There’s a feeling —and I don’t think young people get it,  because I don’t remember it from when I was young — but it’s this feeling of remembering yourself at another point in time.  So clearly.  So fully.  You remember who you were, but you also know you aren’t that person anymore and in some ways that person has become a stranger.

But it’s not a sad feeling.  It’s like seeing a friend from your past in the most unexpected place.  And your whole body smiles, not just your mouth, because the joy at having this reunion in such an unplanned and unanticipated way bubbles up from the depths of your soul and overflows from your fingertips and your eyes and the top fo your head and your heart swells.  With memories, with recognition, with happiness.

Nearly twenty years ago I went to concert while studying in Rome.  I don’t remember a lot of the details (other than we had a bitch of a time getting home after all the public transportation shut down for the night).  But I remember standing in the pit of humans at the base of the stage and I remember my favorite song beginning, the stage dark and then a bright, white spotlight on Ani.  I remember diving for a guitar pick when she threw them from the stage.  I remember being transported by her words, her poetry, her vivid imagery.  I played her music on repeat for such a huge chunk of my time in college.  And then … I didn’t.

Sometime after that concert in Rome I lost myself a little bit.  My twenties were tough for me and I wish I could pinpoint why, but I just felt lost and insecure and unsure most of the time.  Beaten down by the people I surrounded myself with; people who didn’t understand me or know me really.  Because I didn’t even know myself, I had forgotten who I was.

After bottoming out, crashing and spectacularly burning, I somehow managed to pick myself up and begin to rebuild.  But when you rebuild it isn’t about all the nuances or the details.  At the beginning it’s broad strokes, big pieces.  Some of the small things get forgotten.  And as time passes and you settle in, you fill in new details.  You create new parts of yourself.  Because life is ever-changing and ever-evolving.  New things interest you.  You create your depth again, when it isn’t all about survival anymore.

And then, you run into that friend from your past.  The one from before the crashing and burning.  I ‘ran into’ Ani Difranco while searching for music on our Sonos system and it has been the sweetest reunion.  I remember the words to songs I forgot that I forgot.  And it fills me up to the very brim.  I want to march down the street dancing and screaming her songs because I’m sure that everyone needs this level of joy.

Listen to “Little Plastic Castle” … that’s a good place to start.  Or “As Is” … or my college favorite, “Gravel.”  Or “Untouchable Face.”  Or … just go discover Ani if you don’t know her.  It will be worth it.

Xox, g