It’s Friday evening and it just might be the 10th time you’re listening to Mariah Carey’s Without You from 26 (you have just done the math) years ago. Thinking there’s still work you might do. Staring in front of the computer. Thinking wtf. The song is coming to an end on Youtube, so in order to not let another song begin and ruin your trip, you rewind it. On again. It’s not on your laptop, it’s on tv, so you can stare at the tv, it’s bigger and louder, so you can still have your laptop and wait for a sign. Is this it?
As the chords touch you deeper and finer, you catch Mariah’s eyes and you connect with the feeling. A feeling of some kind of pain. Ideally, it’s a love story. This time, with you, it’s not even that. It’s a pain of longing, belonging. I miss being in love. Man, I do really miss love!
I have just written the title and am smiling, grinning as we speak. It feels good to put it out there in the air, regardless of who, how many, why and another w word reads this. Please observe the transition from the second person to the first. The heart had burst. Spontaneously. Sometimes we try to flower power stuff, but other times, something just comes through. The truth.
And you totally feel Mariah Carey’s interpretation of the song. It must be the 13th time since it’s been on repeat. They should invent a repeat button for geeks like us. Or super melancholic, anyway, people who on a cold Friday night should be partying or something, yet can’t or don’t want to escape this somewhat precious loop they’re in and start to actually enjoy it rather than escape it. A best friend once advised me, while I must have been dealing with some sort of heart ache because of some friendship, to just go deeper into it and fucking live it. Rather than escape it. Man, has that stuck with me or what?
He was the one to actually send me a thing on millennials from The New York Times or something this very week:
Technology has certainly played a role in popularizing the hermit trend. Writing for the New York Times in 2016, Molly Young suggests that services like Tinder, Netflix, Seamless, and Postmates have enabled today’s young people to abandon themselves to the comforts of convenience. “It’s like pouring your money into a savings account,” she writes of the choice to stay in over going out. “You’ll grow marginally; you’ll stay safe; your expectations will be met and never exceeded.” Heading out to a party or an art opening, Young writes, is more of a gamble. Maybe you’ll have an amazing night you’ll always remember, but more likely you’ll just stand around awkwardly and blow $60 on cocktails. Young’s theory suggests that Netflix and its ilk are facilitating our desire to stay in, rather than compelling us to do so.
Which is rather sad for someone like me who likes to pick up on the energy in the room, club, when everyone’s dancing and has a great time to the best music in the most fun atmosphere ever. I love that s*it! But here comes the tricky part. I love it just as much as I love the super cozy mood you can only have with the family. It’s still about the energy.
I am the happiest in the family and I have always dreamt of mine. So when Mariah sings at the top of her lungs, I can not stop but enjoy loosing myself in that feeling. Because I know what it feels like, I know exactly what I have always dreamt of. That feeling of putting your hands up in the air. Your feet banging hard against the floor. You almost can not sing, this is how much it hurts something inside, yet you know you are not giving up. On that. You are not trading it for any kind of substitutions you have, at times, been pulled into. Knowingly, not knowingly. But no more, I can’t give anymore!
An open heart is a pretty… Uhm… Open. I am not afraid of that ONE reading it and feeling it like it’s too much, because for that one it wouldn’t be too much anyway. He knows exactly what I mean. Anyone who would be scared would not be the one, so it’s fine. And you just know when you know. I mean, I do now. I might need to rephrase this at some point, but I’m on a train of thought here.
There have been trials and tribulations. And happiness. Loads and God knows just how grateful I am for it. It’s not perfection I am talking here about. I’ve learned the hard way that’s not the way and it’s super ok. I want something real. Our kind of real. Not from the movies, not from music. Ours. I stopped for a second. Stared some more. I get it now when people I admire put things like these out there. Here. When you’re in it, you feel it and it just pours out of you.
With Mariah in the background still. It feels good. My spirit gets higher. Not metaphorically, unfortunately (or not), but very much literally. I feel it coming, as the wonderful song by The Weeknd and Daft Punk says. It still hurts. Thankfully, it transforms from sorrow to so delicately sweet. Just like Without You in a loop and loop and loop again.
It might also touch a chord with when I was a kid standing in front of the tv each time exactly the same live recording of the song was playing on VH1, I think. Or MTV… And I was discreetly banging my feet against the floor. Singing. Staring. I remember my brother being in the room with me. He must have smiled, he was a teenager at that time. It was one of our moments. These kind of moments. Life is beautiful. And I am so happy. Still sad. But so happy.
On this note, I hug you real tight and wish you a very good night. A friend comes over, so yes, we’re not going out meeting people, just as The New York Times says, so I guess it’s family time. We’re having wine. And maybe some pizza. This millennial stuff, man. I hope it transforms into familial stuff. That should be cool. Bye!
So fuck iiit, I might just as well enjoy it until it does. Now bye!