somewhere between champagne and backpacks

I like to make movies in my head.  I also like to sound insane by admitting really strange things and blabbing them somewhat incoherently on a blog that I have managed to trick countless readers into following.  Yeah, so, movies... I like to close my eyes while lying in bed and listening to the sounds of the city and imagine myself in places halfway round the world.  I imagine myself, for example, in Dubai, running my fingers along the sleek glass of the Burj Al Arab Hotel as it glitters under the UAE sun.  I begin to feel the hot sand seep into my sandals as I wander the beaches and take in the slight, compassionate breeze.  I listen for the Arabic, Malayalam, and Urdu words that float through the air and into my ears like foreign lullabies that sing to sleep my worries of the unknown.  I breathe in the smells of nearby shishas being shared by friends and colleagues, smells of grape, peach, and apple call me to come inhale and taste their sweet smoke.  Shawarmas, ghuzi, hoummus, and lamb cause me time and time again to overeat, as the taste is too compelling to not have just one more... 

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. –Martin Buber

I see myself walking around markets and trying new foods, sharing experiences with new friends, and writing home to old ones.  Then, I remember where I am at that moment.  Whether I am lying in bed, riding the bus to work, walking through a park, or sipping wine on a patio... I am in Quito, Ecuador.  Six months ago, I was making movies in my sweet little hometown of Corona, California and dreaming about things I didn't even know that I would miss one day.  I dreamt of salsa dancing with Latin men, eating succulent chicken and steamy rice dishes, learning to speak Spanish, drinking ice cold beers in tiendas, and being surrounded by the bohemian spirit.  

I must constantly remind myself to be grateful for what I have, as I am not only currently living my dream but living another soul's dream, by chance, and how dare I take that for granted.  However, this fact will not keep me from dreaming, but will keep me grounded.  I find, once again, my life is a balancing act.  I refuse to let anyone tell me (or anyone else) what balance should be stricken, but I will concede that there need be one.  Some people are unable to live in the now and bury their heads in the sands of the future, finding themselves, one day, middle aged and no better off than they thought.  Some individuals refuse to look at any day but the one they reside in, giving no thought to what lies ahead.  I see merit in both of these approaches, but cannot help but dance slowly around both until we all are swaying together.  The dichotomy that both defines and frees me is what keeps me with my heart, mind, and eyes open.

I just celebrated my four month anniversary here in South America and have had a few revelations while lying on the grass watching the clouds move or cooking eggs and vegetables while listening to the rain fall... I have a gypsy spirit. I am always looking for an inexpensive plane ticket or some special on a boat or train that can deliver my spirit somewhere new and enriching.  I have lost almost all attachment to the things I have left behind in my parents' home and find myself missing people (and food) above all other worldly things. My gypsy spirit beckons to me on the regular, though I cannot honestly say that I always understand what it is she wants from me... However, I try and nourish her as often as I can.  The question has now become, "What nourishes my gypsy spirit?"

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.  -Marcel Proust

I find that when a backpack is strapped to my back and the ground moves at my discretion beneath my feet, that is when I am the most free.  I find myself dancing on the inside.  I live for the feeling of the unknown, the rush from adventure, and the newly sharpened perspective of a place or culture.  I love the independence of the road, the freedom of the sky, and the defiance of the sea.  I know what I take with me is all I need, the music that I find along the way will guide me as a soundtrack, and wherever I land there will be someone to share a cold beer and a story with. 

There is a small part of me that misses some of the comforts and, dare I say, luxuries... I am a sucker for a cold bottle of champagne and a hot bubble bath.  I don't care if it borders on a cliche from a Julia Roberts movie; I will surround myself with candles and soak in bath salts until I am drunk and pruned.  What is it about champagne and all that is associated with it that plucks at my heart strings?  I am not accustomed to luxuries, so it cannot be that I am spoiled or entitled... Is it security?  Perhaps.  The last 10 years have been more inconsistent than stable, by far, and the concept of stability is a folly, at this point.   

I have found that I now crave change more than ever, which contradicts my initial beliefs of stability being the answer to my pseudo-problems.  After just a few months in Ecuador, I was searching for mini-vacations to satiate my lust for travel and going to different bars and restaurants in an effort to diversify my days.  Instead of getting to know new friends over coffee, I prefer to take day trips with them or try something new and crazy.

I went to Colombia for Carnaval this passed February and stayed in a sweet little hostel a few minutes walk from Old Town. The freedom I felt as I rocked in an old, wooden rocking chair with my bare feet on the mosaic tile floor of the community courtyard was liberating. I am so fortunate to be sipping fresh Colombian coffee on the Caribbean coast, exploring one of the most misunderstood countries
In the world, and living, not only my dream, but countless others' as well. The beds were mediocre, but acceptable, the family running the hostel rarely wore shoes, and there was no hot running water. Why on earth was this heavenly to me? Where were the big, white fluffy bathrobes? Where was the huge jacuzzi tub? Where was the massive, luxurious bed? Why was I not missing any of those things?

