I had appreciated (or thought I had) the sacrifices that downsizing our lives to inhabit this compact apartment on the island would require, but today one of those sacrifices was undertaken swiftly and with finality, and it was perhaps the most meaningful one I've made thus far. If I lived alone, and did not share my daily life with another person, this sacrifice would likely have been unnecessary, but I do share my life and limited space with another. I recognize and embrace the value of being one half of a partnership, with all of the challenges and rewards of so doing. I believe that it is important to cultivate the ability to compromise, to listen to another person, to give and receive on a regular basis--I believe that such a life makes me a better person, a wiser one, and a happier one.
And yet, the possessions I have acquired and lugged around from place to place throughout our life together--possessions which, it seems, had come to own me rather than the other way around, were now--with only 600-square feet in which to live--crowding the other person out of my life. My things were clearly dominating our living space, and out of fairness and concern for the other person's happiness, it was time for me to chuck some of my ballast overboard so that she could rightfully claim her half of our limited space. And so, yesterday, the turntable and hundred or so LP's I have owned for the past 35+ years, were put out to pasture.
I felt as though a piece of my heart had been torn out and cast upon the waters, to float away into the great abyss. No, I didn't toss them into the Mississipi. Instead, I found someone that I suspected had a fondness for vinyl and the type of music I fancied, and it turned out I was correct. This talented musician of some local repute was kind enough to take it all off my hands, which eased the pain somewhat. And now, the next day, I feel better already. It was time. Part of our current life program is to seek new adventures, to discover new places, new interests, new friends, and yes, new music. The money we once used to amass material possessions will now be committed to travel and experiences. We will embrace the digital world (to some extent, that is--don't even get me started on books), so as to minimize the space-hogging objects in our life. And I think we will be happier people for it.
I could easily sit here and write a small (or large) book about the LPs and the profound role they have played in my life. I could rhapsodize over the many occasions when I sat and handled the album covers, poring over the printed lyrics, liner notes and images while their influence soaked into my DNA. I could pine over the many days of yesteryear when I played my guitar along with the records--going back, in fact, to when I bought my first guitar and sat beside the turntable attempting to replicate the licks of Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck, lifting the turntable's arm and setting the needle back down in the groove hundreds of times until I mastered (or thought I had) a particular lick. Or I could fondly recall the many Proustian moments evoked when listening to a given track on any of the many records, a snatch of vocal or rhythm or lead guitar solo that would bring back a specific place and time and set of circumstances with a vividness that could bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Or I could simply think of that wondrous feeling of anticipating a record release by a cherished band or artist, and the feeling of rushing to the store to buy it, then rushing home to tenderly unwrap it and cradle its cover in my arms while enjoying my first listen in the bedroom sanctuary of my youth.
Music is obtained and experienced differently today. Which, I suppose, is as it should be. And so, to avoid indulging my nostalgia and waxing wistful like an old fart, I will move on and welcome the differences of today's world into my life--new experiences, new places, new friends, and yes, new ways of obtaining and listening to music.
My next post will reveal something of what welcoming the new consists of.
Life flows on, in and around us—and occasionally we must relieve it of obsolete encumbrances, that it may flow all the more freely and joyfully.
D.E.S.
And yet, the possessions I have acquired and lugged around from place to place throughout our life together--possessions which, it seems, had come to own me rather than the other way around, were now--with only 600-square feet in which to live--crowding the other person out of my life. My things were clearly dominating our living space, and out of fairness and concern for the other person's happiness, it was time for me to chuck some of my ballast overboard so that she could rightfully claim her half of our limited space. And so, yesterday, the turntable and hundred or so LP's I have owned for the past 35+ years, were put out to pasture.
I felt as though a piece of my heart had been torn out and cast upon the waters, to float away into the great abyss. No, I didn't toss them into the Mississipi. Instead, I found someone that I suspected had a fondness for vinyl and the type of music I fancied, and it turned out I was correct. This talented musician of some local repute was kind enough to take it all off my hands, which eased the pain somewhat. And now, the next day, I feel better already. It was time. Part of our current life program is to seek new adventures, to discover new places, new interests, new friends, and yes, new music. The money we once used to amass material possessions will now be committed to travel and experiences. We will embrace the digital world (to some extent, that is--don't even get me started on books), so as to minimize the space-hogging objects in our life. And I think we will be happier people for it.I could easily sit here and write a small (or large) book about the LPs and the profound role they have played in my life. I could rhapsodize over the many occasions when I sat and handled the album covers, poring over the printed lyrics, liner notes and images while their influence soaked into my DNA. I could pine over the many days of yesteryear when I played my guitar along with the records--going back, in fact, to when I bought my first guitar and sat beside the turntable attempting to replicate the licks of Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck, lifting the turntable's arm and setting the needle back down in the groove hundreds of times until I mastered (or thought I had) a particular lick. Or I could fondly recall the many Proustian moments evoked when listening to a given track on any of the many records, a snatch of vocal or rhythm or lead guitar solo that would bring back a specific place and time and set of circumstances with a vividness that could bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Or I could simply think of that wondrous feeling of anticipating a record release by a cherished band or artist, and the feeling of rushing to the store to buy it, then rushing home to tenderly unwrap it and cradle its cover in my arms while enjoying my first listen in the bedroom sanctuary of my youth.
Music is obtained and experienced differently today. Which, I suppose, is as it should be. And so, to avoid indulging my nostalgia and waxing wistful like an old fart, I will move on and welcome the differences of today's world into my life--new experiences, new places, new friends, and yes, new ways of obtaining and listening to music.
My next post will reveal something of what welcoming the new consists of.
Life flows on, in and around us—and occasionally we must relieve it of obsolete encumbrances, that it may flow all the more freely and joyfully.
D.E.S.
I love your comment, "The money we once used to amass material possessions will now be committed to travel and experiences." ... this is certainly something to think about.
ReplyDeleteShawn