Melancholy as a window to delight

I have spent the past 3 years jobbing in a truck. Social media has been limited to WhatsApp and email. No notifications, no pings, some would call it old-school bliss. But this week everything changed. While I fumble my way into Facebook and my coaching business opens up, the day is punctuated with - you guessed it - notifications. And I love it. It is intoxicating. Who knew I could feel seen and heard without even putting a name in the address line.

A thought my friends. Something completely different. My playlists gravitate around melancholy. Tom Waits, Jim Croce, Joni Mitchell, Dylan, Jack Johnson, you get the drift. I love the familiarity, the phrasing, the final rub "..and if I find my hard headed woman, I know the rest of my life will be hers" (thanks Cat Stevens). The nostalgia, the bittersweet stories of loss and love, you know, kind of crimson sunsets on demand.

Now, on the morning commute, girls heading to school breakfasting in the back seat, a song on the radio, and in the rear view mirror, tears are flowing, shielded with laughter. Olivia Rodrigo is singing "God I'm so blue, know we're through, Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me, Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street". It's a brutally honest song about teenage heartbreak, and it's magic lies in the vivid scene driving past his house with her freshly won drivers license. He is with another girl.

Girls now belting it out "I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for anyone", not a dry cheek back there, and yes, I am all welled up too. As we approach the school I slow down to get some composure. Everyone calm down. Lets rein this empathy party in. I hide my eyes. "Dad its just a song. You'll be late for work".

And so it goes. Melancholy opening another window to delight.