of growing up that make him the best kind of person. He’ll be someone who wants to protect others from feeling the darkness no one saved him from. He’ll have this unwavering faith in the good of other people.
Like Number 6 – he’ll be chivalrous, from making sure he’s on the traffic side of the street when we’re walking, moving the ketchup bottle off the table without me having to ask, or extending his hand or arm when I am feeling unsteady.
Like Number 7 – he’ll hold my hand, even when we’re old, and even when it’s freezing out and he’s cold. He’ll pull my hand into his own coat pocket so he can keep our hands warm without letting go.
Like Number 8 – he’ll say the perfect, inspired line at the precise moment I need to hear it. He’ll want to believe in God and faith, even though he struggles with it. He’ll pray over me, and kiss my forehead or cheek even if I am asleep.
Like Number 9 – he’ll make me laugh – like loud, snorting, water out your nose obnoxiously laugh. Talking to him will always be comfortable and honest, no matter what the subject is, like my soul immediately recognized his, so that familiarity already comes with a built-in trust.
Like Number 10 – he’ll have the greatest smile and body but won’t know it, because he is the best kind of handsome that isn’t conceited. His eyes will change color depending on his thoughts.
Like Number 11 – he’ll have the mind of an artist, seeing the beauty of life in all things. He’ll know what I am thinking before I say a word.
Like Number 12 – he is both silly and introspective, appreciating movies and old cartoons. He’ll be both emotionally and intellectually smart. He will be able to talk to anyone, because it comes from a genuine place and won’t need to drink to be the center of attention or have a good time. He’ll be fun, but also crave the quiet moments of life, even preferring getting so engrossed in a book over getting drunk in a bar with friends.
Looking back at it now, it was all smoke and mirrors. It was not a self-protection thing, and somewhere deep down there was this hope and belief that somewhere that person did exist. If I am being honest, I found people at different times who came really close. I married one. However, here is the problem though with Amas Veritas. It really does not matter if the perfect person actually exists, especially if you are searching with a broken soul that isn’t strong enough yet to feel complete. Having an incomplete soul clouded the perception of everything that I thought I wanted and wished for. In other words, someone could be perfect but may not necessarily be the perfect person for you.
Funny, but I discovered a song a couple of weeks ago where Alanis Morissette did something kind of similar, writing a postmortem of all the things she learned from the guys in her life. Listening to it felt oddly similar to the sentiments of my journal entry, but also left me with this sad feeling. Right now, there are just too many things I need to fix, work on and maybe atone for. The more I listen to the song though, there is a small part of me that thinks optimistically, that we are not all broken, and maybe we are lucky to have had opportunities to learn what makes happy. Maybe I will be one day be ready, and it would be nice if when I was, fate would intervene to let me know this person does exist.
Let Go – Frou Frou
So, it is mother effing hot in Texas right now. My buddy that I am staying with keeps wanting to go out, knowing I only come to Houston for work, and haven’t really explored around. I am a homebody, so in an effort to keep us in the calming comfort of quiet (and air conditioning), I got him to start watching the show The Bear. It is probably one of my favorite shows at the moment. If you haven’t seen it, what the eff are you waiting for? Go. Like now. It’s on Hulu. You’re welcome.
So anyways, there is this phrase the main character Carmy uses that he got from his older brother – let it rip. I want to explain it, but I just deleted paragraphs of explanation, realizing I could never it do justice. Instead, I will share the scene where he breaks it down:
As an underwriter, and just as an overly cautious person in general, I don’t think I have ever been able to get fully behind the concept of let it rip. Recently, it has come to my attention that if I take my head of my own ass, I’m not alone, and there are a lot of people going through their own mini life crisis. Whether it is unrealized dreams, pain, or just generally feeling stuck, there are a lot of people I want to tell to “let it rip”. There is only so much you can do to try to inspire and motivate people. In the end, they have to be the ones who take those steps. I will remind them though that the hardest part is knowing what you really want and what your dreams are. Then the really, really scary part of the movie comes. Once you know what you want, you have two paths. Either, you cowardly put off making decisions that push you closer to achieving those dreams and day by day you start to forget again what it is that you wanted. OR you let it rip. Then maybe, just maybe, the amazing things that you never allowed yourself to believe you were capable of experiencing start happening. As I write this, I realize that I am the pot calling the kettle black. Today’s song, reminds me of these sentiments. Do the things you are afraid to do. I was re-reading Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist,” a few weeks ago, and was reminded when you want something, the universe has a way of conspiring in ways to help you achieve those dreams. Take advice from the Bear – let it rip.
