some lyrics that have me thinking

(or why I’m not sure anyone understands nightswimming)

I’m about halfway through The Name of This Band is R.E.M. Document turned me into an alt-rock lover and many of the band’s songs would qualify as formative or essential for me. I also have a deeply held belief that “Nightswimming” is the worst karaoke song. (Nothing like getting up in the middle of a raucous evening and telling everyone that this moment “deserves a quiet night”.)

I keep a running list of lyrics that get stuck in my head. R.E.M. is responsible for more than a few, but the list is expansive and expanding. Mostly they’re lyrics that feel like they might be trying to tell me something I haven’t quite figured out yet.

They’re not always full lines. Sometimes it’s just a half-thought, the kind that makes my stomach shift slightly when I hear it. Does that happen to you?

.

Here are a few that have been following me around lately:

God shuffled his feet and glanced around at them. The people cleared their throats and stared right back at him. —Crash Test Dummies
There were so many fewer questions when stars were still just the holes to heaven. —Jack Johnson
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. I’m not sure all these people understand. —R.E.M.
Games that never amount to more than they’re meant will play themselves out. —The Swell Season
Underneath their jackets she saw wings. —Josh Ritter
All the beautiful colors are very, very meaningful… Yeah, you know gray—it’s my favorite color. I just get so confused. —Counting Crows

I don’t have a big theory about these. Just a hunch that they all belong to the same conversation. Something about mystery. Something about meaning. Something about the ache of not knowing quite what you're looking at—but staring anyway.

Crash Test Dummies gives us a God who’s awkward and uncertain, who looks around at his creation and doesn’t know what to say. And the people—us—just stare right back, expecting something, anything, as if to say, "You first."

Jack Johnson reminds me that there was a time—maybe childhood, maybe long before—that we didn’t need our questions to have answers. The stars didn’t need to be understood; they could just be beautiful. Just be holes to heaven.

I think part of being an adult is realizing that knowing more doesn’t always help. Sometimes it just makes the wonder harder to hold.

And then there’s Counting Crows, with Adam Duritz confessing that gray is his favorite color—because confusion is its own kind of clarity. I get that. Life isn’t black and white. It's not even full color. It's mostly gradient. Mostly in-between.

Sometimes the game plays itself out. Sometimes nightswimming deserves a quiet night. Sometimes people sprout wings under rain-soaked jackets and disappear into fog, and the best you can do is say, "Did you see that too?"

I don’t know what any of this means exactly. That’s sort of the point. I’m a therapist, which means I traffic in meaning and metaphor. But I’m also just a guy who’s constantly bumping into mystery and asking it to stick around for just a bit.

Maybe I’ll make this a recurring thing—just lyrics that won’t leave me alone. Maybe that’s the whole deal: paying attention to the stuff that doesn’t quite resolve. The off-notes. The quiet wings. The god who shrugs.

Because maybe meaning doesn’t always come in answers.
Maybe it comes in the fact that we’re still listening.

kZB