So today I had one of those experiences where you get philosophical in the car. Seriously, my car is the second best source for self-actualization fulfilment moments. The first being the shower, but that's the same for almost any human being of the 21st century because its a time when you aren't distracted.
This weekend I had the great fortune of attending Salt Lake Comic Con, so I got to drive about an hour in my quirky little Pontiac. I've done a lot of solo driving in my college career, so I go through a lot of audio entertainment. I mean A LOT! In all my years of driving I have steered clear of the Country. All that time though, people around me had been sowing the seeds of interest. I mean, I love my room mates, but sometimes their blasting could drive me nuts.
Two encounters in particular affected me. The first involves Bad Wolf. The year was 2013 and we took a road trip together, and had some spare time. Lying on the bedroom floor, trying to kill time before we headed to the theater for the night, I turned to Bad Wolf.
Me: I'm bored. Tell me a story.
Bad Wolf: Okay, well have I told you about my secret love of old country?
Me: Well... (I was desperate) no.
Bad Wolf: This is what I listen to when I am really, really happy.
She proceeded to grace my ears with "The Grand Tour" by George Jones and others of that nature. Being the stubborn imbecile I am, I didn't really give the song much thought other than it was mournful and slower. Yet, the lyrics kept nagging at me. The storyteller in me was on fire, but my stubborn brain kept saying, "Nope, nope, you don't like this. Don't you dare start obsessing." Surprisingly, I defeated my addictive personality and didn't listen to the songs on repeat. But the emotions kept with me like the color of my hair, inescapable.
Fast forward a few months to November. This is the second encounter. I had found a friend in my major; we'll call him WonderBoy because he always makes me wonder about nearly everything. Also, because he reminds me of some sort of superhero with multiple identities. We had discussed (argued about) the merits of country music and even though I'd made my position clear, he had somehow gone all Inception on me and I was intrigued. On my 9 hour drive home for Thanksgiving, through the desert ,the only radio stations that could come through were country ones. So you'd think this is the part where I fell in love with country. NOPE. But I tolerated it for longer than five songs... which is five songs longer than before.
Since I spent a great deal of time with Bad Wolf and WonderBoy, they've rubbed off on me. Bad Wolf has me addicted to Dr. Who and WonderBoy (having spent 2 years in Italy) has me gesturing like some classic crime boss ("I'll make you an off you can't refuse" style). But as I was driving to Comic Con yesterday I really began to understand the appeal of country music. The song "Springsteen" by Eric Church came on as I was cruising along and I was overcome with this tsunami of deep emotion that probably could have buried me if I had let it. I didn't, I was driving.
I guess I say all this to say that I noticed just how shallow my emotions go. Emotions never seemed to be something I lacked, but I think I've just become so numb due to growing up and going to college and all that entails. I don't take time to really appreciate the depth life brings. So thanks to Bad Wolf and WonderBoy, I have now been listening to an hour and a half's worth of country music. I ain't even mad.
Who am I?
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