I’m usually pretty good with words. Good enough to get my point across, anyway. Today, I could wax poetic about the reason why Sara Bareilles’ “Chasing the Sun” struck me so hard. I could explain about the sweet, wonderful little black horse that I loved from the bottom of my heart and how he was peacefully laid to rest days after The Blessed Unrest dropped, and how it felt like he was the one “sending” me this beautiful song. I could go into detail about how I was an orphan by eighteen, having lost both my parents separately to a physical illness and a mental disorder, and how this song reminded me that their spirits still lived on somewhere. I could say a lot of things. All of them would be depressing and entirely against the point of why, exactly, this song shook me to my core. All of them would fall short of what I’m trying to get across.
Instead, I will say this: there are few artists that bring me to tears. There are even fewer who write things that I will agree to have permanently etched into my skin. I am constantly blown away by Sara’s talent, exuberance and passion. I was forever changed by the message in Chasing the Sun, and even if I wasn’t a huge fan of Sara’s work before, I would be just based on how my entire perception of how to approach everything in life was altered in just one song.
Happiness is not something you “get”. It is not an idle pastime. It is a verb, it is something you DO – it is something you are forced to seek out, because no one is going to hand it to you. You need to work for everything good in this life, because you are not entitled to happiness. I have always said that you need to live life as vibrantly as possible, but being happy is much more than that. The words on my wrist are a constant reminder to reach for the things I want, and to not expect them to fall into my lap.
I need to chase the sun.
I saw Sara in concert for the fourth time last night, and will up that number to five by the end of the week. I cried through the entire live performance of this song. I’m a sappy moron, but I felt Image’s presence and it was cathartic. I miss him so much, especially with the anniversary of his death looming so close. I go back and read the things I wrote when he was alive, and I get frustrated with myself, because the joy I felt just being in his presence radiates from my words. I feel like everything is dull now. Simba and I have reached a tentative truce and we are spending MUCH more time having fun and enjoying each other (or, well, not trying to beat each other with two by fours, anyway), but I am not his person and that is clear to both of us. Finding him his person will be a huge step in the right direction for both of us to find what we need.