Excuse me, too busy, you’re writing your tragedy. These mishaps you bubble wrap, when you’ve no idea what you’re like. So let go, so let go, hmm jump in. – Frou Frou
Quelqu’un m’a dit – Carla Bruni
Time is a son of a bitch. Sometimes there isn’t enough of it. Some days, you want to freeze moments in time or at least slow them down. Other days, there seems like there has been too much of it. Lately, I have been feeling more of the latter. Part of me wants to fast forward a few months from now, hoping that future me would have more of my shit together. Part of me is also hoping that the darkness of the last few days would be a distant memory for some loved ones going through some of the most messed up of things one could possibly experience in this life. I read this book once by Steve Martin, The Pleasure of My Company, where the main character talks about a coping mechanism he uses called Alternative Fixation. The concept of AF goes that if something is causing you needless worry or anxiety, think of something that stresses you out infinitely more. You might open Pandora’s box dealing with the bigger thing, but at least you stop stressing about the original thing. I have been using AF for almost 20 years now, and I can tell you it is pretty damn effective. So here we go –
So, it has been 6,057 days since I last heard my father’s voice. It was the day after New Years. He had a habit of calling and if you didn’t pick up, he would leave you this long-winded voicemail message. Then, he would call your work number and leave the same message. Call your work cell. Same crazy long message. After a while, I wouldn’t even listen to the messages. Seeing the missed call was enough reason to just call him back. Such was the case the day after New Years in ’09. We talked about what we did or didn’t do to reign in the New Year, and then he said he was sorry to hear about my recent breakup. He told me I was going to be okay. I deflected and we talked about family in Chicago. Then, we ended up fighting up something so dumb I can’t even remember what it was about, but he got frustrated and hung up on me. Two days later he had a heart attack. The next day I booked a flight to be with him, but while I was packing, I got the call he died. Four days later, I was getting ready for his memorial mass and I saw the pending voicemail message he left the week before. He wished me happy new year and brought up the breakup. As I started to rolled my eyes, annoyed that this time, I wouldn’t be able to deflect the conversation, he said these words – I just want you to be happy.
For anyone that knew my dad, you knew that towards the latter end of his life, he didn’t really believe happiness was in the cards. He believe it was more attainable to aim towards being content. The fact that this was his last message to me is so trippy. Hopefully, he is not too disappointed, since I am still figuring out what happiness to me looks like. In any case, it reminded me of a line in this French song from my favorite Joseph Gordon Levitt movie, 500 Days of Summer, that goes “I’m told that time that slips away is a bastard, that our sorrows are made into coats”. That is how time feels at the moment. It is a heavy ass freaking coat, and I cannot wait for when it is time to lay it down and enjoy lighter days. For those that want to hear and see in the original language, I included the French lyrics and English translation. Serait-ce possible alors?
I’m told our lives aren’t worth much
On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand-chose
They pass away in an instant like roses fade
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses
I’m told that the time that slips away is a bastard
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
That our sorrows are made into coats
Que de nos chagrins, il s’en fait des manteaux
Yet someone told me that you still loved me
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
It was someone who told me that you still loved me
C’est quelqu’un qui m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
Would it be possible then?
Serait-ce possible alors?
They tell me that destiny doesn’t care about us
On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous
That he gives us nothing and promises us everything
Qu’il ne nous donne rien et qu’il nous promet tout
It seems that happiness is within reach
Paraît que le bonheur est à portée de main
So we reach out and find ourselves crazy
Alors, on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Yet someone told me that you still loved me
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
It was someone who told me that you still loved me
C’est quelqu’un qui m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
Would it be possible then?
Serait-ce possible alors?
Would it be possible then?
Serait-ce possible alors?
But who told me that you still loved me?
Mais qui est-ce qui m’a dit que toujours, tu m’aimais?
