Soundtracks & Starfish
There is one song, that every time I hear it, I can’t help but close my eyes and sing along to at least one line. Even if it’s only for a few seconds, and even if I sing under my breath. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. For a few moments, I’m transported to the mountains.
It’s not a song that I hear often. I don’t remember it ever being on the radio. Even 11 years ago, when the album it’s on was new. It’s just another track on an album where other songs were the hits of their time and genre. I’d guess a lot of people skipped over it; it’s one of those songs that’s quietly beautiful. It doesn’t demand attention. Except, it still holds me captive.
It was my soundtrack of summer that year. The CD was never in it’s case in the milk crate I kept on the floor behind my driver’s seat. The case was always empty because the disc lived in my car’s CD player instead. Every time I drove, I’d play this one song, at least twice. My windows rolled down, sunglasses on, my hair blowing across my face. Just me and my car, driving the winding mountain roads and open landscapes.
The summer after college I took a job in rural Colorado. I wanted some distance from my life for a while. I had been right when I’d guessed that 1,000 miles and no internet access would do it. The last few years had held a lot of darkness for me; a lot of loss and feeling lost. There was a lot of light too, but not enough to convince me that I had found my way back to the trail.
In Colorado that summer, I found my compass. One I’ve carried with me since. Sometimes I still get a little lost. But I’ve never again lost my confidence that I’ll find my way. Those winding roads, yielding to and still finding a way through the rocky peaks, taught me that I’ll always know how to navigate my own directions. I’ll always be the cartographer of my own map.
I had listened to that Dierks Bentley album plenty of times, but it wasn’t until the mountains that the one song felt like the words in my soul set to music. It was a June afternoon. It was after I fell in love with the mountains, simultaneously comforted and in awe by their presence in the world. I’ve held onto that amazement at the beauty of the world tightly ever since.
The song is called Beautiful World and it’s on the album Feel That Fire. For me, it’s a reminder that you can find beauty in every single day if you choose to see it. But, if you decide to listen to it, maybe it will mean something different to you. Or maybe it will mean nothing at all. That’s another amazing thing; you’ll get to decide.
Sometimes when I listen to this song, it’s only playing inside my head. I think I listened to it so many times that summer, and so many times since, that it will always be stuck somewhere in there. But I’m okay with that. There are worse things to play on repeat in your brain than a song about the world being beautiful.
There are times where I go months without hearing the song play. But lately that hasn’t been the case. These past several months I find myself seeking out my old song, more and more often. I’m not listening to it like I did that summer, but still. I know that I’m not listening for the same reasons I did then. I know I’m not singing along this time to bring myself back to life.
Back then I listened because of the darkness in my own little corner of the world. The music helped me discover more light. It helped me believe more deeply in beautiful things again. And that helped me remember who I am, and that I’m strong enough to make my own trail. But that’s not why I’m listening now.
Everyday lately, I hear someone I love wondering when things will go back to normal, or when this year will finally be over. I see people I love struggling to hang onto themselves in this fierce storm we’re all weathering. So I’m listening for them, and for the strangers I see bracing themselves for the crash of the waves. So that everyday I can help someone secure another patch on their lifeboat. I feel a bit like that little girl picking up starfish one by one and trying to throw them far enough back in the sea.
Making a difference to one starfish wasn’t enough for her. She didn’t toss one back into the ocean and then stand with her arms crossed saying well, I’ve done my part. She knew she would never be able to save them all, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
Some days I’m tired and I can only offer a small patch to one person. And that’s okay, it’s the best I can do those days. But other days I feel like I have a hundred life vests and the energy to hand them out like candy at Halloween. So why wouldn’t I? If you could, wouldn’t you hand over a spare life vest when you see someone struggling against the sea?
It feels like an important role right now, being able to see beauty in the world when so many people can only see darkness. If we can, I feel like it’s our responsibility to keep offering our hands to help those we see struggling. We need to let them grieve their losses and the year they were expecting to have. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help remind them of the good things and the beautiful.
I just keep thinking, if enough people were on the beach throwing the starfish back into the sea, maybe we could save them all.
