Hey creativity, welcome back.
It's been a while.
Let's [play] catch up.
Let's [play] catch up.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Unification
I realize that there is a significant force within this strange world of a place we call home. I have come to terms with the fact that there is something beyond explanation that can transpire feelings and thoughts and things we can't begin to fathom. There is something that brings us together, combines us, unifies us as one mass of struggling, beautifully broken people.
I used to think it was the combination of passion and pain, where people finally realize (consciously or not) that everyone has something searing their insides. I thought maybe there was a point where everyone's heart came together and with the help of the weather or surrounding area's environment, people felt connected. I felt it a few times in the music. Was it the fact that there were hundreds of people singing the same lyrics with the singer they loved in an over crowded room? Was it that there was a common interest, common excitement, that brought otherwise opposite people together? Allow me to use a specific example.
On November 27th, I went to a concert at the House of Blues in Anaheim, California. My cousin and I arrived four hours early to ensure the closest spots on the floor in front of the stage where Switchfoot would be playing. While we were in line, a second line formed with people proudly displaying their "Friends of the Foot" badges. They, because of their $52/month subscription, were able to get into the show hours before anyone else to watch the soundcheck and meet the band. The line stretched far beyond the fountain with what seemed to be hundreds of twenty-something, TOMS wearing, dedicated fans. I watched them as it felt to me that we were all competing to love Switchfoot the most. I obviously lost as I was in the I-ate-at-the-restaurant-but-didn't-pay-to-get-in-that-early line (I'll admit to being slightly jealous). Everyone was anxious, excited, overjoyed that today was the day they'd been waiting for. It felt disconnected, everyone with their separate lives and separate problems.
However, when the show started, something drastically changed. It wasn't the fact that Switchfoot played better than normal. They were constant and expected to always put on a good show no matter the date or season. Something changed that night. Somehow, thousands of people crowded into a tiny venue, literally squished up against each other as a can of something, and came together to be united in something they couldn't explain.
Personally, I felt some sort of healing, awakening, and by no means am I saying that Jon Foreman and the rest of the band healed me. Heavens no. My life before that was continuing to unravel. I was literally falling apart emotionally and almost couldn't bear to move anymore. (Little did I know, my future boyfriend and love of my life would be sitting in a show I was absent from, the only show out of thirty-something, as my life cracked to pieces in Orange County. Just a side-note and an interesting one at that). But I found that night that I had more passions than I had experienced before. It literally felt as though I had been through a war where I fought between wanting to run up on stage and curling in a ball in the corner of my bedroom.
I recently heard that when taking a brain scan of someone listening to or being an active part of music, the entire brain lights up. It's phenomenal seeing as different parts of our brain are designed for general motives-- emotional, logical, and the like. There is something amazing, something powerful about music. It has a unique ability to relate with every single man being on this planet. Is that not beautiful? When the music and lyrics of 'Yet' danced through my lit-up brain singing, "If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love", I felt passion and pain boil up through the tips of my toes to the the brim of my wildly untamed hair. The entire room was singing. I mean all of it. No, the House of Blues isn't very large at all, but there we were, singing. We sang at the top of our lungs and there was something bizarre in that room.
Some people might call it the Holy Spirit and I'm not sure where I stand on that at this particular moment. Could it be that it was just an incredible moment where we stepped away from our lives and truly felt, fell, and found the music we knew and loved with one another? Could we have just shared an incredible time together? I'm not entirely sure what happened that night or if I'm the only one that still thinks about it. Maybe I'm just an emotional girl that holds onto dreams and passions far beyond that they're worth. I don't know because I don't have enough answers.
I do know that my feelings are valid and that night I felt something beyond this place. Whether it was God or something divine, I'll never know.
I know this: it was what I needed.
I used to think it was the combination of passion and pain, where people finally realize (consciously or not) that everyone has something searing their insides. I thought maybe there was a point where everyone's heart came together and with the help of the weather or surrounding area's environment, people felt connected. I felt it a few times in the music. Was it the fact that there were hundreds of people singing the same lyrics with the singer they loved in an over crowded room? Was it that there was a common interest, common excitement, that brought otherwise opposite people together? Allow me to use a specific example.
On November 27th, I went to a concert at the House of Blues in Anaheim, California. My cousin and I arrived four hours early to ensure the closest spots on the floor in front of the stage where Switchfoot would be playing. While we were in line, a second line formed with people proudly displaying their "Friends of the Foot" badges. They, because of their $52/month subscription, were able to get into the show hours before anyone else to watch the soundcheck and meet the band. The line stretched far beyond the fountain with what seemed to be hundreds of twenty-something, TOMS wearing, dedicated fans. I watched them as it felt to me that we were all competing to love Switchfoot the most. I obviously lost as I was in the I-ate-at-the-restaurant-but-didn't-pay-to-get-in-that-early line (I'll admit to being slightly jealous). Everyone was anxious, excited, overjoyed that today was the day they'd been waiting for. It felt disconnected, everyone with their separate lives and separate problems.
However, when the show started, something drastically changed. It wasn't the fact that Switchfoot played better than normal. They were constant and expected to always put on a good show no matter the date or season. Something changed that night. Somehow, thousands of people crowded into a tiny venue, literally squished up against each other as a can of something, and came together to be united in something they couldn't explain.
Personally, I felt some sort of healing, awakening, and by no means am I saying that Jon Foreman and the rest of the band healed me. Heavens no. My life before that was continuing to unravel. I was literally falling apart emotionally and almost couldn't bear to move anymore. (Little did I know, my future boyfriend and love of my life would be sitting in a show I was absent from, the only show out of thirty-something, as my life cracked to pieces in Orange County. Just a side-note and an interesting one at that). But I found that night that I had more passions than I had experienced before. It literally felt as though I had been through a war where I fought between wanting to run up on stage and curling in a ball in the corner of my bedroom.
I recently heard that when taking a brain scan of someone listening to or being an active part of music, the entire brain lights up. It's phenomenal seeing as different parts of our brain are designed for general motives-- emotional, logical, and the like. There is something amazing, something powerful about music. It has a unique ability to relate with every single man being on this planet. Is that not beautiful? When the music and lyrics of 'Yet' danced through my lit-up brain singing, "If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love", I felt passion and pain boil up through the tips of my toes to the the brim of my wildly untamed hair. The entire room was singing. I mean all of it. No, the House of Blues isn't very large at all, but there we were, singing. We sang at the top of our lungs and there was something bizarre in that room.
Some people might call it the Holy Spirit and I'm not sure where I stand on that at this particular moment. Could it be that it was just an incredible moment where we stepped away from our lives and truly felt, fell, and found the music we knew and loved with one another? Could we have just shared an incredible time together? I'm not entirely sure what happened that night or if I'm the only one that still thinks about it. Maybe I'm just an emotional girl that holds onto dreams and passions far beyond that they're worth. I don't know because I don't have enough answers.
I do know that my feelings are valid and that night I felt something beyond this place. Whether it was God or something divine, I'll never know.
I know this: it was what I needed.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
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