These questions are not limited to this experience, nor my travels. I have little preoccupation with marriage and zero concern about my biological clock ticking. According to society, that makes me a gypsy and a weirdo... I'll take both with a smile. Though I truly miss my dryer, I have grown accustomed to hanging my laundry to dry. I feel as though my newly adopted lifestyle has altered my perception of what is normal and what is a luxury. A few years back, normal was having a fridge full of food, having a bathtub, and being able to flush toilet paper. All of those are now luxuries. I count change now, saving every coin I find, knowing it could add up to a bus fare or an almuerzo, whereas I used to give all my change to the neighborhood kids or into the family's communal beer bottle bank. I've not become money-hungry by any means, but I am definitely more careful than ever with my spending.

So, I've fallen in love with my backpack. I've traded my dreams of grey walls and throw pillows for dreams of conversations in a foreign language and stamps in my passport. What of my champagne? I am still a classy broad in need of romance (of my own, personal definition) and a a human being in need of comfort. Can I love both my backpack and my champagne? Must I choose? I believe that it can be both... I can stand on the top of a mountain, backpack in tow, and sip my champagne with sweet satisfaction. I have spent the majority of my adult life bending over backwards for people in my life, sacrificing career and self, it's my turn to find the balance I desire: I want champagne and a backpack.

My life is befitting of dichotomy. I work hard and I love harder. Dressing up and going out for a night on the town is as enticing as watching movies in bed while eating pizza. I find contradictions within my dichotomy... I feel at home in cities I've never been before. I find some of my best friends are people whom I spend a few hours speaking to while lying in a park. My favorite things to write about are experiences that leave me without words. Perhaps, my home lies somewhere between champagne and a backpack.

xx.a

musical hearts

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

-Aldous Huxley

My bare feet on the hardwood floors of my room here in Quito slowly exchange places as I wander between my four walls, cup of freshly brewed coffee warming my hands and my hair falling over my shoulders as I collect discarded pieces of days passed.  Rain drops hit my window and cause the plants outside to dance to the melody made by the collaboration with the glass.  Adele pours from the speakers of the laptop on my bed and seems to roll across my alpaca blanket and float off the edges and dance around me.  My jeans scrape the floor as I step to the window and listen to Adele mix with the sounds of the rain on the pavement and I return to my bed and close my eyes to allow Adele's sultry voice to take me to a peaceful, yet passionate, place... A place I am sure I could not have reached without her.  A place where I do not believe I could have reached with Snoop Dog or Thrice, though, admittedly, I am a fan of both.  

We have all been in a place where the music sets the tone of the moment: getting ready with the girls for a night out calls for Pink's "Raise Your Glass" and driving down Pacific Coast Highway with the windows down and the sun kissing your skin calls for "Drive" by Incubus.  The more I travel, the more types of music I am exposed to, and the more I find myself connecting memories with a soundtrack. The emotion we associate with songs can define a moment (a la romantic comedies) or create within us an undeniable alegra. 

I wanted to explore what it is about a song- or music in general- that moves us to move mountains for a chorus or dive the depths of the sea for a hook.  I figured, where better to find the source of the emotion of the song than the songwriter? 

I wrote to my good friend, Paul Stark, in Dallas, Texas in hopes of grasping an understanding of such an intangible gift.  I asked him to shine some light on my newest blog subject, and to no surprise, he did just that.  The songwriter wrote: 

"I used to sit and look at pages of lyrics and have no 

idea how to bring them together, then I would put together 

a song and hate it. I didn't like my own songs, even 

though everyone around me requested to hear them, 

they all seemed to have more of a connection to them than i did. 

 That's when I started writing songs for myself and no one else. 

When i started doing that, true emotion started coming through 

because it was what I was feeling at the time... 

it was very real to me. 

When a song has true emotion, the listener can 

feel it and THAT is when they make an emotional 

connection to the song. Then, things started to flow... 

I realized why so many song writers write so vaguely-- 

because even though they know exactly how 

the song translates to for them, and what it means, 

it can translate into something completely different for someone else. 

That's the cool thing about music: it is interpreted. 

No one hears it through the same ears. 

So, to answer your question, 

"What do you hope your music does for people?"... 

I hope it does exactly what they want it to."

