I am reaching that age where I have begun to cling to a decade of music that is reminiscent of my youth.
I have to, because if I hear Rihanna or Katy Perry one more time, I may impale myself on my car’s stubby satellite radio antenna. Seriously.
What’s even scarier is that I now believe, in my retro ‘80s alternative bliss, that David Byrne, of the Talking Heads, has been talking directly to me through the radio. That’s right. The Talking Heads are in my head for real.
Before we go any further, if you don’t know who the Talking Heads are, stop reading this immediately. There is no point. You’ve probably never recorded music off an AM radio by holding a tape recorder next to the speaker and thus, you can’t appreciate a time when bands didn’t require choreographed back up dancers to be cool. Run, don’t walk, to YouTube and do your homework now.
If you were cool enough to have owned a Walkman, you will appreciate the words to Once in a lifetime, a Talking Heads hit. I used to sing along, thinking how hilarious it was for someone to basically wake up in the middle of their life and wonder how they got there. Who does that?
Apparently, I do. I was thinking about Thanksgiving and how it would be an epic failure because my schedule doesn’t permit a proper feast, while listening to my ‘80s station. Somewhere between Fergus and Hillsburgh, en route to a hockey arena I realized Byrne was trying to tell me something. “You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?” His words were for me.
Byrne is trying to tell me something – other than stating the obvious fact that I am a hockey mom having a meltdown, nearly late for the game because I got caught up in laundry and toilet bowls and almost forgot to flip the crockpot on, and wondering if Junior’s jock was washed.
This is not my glamorous life. This is not my beautiful husband. This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful car. I am driving into the blue, after the money is gone (hello overdraft). Am I right or am I wrong? The days are going by and there is water all around. Oh my goodness, what have I done?
I panicked, wondering if anyone else in the car realized David Byrne was talking to me, but the iPod generation were subdued with some crap pop music remakes and video games. They didn’t even realize that Mommy was having a hormonal overload brought on by the sudden realization that absolutely nothing in her life has gone, or is going, according to plan. I am trapped in someone else’s life and I just woke up in a hatchback. How did I get here?
Then I hear the message: Time isn’t after us. Time isn’t holding us. Time doesn’t hold you back. Let the days go by, into the silent water, under the rocks and stones, into the blue again.
I chose this life. Let the water hold me down. It’s the same as it ever was; a crazy, unpredictable ride and it is all good. Same as it ever was. Just breathe. This Thanksgiving, I hope you wake up grateful and satisfied that you are exactly where you should be. Well, unless you are the turkey.