I want the 12 experiments and by extension, this blog about them, to be lighthearted and fun. That being said, a post about my relationship with music would be incomplete without mentioning that from which my musical inspiration often springs. One simply cannot describe lightness without mentioning darkness. Please, bear with me.
French philosopher Albert Camus wrote, “There is only one really serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Deciding whether or not life is worth living is to answer the fundamental question in philosophy. All other questions follow from that” (The Myth of Sisyphus, 3). I’ve reflected on Camus’ words recently because in the last six months I’ve lost two former classmates to suicide. And in thinking about depression and suicide, I’m reminded of my own struggle with depression a few years ago, and the experience of “choosing life,” to use Camus’ words. Part of my choosing life involved writing the songs that comprise my upcoming album, Comets and Other Drifting Bodies. I’d like to talk a little about that experience in case it’s helpful for anyone who may find themselves in a similar situation.
I’ve always considered life a gift (thank you Mom). In 2014, a series of events came one after another and before I knew it, I felt the bottom crumble out from under me and found myself in a months-long free fall. I lost all mooring and orientation. The more I struggled to regain my composure, the more I felt lost, isolated, and terrified. Suddenly, everything was difficult. Basic tasks like eating, bathing, and leaving my apartment required great, sometimes insurmountable effort. I am so thankful that even in my lowest moments, I did not want to die. But I no longer knew how to live.
As I fumbled around in the abyss in search of something to hold on to - anything that would give me a sense of orientation - I found an old friend that has always brought me comfort and joy: music. Alone in my apartment, I sang what I thought and felt using lyrics and melodies either borrowed or of my own creation. I trilled and chanted and screamed anger and guilt and despair. I belted with all of the life force I could muster and in doing so, I peopled my solitude. I found a way to tap into that morsel of my self that is not only my self—that which in the light I identify in all beings and things, the essence that webs the universe together.
And just as mysteriously as my depression had arrived, it eventually subsided. Music played a large role. The rest I owe to some combination of friends, family, therapy, and incremental small wins. And from that painful place, the songs that I wrote went on to become a full length album, that has morphed and evolved over time and only just recently came to completion. It has been a difficult thing to release. Release, verb, to allow or enable to escape from confinement or servitude. My hope is that these paltry few minutes of music which once meant life to me will offer something to those who hear it.While I am afraid of being misunderstood, or worse ignored, I cannot let fear call the shots and choose for me. So, with much love and gratitude, here is my latest single, Losing Touch.