I inquired about Paul's latest release, "Jump", as a follow up to his first original, "Avalanche", it had big shoes to fill.  Paul told me the song is about himself and a girl, and the only thing holding them back from something that could be really great was the fear that she would get hurt like she had been in the past. The song was his effort to get her to "jump", to take a risk on him, as well as on them...

"...she felt it

...I felt it

...so jump."

I loved the message of "Jump" so much that I found my attraction to this song growing and growing with every repeat on YouTube.  "Avalanche", on the other hand, though I loved the strong lyrics, the guitar is what caused me to fall in love with the song.  His clean playing style and soulful melodies had me hooked.  Like any good musician, Paul has all of his social networking ducks in a row.  Paul Stark Music on facebook, his YouTube channel has a few of his songs (with more to come) and his Twitter account is building quickly... Please take some time to have a listen and enjoy.  Your ears, and most likely your heart, will thank you.

Without music, life would be a mistake.
-Friedrich Nietzsche

I also wrote to my father, a longtime musician and songwriter, who I owe my appreciation of music to almost wholly.  I asked him what kept him in love with music after 50 years of loving, fighting, breaking up, reuniting, and creating beautiful miracles together.  My father has continuously surprised me over the last 20 something years, and I believe that I inherited a lot of that from him.  The response I received not only helped me understand him even more than I believed I already did, but helped me realize why I do what I do when it comes to music.  I connect.  I live and die through some songs.  I can hear "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional and think back to my senior year in high school, when I was dating a junior in college, and remember the emotions that were associated with our dating and our break-up.  I can hear "Hero" by Mariah Carey and remember rewinding the cassette tape (shut up) two or three (ok, twenty three) times over and singing on the top of my lungs as I imagined myself on stage in front of thousands of people. 

"As I started playing guitar, I found a new level in enjoying music. 

I thought everybody had songs going in their heads 

all the time like I did. Not true, I found.  

I also found some had others tunes going, 

but not new, unheard music like I did. 

When I started playing in bands, I didn't pay much attention 

to "cover" songs. We did a few, but we did play 

songs that I or we wrote. 

The world had changed for me, again."

My father started teaching me to play guitar at the ripe old age of 16.  He broke down chords for me, simplified power chords (hey, my hands aren't as big as his) so I could play more songs, and helped me break down the strumming patterns of my favorite songs. I began hearing music differently, as well.  I heard strumming patterns, bass lines, drums that swayed my emotions... I realized it wasn't just a singular thing that determined how I reacted to a song: It was a collaboration beyond words. 

I detest Coldplay.  There.  I said it.  I understand if you want to stop reading and call me a communist in the comment section, so be it.  However, before you line me up in front of the firing squad, know that one of my absolute favorite songs is "Fix You" by the very band I cannot stomach.  One day, I was on this thing called "YouTube" (it should make it big one day...) and I discovered a cover by a group called "Boyce Avenue".  After listening to their cover of "Fix You" I found my eyes closed, tears streaming down my face, my hand on my heart, and my body involuntarily swaying to the sweet and simple sounds emanating from the speakers.  Whoa.  I mean, I love this song, but, really?  The arrangement wasn't too different, but I found their version touched me differently than the somewhat over-produced original. I started seeking out more covers to see if it was just this one song, just Boyce Avenue, or if there was a massive abundance of covers that were going to rip my heart away from my allegiance to the originals.  Turns out, there is a solid mixture of both.  I believe that everyone is affected differently by each song.  Personally, I am a sucker for a prominent guitar any day.  My good friend here in Ecuador, Juan David, is a drummer and will pick a song with solid drumming over everything else, without fail, regardless of lyrics or overall sound.

"Making music with friends is as good as sex. When a band is clicking together, it's almost telepathic. You glance at the drummer and lock eyes and the punches or changes are tighter, more together and sometimes happen spontaneously. All the band starts to feel it and the harmonies get tighter, everybody is smiling and you feel safe and supported by the band. You take a solo, knowing that they won't fall apart without you. You get to soar, feel the notes flying off your finger tips. You play things you didn't know you could do 2 minutes ago and feel 10 feet tall. Time ceases to exist as all you are is a guitar and a song. U2 said it as they recorded All Along The Watchtower. "All I have is this guitar, 3 chords and the truth". And, like a teenager that discovered sex, you can't wait to do that again."

My father's words.  This may be the very reason why we become addicted to music and find ourselves in a pseudo-relationship with songs.  If musicians pour themselves into these songs as my father described; no wonder the emotions bind us to their verses! Regardless of where your musical interests lie, it is undeniable that music is innately a part of us and is a massive part of our lives.  Every movie, every major event in our lives, and every relationship has music... And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

  

A painter paints pictures on canvas.  But musicians paint their pictures on silence.  

-Leopold Stokowski

xx.a