I don’t remember, it was late at night
Je ne me souviens plus, c’était tard dans la nuit
I still hear the voice, but I no longer see the features
J’entends encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits
He loves you, it’s secret, don’t tell him I told you
Il vous aime, c’est secret, lui dites pas que je vous l’ai dit
See, someone told me you still loved me
Tu vois, quelqu’un m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
Was someone really telling me that you still loved me
Me l’a-t-on vraiment dit que tu m’aimais encore
Would it be possible then?
Serait-ce possible alors?
I’m told our lives aren’t worth much
On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand-chose
They pass away in an instant like roses fade
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses
I’m told that the time that slips away is a bastard
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
That our sadnesses are made into coats
Que de nos tristesses, il s’en fait des manteaux
Yet someone told me that you still loved me
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
It was someone who told me that you still loved me
C’est quelqu’un qui m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore
Would it be possible then?
Serait-ce possible alors?
Why Try to Change Me Now – Fiona Apple
So, this is how my dysfunctional brain operates. A few weeks ago, I took the day off from work to go to the beach. I live 15-20 mins away, but I haven’t been there in 4 years? The plan was no kids, just me, sipping a cup of coffee, toes in the sand, movie scores blasting in my ear buds, finishing up a book or two, or coloring in my adult coloring book, because yes, I have one of those. This is how the day actually went. Somehow, I got sidetracked by work (I know I am one of those terrible people that can’t unplug). After putting out a few fires, I realized I should probably eat because I couldn’t remember if I ate dinner the night before. Made the perfect breakfast – egg whites, spinach, and cheddar with 4 slices of thinly cut spam and rice on the side. Then I decided to stop procrastinating and put the final touches on the coffee cup painting I had been working on for the past two weeks. With the morning slowly getting away from me, I finally got in my car, but decided the sticky film created by my nine- and four-year-old had reached defcon 2, so I made another slight detour to get my car washed/vacuumed. In retrospect, this would have been a pretty, terrible decision if I actually followed through, considering all the sand I would have trekked back from Bradley. Anyways, so I’m halfway to the carwash place, and see Bo.The.Tattoo.Guy’s parlor. I have passed his place for years since its on my way to my mother’s apartment, but about a month ago I called, had a nice chat with Bo, and started following him on IG. So I decided to go to the beach, instead I ended up getting a tattoo. Pretty successful day off.
I did none of the things I actually set out to do that day, but I did cross off something that has been on my bucket list for over 20 years. My mom threatened us back in college that we ever did, she would stop talking to us. There’s a funny story there about the time my sister tricked her with some fake henna tramp stamp she got in Mexico, but I will save that for another post when I find the picture I took of actual steam coming out of her ears. Turns out parents can be quite reasonable when they know you are going through a midlife crisis. This did, however, get me thinking about how over the years I have desperately wanted to change and be someone else. Someone lighter. Funnier. Prettier. Smarter…Someone definitely less scatterbrain. Turns out I had it all wrong. It is not about being someone different that was going to make me happy. It is about resolving to giving up on being someone different and instead being comfortable in one’s own skin. Choosing yourself and really knowing who you are.
“I’ve got some habits even I can’t explain. I go to the corner, I end up in Spain. Why try to change me now?” – Fiona Apple (Sorry Frank…Fiona’s version is so good)
Sympathy – Goo Goo Dolls
One of my favorite weeks of the year is going to this annual work conference hosted by the partner company I work with. They host it in a different city every July, so it ends up turning into a mini vacation for me. However, the first three conferences used to stress me out to a defcon 1 level, mostly because I am terrible remembering names AND faces. I KNOW. Not the kind of flaw you want to have when 80% of your job is relationship-driven. And so, there is always a handful of awkward interactions at these things, where I introduce myself and I am greeted with disappointing faces followed by the phrase that haunts me for weeks after, where they tell me, “Dianne, we have met three or four times before”. Doh. Anyways, so this year we were back in Boston and it’s towards the end of the second night, when I run into one of my favorite risk managers. He is warm, and unapologetically unique (I remembered his name after our first meeting). He introduced one of his coworkers along with her daughter, and I swear there must be something in the water in Oregon, because they are both just as warm and inviting as he is. They commented on my tattoo, and I noticed they were similarly adorned, and turns out they recently got matching ones. You could immediately tell how close they were. I smiled through the pain of that, hiding my jealousy. Elise has always been daddy’s little girl. My son, who used to be a mamma’s boy, is older now, and our dynamic has changed. His hugs are forced, and even though he says he loves me, these days, it is begrudgingly mumbled.
