Yesterday, it was “Learning to Fly” by Tom Petty. Because, every day I’m learning to fly. Sometimes I fall flat on my face, but I get up and keep going.
Spent years flying for someone else
Now, I’m flying, only for myself
If my fanciful flights fizzle and burn
Imagine all the things I’ve learned
Where I’m bound, I don’t know where
There’s no rush, I’ll wait till I’m there
Poignant lyrics stick in my head. I’m sixty-four, and days of popular music having a “good beat and being easy to dance to” are long past. My workshop radio is tuned to an “adult contemporary” local station. It takes something outstanding to catch my attention, to the point that it sticks with me. Sometimes my earworms morph into obsessions–demanding expression. I have to find music for said earworm, sing, play air or real guitar. For me, earworms aren’t always a bad thing. Today, I was captivated by “She Talks to Angels” by the Black Crowes. The lyrics obviously described someone on the downward spiral of addiction. A while back it was “I Believe in Love” by Don Williams. Where and when it happens, there’s no rhyme or reason. I’ve stopped and parked my car to savor music and lyrics. It could even be background music from a TV commercial; “Midnight Rider” by the Allman Brothers is currently playing on the jukebox between my ears.