A white van bus. I remember us sitting on a floor rather than seats, am I wrong? Probably, it’s more years past than I care to think about. I remember feeling close to the earth, the road, but probably we sat on seats, bad, uncomfortable seats, but seats nonetheless. Returning from a volleyball loss. I didn’t know what I thought of volleyball. I wasn’t good, except for serving. I was an exceptional server, pounding the ball hard over the net with the heel of my hand utilizing all of the skill and upper arm strength that made me a good softball pitcher and tennis player. I could be a formidable server. But digging balls, setting, I stunk. Yes, now I realize: I hated volleyball. Loathed it as much as it loathed me. 1000%.
The song played: Dreams, Fleetwood Mac. My friend, Sue, bright blues eyes flashing, said she despised the song. “The singer’s off-tune.” I didn’t say anything. I loved the song. I felt the song, viscerally, deep inside my soul for a reason I couldn’t identify because I didn’t identify with any of the lyrics. But something else. The sound? The music? These I heard. The song resonated on a mysterious level. Thunder? Yes. Yes. Why? How do we ever know why we completely feel a song?
All the years that have passed, I think of that moment when I hear the song. Stevie wasn’t off-tune, but sometimes we do hear what isn’t there. We think we hear someone off-tune. We hear something different from someone else. And sometimes that means everything.
Sometimes something new is good. Sometimes not. It’s all perception.
We all have our own perception of songs, events, people. Good or not. Hopefully more better than worse. Better is always, well, better, and better for you. #memories