In any case, back to this woman – the next day, the actual conference started, and I am enjoying the session. Doug Flutie is talking about how short people overcome adversity, so I forgive the digs he makes towards New York teams. Shortly after, like any normal week, I get an urgent text from a broker to call, so I extricate. Turns out someone needs an urgent quote to go out, so there I am underwriting away, missing the guest speaker that apparently talked about the secret to happiness. Ironic, right? I must have had ten people come up to me later on that day who knows of my situation, telling me how good it was, and how they thought about me at some point wondering if anything resonated. Oh well, I think they gave us the person’s book, but it is in a bag of random swag we got that week that I have yet to unpack. Suddenly, the woman I met the previous night comes up to me. And yes, blame either the tiredness, the 4 days of alcohol, not enough food (unless you count the squares of Laderach chocolate I bought to snack away on and remember Zurich when coffee did not feel like enough), but I could not remember this woman’s name for the life of me. I apologized, and she graciously smiled. She talked about the secret to happiness speaker, which in turn morphed into this sweet conversation about daughters. Although they are close now, she explained how it was a long road. She reminded me that Elise was still young, but remarked that she was tough on her daughter in those early years to now, because she didn’t want her to grow up to be a princess. This struck a nerve. Elise wears her princess costume every chance she gets and it takes a lot of distraction to get her to change into normal clothes when I bring her to school. The woman explains it is because above all things she wanted her to grow up to be resilient. I told her mission accomplished she definitely seems that she is.
I am good with interacting with certain people on a one-on-one basis. I really love when I meet the right kind of people, that in a brief amount of time, you can have the kind of conversation that gets oddly deep and philosophical. I am introspective. I used to apologize for this, but as it turns out, I just may not have been interacting with the right kind of people. Maybe it is something about being older. I used to feel so sad when I could not connect with people, but now, I have realized that not everyone is worth my time and effort. Not everyone needs to see that part of me, so I save that effort for the people that are. I am not everyone’s cup of tea, so it is important to be more guarded, take my time, and get better at reading people.
The last day of the conference I walk into the first session. Hundreds of people, but I see the woman, and this time I DO remember her name. So we sit together and as we are chit chatting away, she remarks about how grateful she was for the week, to get away from home. Then she hits me with this bomb. It turns out her husband is dying, and already passed the doctor’s original timeframe expectations. She almost did not come, but she said felt God telling her that she and her daughter needed this temporary pause from the heaviness back home. I cried, but it was an emotional week, so those emotions were already pretty accessible. The session started, but I swear, who could concentrate on insurance at that point? I know everyone has got their crap to carry, but really its too much sometimes. It hurt even worse thinking about the previous night, about the warmth this family exuded. You would know have no idea that their world was falling apart. This woman was so worried about time they had left. So, I took one of the notepads in front of me and started scribbling away. It is not often, especially with my strained relationship with God, that I hear His voice, but I did or at least I think I did. I wrote this woman a letter that went something to the tune of this:
Dear __ ,
I know I am supposed to be paying attention to this speaker right now, but all I can think of is how sad I am that bad things always seem to happen to the nicest people. I am sitting here, praying for you, your husband and your daughter, and I hope you will forgive me, I just for some reason feel compelled to share this with you.
My dad died of a heart attack when I was 27, so around the same age as your daughter. There was very little warning and I was mad at God for a long time. My dad and I – we didn’t have enough time. He was probably the first, maybe only, man that truly loved me unconditionally, but he passed before I had my kids, and I just think something happens when you become a parent that brings the kind of clarity that really brings into focus all the decisions your parents made that as a child you resented, but it was just them trying they best they could without any kind of instruction manual.
I share this with you because it may not seem like it at this moment, but God has given you a gift, something I wish everyday He gave me. He is giving you the gift of time. Time to still make new memories, to say the things people agonize for years wishing they said, time to laugh, cry and everything in between. Time to still show that while life may fade, love endures.
I am glad that we met this week, and you made the decision to come here, as you stated you recognized that you needed to put on your oxygen mask before reaching out to help others. I will keep praying for your husband, for you and your daughter. Be well. -Dianne
Be kind to people. You never know what they are carrying.
