October 14, 2011

• hour songs.

  I upgraded my iPhone to iOS5 today, and because of that, I spent a few minutes redoing some of my standard alarms. I've used the same sounds for years now, and my brain has started to simply incorporate the sound into my dream as opposed to using it to wake me up. In the process of doing this, I discovered a never-used ringtone I still have on my phone; it's the chorus to a song called Autobahn, by a band named Anberlin. The chorus is simple, two lines, repeated once, that read: "Drive to dream to live, we could see the world tonight; here to hope tomorrow, we could see the world." 

  The reason I mention this ringtone is that it used to be the ringtone for a former significant other. I'm not going to mention which one, and it doesn't matter, but suffice it to say I heard it ring a few times. Even playing it now, several years later, just sounds right. My mind automatically assumes that a certain individual must be calling, because why else would I be hearing that noise? 

  Now, let me clarify; this is not a walk down nostalgia street (which happens to run parallel to memory lane); in fact, it's exactly the opposite. When hearing that brief snippet (of a fantastic song, by the way), it reminded me why I chose that particular chorus to hear every time this person called. So many people have sappy love songs or cheesy choruses for when their partner calls, and there's genuinely nothing wrong with that. It's not something I'd ever do, but to each their own; there are few things more harmless than a ringtone. (The only things that come to mind are puppies and holding doors open for pretty girls). In thinking back to why I chose that refrain, I couldn't quite recall if it had any sort of significance specifically with that person, and honestly I'm almost positive it didn't. There were plenty of other songs that could have been "our song," if you will (heh), but I didn't opt for any of those. To me, I think it's pretty clear why I made the choice I did.

  Think about it for a second. If you know me well, you know there is nothing I enjoy more than waxing poetic about the sheer simplicity of a long, nighttime drive. One of the most fantastic nights I've ever had was a drive I took to New York City to meet a friend and go to Warped Tour. I left right after 2 AM, in the midst of a fantastic lightning storm. It was barely raining, but the lightning was almost beyond words; it was mesmerizing, terrifying and invigorating, simultaneously. Little did I know that exact lightning storm was going to follow Topanga and I up the I-95 corridor and usher us straight to Queens. I swear, I've never seen anything like it, and that is not the tiniest iota of exaggeration. It was just me, Topanga (my Saturn), and the greatest lights show I've ever seen (and I've seen TSO three times, so that's no small statement). 

  That is exactly why I chose that song. Look, I haven't dated in awhile; there have been prospects, close calls, near misses, and "oh she's cool, oh wait never mind RUN"-s. Once in a great while, it eats at me for a few hours, so I usually come here and vent privately. This isn't one of those nights; I'm writing this entry with a smile on my face, because I learned something tonight. Here's what I mean. In many ways, I've matured tremendously from the kid who chose that ringtone to the adult who sits here tonight typing nonsense that no one reads. But at the core, I've always been proud of myself. I've done plenty of things that I'm not proud of, and I've made plenty of moronic decisions. But those few simple things that define a person, I feel like I've got those under control. And seeing those lyrics and hearing that song, it's nice to know the Ben of a few (unspecified) years ago knew that exact same thing. He knew then, just as I know now, that nothing in life is more fantastic than letting the world simply exist around you. You don't need to tell someone you love them every minute, you just need to make sure they know it, and you need to make sure they know they every time you show it, you mean it. He knew then, just as I know now, that a significant other or a friend or a loved one doesn't make you who you are.

  I lost my grandfather just over a year ago to a long and ugly battle with colon cancer. It was the first death I've experienced that really hit close to home; I've been to over a dozen funerals, but I've never sat in the front row before. When you're sitting at a funeral for someone you loved that much, it occurs to me that you're probably in the most universally human state of mind you'll ever experience. What's more universal than death? It is brutal, ugly, unforgiving, and sudden; even when expected, it's nearly always a shock. In my bizarre and nonsensical stream of consciousness, that fits so perfectly into what I'm trying to communicate.

  I suppose the ultimate point of this jumbled mess is straightforward; learn to humanize yourself. I'm not perfect at it, I wouldn't even say I'm good at it, but I make an effort. Why do I love the somewhat over-stereotyped experience of sitting in a car, either alone or within someone you care deeply about, just letting the only noise be the wind and the engine? I don't know, exactly, but I just know. When the car stops, you're at a destination. If I'm navigating, it probably isn't the destination you intended to be at, but that's neither here nor there (which is typically about where I end up). But when you're moving, there's nothing certain. Yes, you're constantly reaching new places, but they disappear as suddenly as they arrive. Nothing is certain except that everything is going to keep changing until you decide it's time to stop. You're in complete control of when the ride is over, but you have no control over what you see along the way (to an extent, of course; don't read too deeply). 

  Final story. While in Colorado last summer, I drove down with a friend I met there to see a movie near Denver. It was about a two hour drive, and we ended up getting back around 3 AM. However, getting back to where we were staying involved weaving through the hills at the base of the Rocky Mountains, including several sharp turns, sheer drops, and hairpin curves, all in the pitch dark while driving a minivan we had gotten access to that very day (all the while driving approximately 2 MPH so my friend didn't projectile vomit out the window). It was, to be honestly, absolutely terrifying. There was rushing water, unfamiliar roads, upset stomachs, upset people (long story), and basically just complete uncertainty. Yet, I still had to stop for a second and be amazed. I was driving through the mountains of Colorado at 3 in the morning, having never seen anything remotely like that before. I don't quite know why that seems to make everything fit together, but to me, it just does. When I eventually meet someone who might make me want to reuse that ringtone, it won't be because they're beautiful, or my soulmate, or my boo (god I just actually said that), or anything of that nature. It will be because they humanize me. They allow me to feel exactly like that song describes; we could see the world, or maybe we won't. 

  Figuring it out is the fun part.

  • 2:31 AM
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