Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Concrete Jungle Has Lost it's Charm.
There is a wonderful feeling I get with certain music. Usually it's when there is a clear opening in a synth explosion and it puts that feeling in my stomach that normal people get when they see someone they like or something, and I notice a smile creep up on my face or I get somewhat teary eyed from the excitement I feel. It's the complete opposite feeling I got when I was depressed and living my other life, where in that case I would hear that magnificent song that put a feeling of lostness and darkness in my soul.
Which do I prefer? Well I've been weighing them over in my head, and I'm confused.
If you haven't realized, the music comparison is a metaphor for...well basically everything in my life. People, cities, schools, jobs.
I've been set on being a writer. Whether I get my books done or writing for music no matter where it is, it's happening. But where?
My whole life I've planned on living in New York City where I am so familiar, getting an apartment with one of my siblings or one of my best friends, working for a record label, dressing myself in my black drapey clothing and covering my anxiety by my stone face as a shield to blend in with the other fast pace city kids who are all so angry and struggling on the inside. The music scene is kicking hard, it's easy to find someone to have an intellectual conversation with about the Kerouac novella or Plath poem I just finished while diagnosing the authors mental problems and relating it to our own. And for some reason, as populated and crowded as NYC is, it's also probably the loneliest place I've ever been. I've never felt so exhilarated or alone in all of my life. And for what? To be worn out at the end of the day and try to figure out what the hell I am doing busting my ass for no ones approval and higher levels of anxiety. I would be happy one day going to a concert with Linz, and then back in depression mode when the thrill was over.
This year is the first full school year where I didn't need to run to my computer to email my therapist to set up a Skype session. I was truly happy for once. Was it the change of scenery? I don't know. I think meeting girls that I get along with so well, living in constant sunshine, being surrounded by educated people while also not having to stress about the rapidity of the city and understanding that you can have a life without being in the center of all of the madness.
There is something about Atlanta and NYC that I loved so much. It was this brush with fame and avant-garde lifestyles; whether it was getting drunk with some of the hottest asian indie band boys or texting R&B artists about getting a job with Chromeo's manager, sitting next to Chuck Bass at Avenue or smoking with DJ Sega after the MDBP, it's all false to me now.
I think i can honestly say that. It's fun, it's fast, it's exciting, but it's not for me. The anti organization and pro equalization of EVERY last idea is not something I can do anymore. I can't act like these people don't cripple me with anxiety over every last thing, from what I'm wearing to what I believe in or what I eat...
For some reason since I've been living in Florida I have been nothing but happy. I used to hear people say that sun and sand cures any disease, and you know what, at least for me, it does. I'm not anxious here. Sure I miss having live music at my disposal and temporarily modeling for the newest photographer in Brooklyn, but I can't do it anymore. It's not healthy for me.
This is. Being in a healthy relationship with my friends and a boyfriend that's centered around God and going to a school equivalent to NYU (that happens to have a harder Lit department, according to a professor who no longer teaches at the pretentious New York University) and not worrying about trying to compete for a better job in music or fashion that literally kills the hardworking souls that serve the artistically reigning gods.
I think I need the sun. And by sun I mean I need to be happy, and being near the sand, water and sun instead of the cold, concrete, miserable isolation.
I will continue on my search to be the best music critic in the world, but I think I'm gunna have to do it on the outskirts of America.
I'd rather being stable and healthy over stressed and insecure.
It's really nice to be able to breathe.
And then I look at pictures of our art walks, live shows, central park walks, pretentiously overwhelming sense of style that my family has been so gifted with and I want to go back to the city and be one with the wandering souls that surround me.