This weekend I went to see Goo Goo Dolls, and he shared why he wrote this song, saying it’s about something we all need, but we should never ever have to ask for. This song is called Sympathy.
“It’s hard to lead the life you choose (All I wanted),
When all your luck’s run out on you (All I wanted)
You can’t see when all your dreams are coming true”
Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional
It is strange to look back at your life and find the things you neglected over the years that gave you peace. Don’t get me wrong. The last 15 years I accomplished a lot. I had two wonderful children, and they are my favorite people on the planet. I traveled and crossed a couple of new countries off my scratch-off map. I had three surgeries. Oh, and after spending ten years working in a place where I just felt like a cog in a massive corporate wheel, I made the move to another company where we built something from scratch. Pulled together a team comprised of people whose company I truly enjoy, both inside and outside of work. We built a book out of essentially nothing, supporting each other as we crawled through the perpetual trenches of an ever-changing underwriting world. They are all weird but loveable and super driven, teaching me the kind of manager and the kind of leader I want to be. However, somewhere in the middle of all that, pouring all my energy into taking care of all of the people in my life, I lost sight of something. I lost sight of me. Everything became about how I could make other people happy. I thought it was just normal anxiety, but over time something in me snapped, and everything just started to hurt. I would cry on my days off when I was alone in the house, wondering what was wrong with me and why I was starting to dream of a life that looked very different than the one I built – one that any other person would feel lucky and happy to have. I had to remind myself to breathe, but even that felt heavy and strained, when in reality, it should feel like the most effortless thing.
The last year has been a journey rediscovering the things in my life that made me feel happy versus what made other people happy. I started reading again, watching movies, and even started practicing my guitar and ukulele every day (even on random occasions the piano) again. I went back to school and I am halfway to getting my MBA with a concentration in Energy and Sustainability Studies. I finally got a tattoo. I even started journaling again. The particular journal I have been writing in has certain themes with daily questions. Last week on the plane ride out to a work trip to Boston, instead of flipping to the next sequential page, I let fate decide what it wanted me to focus on and opened to a random page. The prompted question was this – What is giving you energy recently? Here is what I wrote:
I have been afraid of so many different things in this life, but nothing scares me more than making mistakes. Plagued by this constant fear of failure, I built a life centered on perfection, only to have my worst fear come true. I failed…as a wife and as mother who once promised in a letter that I wrote to my unborn kids 13 years ago, that I would build a life for them that would not mimic the broken home of my own childhood.
I have spent a year grieving that failure. What is giving me energy now is that the kids and their father, at this point, are NOT irreparably broken. While I am still seeking redemption and navigating what feels will be a lifetime of guilt from having fucked up their lives, today, the future feels less scary. Dare I say, there is a slight glimmer of hope that while there are so many mistakes that I can still make or that I am currently making, the future pains that follow those mistakes will certainly pale in comparison to having already failed at the biggest thing I ever wanted from this life.
Also, when I really look back I don’t really feel like I failed completely as a mom. Is this the life that I wanted for them? Not even close. But the greater tragedy would have been to stay, and teach them all the wrong things about love. Christopher and Elise – you are all I have ever wanted, and all I ever truly needed in this life. If I put you and your happiness first, life will always be good, and I will be the mom I always wanted to be. I know that I do not deserve your love, and you will have so many questions later in life that I won’t ever have all the answers for, but I hope one day you will understand how much more present and healthy I want to be for you. You deserve more than a mom that puts on a fake smile, and cries behind closed doors when you are not looking. I hope you will understand like I did when I was a child and saw my dad cry, that your happiness cannot be fully complete, unless your parents are happy too.
Oh, so the other thing I rediscovered is how much I love music. This blog has been quiet, because the music, the soundtrack of my life, suddenly stopped. Like a needle stuck on a record and there was just ambient noise. This is me resetting. I have always loved live music. Last week, I was lucky enough to be able to schmooze my way into scoring free tickets to 3rd row center seats at PNC to see two bands I truly love – Dashboard Confessional and the Goo Goo Dolls. The soundtrack of my life started again.
Can I just say that 1) Chris Carrabba has aged quite nicely, 2) both him and John Rzeznik, after 26 and 40 years, respectively, still have the ability to captivate an audience and 3) we’re all hella old.
“I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well. I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.” – Dashboard Confessional, Vindicated
If My Life Had a Soundtrack 