Two Songs for a Pandemic

Back in early March, I wrote an article about privilege and the pandemic that quickly went viral, at least in the context of how far my meager writing typically travels on the interwebs.

(And then I freaked out, hard.)

While I was writing it, piecemeal and scattered across the hours of an afternoon when I was supposed to be doing something else, I listened to one song, on repeat. I’m not sure why. It just seemed like the thing to do.

A friend mentioned she’d become addicted to Lana Del Rey, and I didn’t know who that was, so I turned to my pal Google and found the song “Video Games”.

This music and COVID-19 are intertwined, now, pandemic and song, holding hands and skipping along in the crooks and twists of my psyche. It represents empty shelves, social distancing, staying home to keep others safe. It signifies gratitude that my solid brick house feels like a fortress, that I can embrace the illusion it will keep me (and my husband, and our cats) safe.

Isn’t it strange how a song can come to mean something so significant, even when we have no idea why?

I barely knew the words, really, but I felt compelled to play it on YouTube, again and again, and it drove me toward the finish line as I wrote a piece that terrified me. I listened to it again, as I watched first my friends and then total strangers share it on Facebook and Twitter.

And I felt like an imposter.

"Who am I to write about this?" I thought. I was sure I'd done it wrong, somehow, struck the wrong tone, forgot an obvious point. I was terrified someone would call me out and I'd be humiliated forever. I didn't know if I had the fortitude for that, being “out there” in real life where I was making a “statement”, where people could see me.

My husband told me bluntly that if I couldn’t deal with it, then I probably shouldn’t publish my work. His words stung, but I knew he was right. I write for a reason - to express myself, to share a message, and ultimately, to be read.

While I'm a life-long people pleaser, I know that feedback won't always be positive.

He also argued with me about the title of my viral story, and those words of his stung too, and I still don’t think he was right about that at all. After I cried for a while, I decided we could just disagree on that point, and that’s ok.

Then I listened to the song again, let those melancholy chords wash over me. The music both calmed my fears and laid me open wide.

What I said needed to be said.

I figured if the comments from my husband were the worst thing I heard about a story that (when I last looked, toward the end of 2020) had more than 200,000 views, then I am very lucky.

I realized, later, that I could take the insults, the trolling comments, which inevitably came.

While I personally might be privileged, and probably always was, I learned some hard lessons along the way. Sometimes I barely scraped by, because I believed I had no other choice.

My story is still valid.

Creativity comes to us in the strangest of ways. Sometimes it tiptoes on shadows hiding in the darkest of corners; sometimes it sweeps in on rays of light that wash the darkness away. Sometimes creativity smacks us upside the head with an idea at the most inopportune moment; sometimes she rides in on a white steed, or the wings of music, showing us the shame in our assumptions.

This particular song made me feel raw, vulnerable. It forced compassion and empathy upon me when I wanted to be selfish, to curl into my fear.

I needed this music because ripping a story about privilege out of my very essence (and mixing it with research, as I hoped to make it credible) took so damned much energy. I sat at my kitchen table the night after I wrote the words, feeling like I had worked two full days in a few hours. I was tender, exposed, and I needed music to scrape me even more, pare back the layers, to heal me and let me hide in it at the same time.

Then I got stuck. I couldn’t snap out of it. I was wallowing, paralyzed, with “Video Games” going through my head, long after I had stopped listening to it.

I lived in that space for two days.

On March 16th, I got in the car for the half-hour drive to my office. I didn't know, then, that it would be my last day working on-site, but at the time, we were just washing our hands and wiping down our surfaces. We weren't getting too close to each other, and we were hoping for the best.

I got in the car and there was Lizzo on the radio, my go-to girl for sass and spirit and in-your-face positive energy, belting out “Good As Hell”.

And that became my second song for the pandemic. Again, it’s not so much about the lyrics, but the attitude.

Hair toss, check my nails, baby how you feelin’? Feelin’ good as hell.

I knew at that point I was done with the wallowing. I trusted my creative energy to take me wherever I needed to go.

Music is just one of many ways the universe guides us and shows us what’s next, in creativity and life.

Thanks, universe! I think I get it.