I'm Sailing Away

And then delight flutters in like your own ticker tape parade. After a particularly glum series of weeks, I have regained my fabulousness. More accurately: I have regained my feeling of fabulousness. I may or may not be fabulous, according to the time of day and the odd preferences of the beholder, but I can deflect a lot of external woe with my relish in my own fabulousness. I have to work at it, or I lapse into muttering slumps of bitterness and envy. The fabulousness isn't me feeling "good" about myself - "Who-Hoo! Look at me! I'm so great and wonderful!" Fabulous catches the light when the ability to be yourself packs down so dense and concentrated that you are lofted for a time beyond the judgments of others, and, more rarely, beyond your judgments of yourself.

It's a nice place. There are large windows there.

I love to sing. Sometimes I do it well, sometimes badly. Unfortunately, too often the times I do it badly are in front of people who may or may not hire me based on how well I perform.

But last night I sang for a clutch of people, first to ask for some work, and then just because I love to sing. To warble, to soar. To dance around foolishly. To do a ride-out. I ask you, what more ridiculous movement is there than a ride-out? But as a finish to a song, it is a ride, unmistakably. It only makes sense when the song is a ride.

I have a distinct memory of being a small child in my nightgown in front of the woodstove my my house. The lights were all off, I was meant to be in bed, and I was just sitting by the fire, humming to myself.
"Michael row the boat ashore,
Alleluuuuuuuuuu-ia
Michael row the boat ashore,
Alleluuuuuuu-ia."
I was sitting on the carpet, with my knees tucked up under my chin, pleased with myself for staying up late. I was content.

That kind of content still lives inside the songs. Last night I squeezed some of it out.