The Music In Me

Photo courtesy of Libby Mundy, c. 2015.

When God put me together, I’m not sure, but he may have been distracted . . . For one, I have two different sized ears. This has never really been a problem. In fact, hardly anyone has ever even noticed until I point it out. But alas, my left ear is significantly bigger than my right.  When I asked my mom why she had never thought to have it corrected when I was younger she replied, “Well, you never aspired to be a runway model so I didn’t think it was necessary.”  Nope, no runway modeling for me, darn it.  Simply wasn’t in the cards (or in the thighs, but who’s cataloguing my “imperfections” anyway??).

Another area where God may have been out to lunch? My musical gene.  In all honesty, I can live without music most of the time.  I know, it sounds crazy, right?  But the way my head works, there’s not room for all my thoughts/ideas/conversations (real or imagined)/prayers and music at the same time.  Especially music I don’t like.  Where, for most people, music adds this whole other layer of amazing, for me, much of the time, it adds a whole other layer of annoying.

Unless music is the point.  Then, it’s a different story. If I’m heading to a concert or intentionally seeking out music because I like the band, then I’m all ears. In the car, on a long drive, I love turning on the radio and finding songs like old loves, kindling a flame of memory and emotion. Other days, I can sing along to my kids’ favorite, current “pop” songs; some of which I am big enough to admit, I actually like! So, just to be clear, there are times when my touchy tuning fork is less transparent and I’m almost “normal” – able to truly enjoy the music and feel its magic.

Unfortunately though, music’s magic doesn’t hold me long.  And the music that is magic to me?  Not magic to my husband (and vice versa!).  We find our tastes veering sharply from one another a good 80% of the time. Take the other night, for instance. He puts on some music as we are getting ready to go out to dinner with friends. If I were picking, it would be something familiar and upbeat – Van Morrison or Michael Franti would have suited me just fine.  But whatever he put on had this squealing guitar (it might have been a “jam” band or just somebody jamming on their guitar) and it slayed me (and not in a good way either . . . ).

Now, give me almost anything from the 70’s, 80’s, or 90’s and I’m singin’ along, reminiscing, sometimes even dancing. Not too long ago, I ran across a cassette tape (my kids didn’t know how to pronounce “cassette” . . . ) of Whitney Houston’s “Emotions”.  I popped it in Sage’s little Hello Kitty radio/cassette player and literally went crazy. (Seriously, I almost threw my back out as I swizzled all around the living room!)  Grabbed Sage’s hairbrush from the coffee table, used it as a mike, and it was on.  And though I think I may have scared (scarred??) my kids, I did Whitney proud. (Even if my walk had a little hitch in it after my fervor died down and I returned to my middle-aged, mom self – much to my children’s relief!).

So, me and music, we’ve got our thing – peculiar, non-traditional, nonsensical (i.e., I don’t like music without words) . . .  but like it or not, it’s who I am. Just ask my husband, I’m high maintenance in some very unique ways (and low in a few others in my defense!); music just happens to be one of them.

The irony in all of this is that as a product of Gerry Mundy, this music malady of mine would appear to make absolutely no sense. Because music was my dad’s religion. And he loved it ALL. Knew every up and coming singer or band. Could foresee an artist’s upward trajectory before their star was ever born. Liked rock, folk, bluegrass, rap, blues, hip-hop.  My dad was a musical master.  The conversation always began, “What are you listening to these days? What are you reading?” Music constantly permeated the tapestry of my childhood.  Some of it I liked, some of it I did not. Nevertheless, it was a mainstay in our home. And where my brother got a super-sized dose of that gene (let’s just say his cup runneth over), my cup, er gene, seems only half full.

And honestly, I’m O.K. with it most of the time. Because what I’ve discovered is that the music I most often seek, well, it’s within me. And it doesn’t always have a band or a melody though it almost always has words (because where would I be without words??). The “songs” I hear inside of me might be visualizations or affirmations or prayers or questions I am grappling with.  Their rhythm and cadence feed me like one of Jerry Garcia’s tunes might fill a dirty, devoted Dead Head: fully and with satisfying, whole-hearted, soul-deep goodness.

So there we have it. Two different ears - imperfectly perfect (the better to hear the nuances of my life with!); a special needs musical gene that helps me more fully embrace the melody I most need to hear: the singing of my own heart. Doing what it loves. Being honest about what it doesn’t. Being true to myself no matter what. Even if that means my and my husband’s paths diverge – musically and in other ways too . . . (And though it’s not always smooth, we’re still learning. For instance, on Father’s Day I *thoughtfully* gave Jeff some high-end headphones for his exclusive listening pleasure.  One friend who knows about our differences commented, “Isn’t that a self-serving gift???” To which I quickly replied, “No, I call it win-win!”)

Yeah, God could have been distracted when he pieced me together but I’d like to think not.  In fact, I think God knew exactly what he was doing when he made me – just another unique musical note from the symphony of his very own heart, put here to embrace all that I am and am not in the quest to be the very best version of me I can.

And you? What “imperfections” have you had to embrace on your path to wholeness? And which of these actually makes you more of who you are in the very best ways? Of course, that’s exactly why they are there. To make us dig that much deeper and find the self-love and compassion to accept ourselves – extraordinary beats in God’s groovy band - no matter what.

Dig away, my friend. And, rock on.