The Material World

I used to think that romance and romantic melancholy were bourgeois luxuries.  Partially, I still do.  But as I get older, the simpler pop songs feel more and more resonant, and as I walk around the city, I look at everyone, in awe that people can step out of their apartments and get on with their lives, what with all the LOVE and everything, and how painful it usually is. 

Then again, some people cannot, in fact, get on with their lives.  For whatever reason.  But no matter what it is (addiction, depression…), it usually comes down to love, and some lack of it, or some mismanagement of it.  Some befuddlement in the face of it.  What’s that line from “Song of Solomon”?  (Gimme hate, Lord. I’ll take hate any day. But don’t give me love. I can’t take no more love, Lord. I can’t carry it.)  That’s what I’m thinking as I listen to this increasingly-ubiquitous mash-up of Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” and Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know.” 

So many of my friends are trying so, so hard to live right now.  And when people like Whitney Houston - people who literally could not contain the power they were given - die, it reminds me of, I dunno - the stakes.  And I know this is obvious or whatever, but sappy pop music, at its best, reminds us that we are all in pain, and that being in pain is UTTERLY RIDICULOUS.  We dance because we’re all feeling the same thing.

P.S.: I’m actually totally fine, this song is just taking me someplace.