When confronted with the quest to find a defining song for this website, I turned to the children in my life – their answers will be forthcoming in the next few months, but it seemed unfair to task them with such a daunting challenge when they’ve only known me for the short duration of their lives thus far. How dare I ask someone else when I haven’t narrowed it down myself? And so let’s begin a little collection of songs that I would put on a mix tape if I’d met you when we were both teenagers in love. Up first, ‘Grace Kelly’. Ca-ching!
Do I attract you? Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?Am I too dirty, am I too flirty? Do I like what you like?I could be wholesome, I could be loathsome, I guess I’m a little bit shyWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me, without making me try?
I tried to be like Grace KellyBut all her looks were too sad,So I tried a little Freddie,I’ve gone identity mad!
After knocking about this planet for forty-seven-and-counting years, I’ve got bruises and black-and-blue memories and tales of thrashing my brain and body against all sorts of odds and ends. At this point, perhaps a turning point, or a midway point, or a point of contention, I’m more willing to be unwilling to change for anyone or anything. The grace of Ms. Kelly and the brazen boldness of Mr. Freddie were never for me, despite my early Norma-mantra of ‘I can play any role!’ Wishful thinking, powerful enough for the younger years when one could coast on a wish and a prayer and the sheer will to make it so. One person’s confidence is another’s delusion.
I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet skyI could be hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you likeGotta be green, gotta be mean, gotta be everything moreWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me?Why don’t you walk out the door?
Getting angry doesn’t solve anything…
So I became smarter. And harder. And cared even less. And I got a few more guys, and some stayed longer than others. And still I knew it wasn’t me. I couldn’t tell you what was me – I couldn’t even tell myself that then. I simply didn’t know, even if I was sure I did, and the blind-faith of youth was more blind than faithful. Left with gaping holes I covered with velvet and chiffon, in the manner of Grace Kelly herself, I hung the rusty sharpness of all my crooked nails and wonky screws with fancy duds and witty theatrics. Hiding in all the fantasy of black and white dramas, thinking I could outsmart the world and trap any bachelor with a penchant for other bachelors – I put myself above all others as a gambit, knowing full well there was nothing behind it. When there is nothing behind your image, you can be anything and everything – and it still amounts to nothing.
How can I help it, how can I help it? How can I help what you think?Hello my baby, hello my baby, putting my life on my brinkWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me? Why don’t you like yourself?Should I bend over, should I look older, just to be put on your shelf?
I tried to be like Grace Kelly,But all her looks were too sad, So I tried a little Freddie,I’ve gone identity mad!
The first whispers of humility, of acknowledging my failures and imperfections, sounded in the distance, but I didn’t heed them. Certain that I could be what everyone else wanted, if they would simply tell me what they wanted, I made a vow to mold myself into someone desirable. Shedding styles and modes from season to season, every new person was a chance to become someone new myself, and every time I gave something up, I moved further from who I was.
I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet skyI could be hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you likeGotta be green, gotta be mean, gotta be everything moreWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me?Walk out the door!
Let’s have an orchestral moment – for pomp and circumstance and the bombast of youth. We are so sure of ourselves for such a very short time. Only the very foolish keep their delusions. The very foolish… and maybe the very happy.
Say what you want to satisfy yourself, heyBut you only want what everybody else says you should wantYou want
A moment of mourning, then, for that foolishness. For that innocence. For that young man who knocked himself about like we all do in our early twenties. Because once I knew a little more about life, and loss, I wanted to be a little better. Slowly, the awakening began, and every day I felt a little more awake, a little more like myself. Understanding that, and seeing for maybe the first time that every day would not bring more knowledge, but more questions, began informing the way I lived. It wasn’t the answers I needed to find, it was the acceptance of all that I couldn’t and wouldn’t come to know.
There would be days when I would get ahead of myself, when the hubris of history and all the beautiful barriers I’d erected for decades would get the better of my decent intentions and send me hurtling back to a place of cruelty and fear and smallness. And then there would be days when I made all the right decisions, when the world smiled back if I ventured to smile first, when I met someone magical like Andy who taught me things and allowed me to teach him things too.
I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet skyI could be hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you likeGotta be green, gotta be mean, gotta be everything moreWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me?Walk out the door!
Is there such a thing as a happy ending? I don’t know. The older I get, the more we seem to lose. Beauty. Youth. Health. People we love. The closer we approach our own ending, the less happy life seems to get. I think it may have to be enough to find a tiny bit of happiness for which to be grateful at the end of every day – whether that’s in a stubborn patch of snow that finally melted, a violet that throws off an unexpected bloom, or a cookie that a co-worker brings you. If we find our happiness in the simple and grand glory of living out an average day, then that may be our happy ending.
Well… this was not what I intended to write when I chose this song, but some songs guide you differently as you write things out. This was going to be as colorful and brash as the explosion behind me in the accompanying pictures. It was meant to echo the driving defiance of ‘Grace Kelly’ and Mika’s impassioned delivery. Instead it stands in stark contrast to that, a monument to my failures and mistakes, an ode to imperfection and everything wrong, and a reminder to embrace it, make it better, and then let it go.
I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet skyI could be hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you likeGotta be green, gotta be mean, gotta be everything moreWhy don’t you like me, why don’t you like me?Walk out the door!
