So I wrote a song on the airplane last week flying home from Austin, Texas. I had my Macbook, my earphones and three hours to kill. It was all I needed. I laid down some basic guitar parts and lead vocal using "musical typing," which is nothing more than pecking individual notes on the computer keyboard. It's not an exact science, but it gets the job done. Then it was on to a word processor to come up with a few lyrics. I know I had the attention of the guy sitting next to me - he kept looking over to see what I was up to. Which, incidentally, doesn't take much effort in a plane (the "looking over" part). More and more flying coach feels like having somebody sitting in your lap.
There was a young lady behind me with a baby, probably eight or nine months old. This is where the song began. I haven't written a lot of songs lately with any consistency, but one of the things I've learned over the years is that I don't need to have an entire song in mind before I write it. Just pick a starting place and go from there. Which is what I did. And I began with the lady behind me and her baby.
Airplanes and airports are great for this sort of thing, by the way. And the more I think about it, the more I think this is why I'm so fond of them. Here's why: in my life I have any number of circles of people that I interact with on a fairly frequent basis - my wife and boys, of course; my musical buddies, my church (when I'm not on sabbatical), my old high school friends, the people I got to know in previous places I lived. At some level I touch base and remain part of these people's lives; and they mine. Social media like Twitter and Facebook have been invaluable in maintaining those circles long past their normal life span.
I love my circles and wouldn't give them up for anything. But at airports and on airplanes, those circles are nonexistent. Instead I'm part of this strange smorgasbord of folks that is nothing like a circle. It's more like a spider's web. It utterly fascinates me that people who I've never seen before and will never see again are connected with me right then and there - in the security check line, waiting at the gate, sitting in extremely close proximity inside these thin metal tubes we call airplanes. They are in no way part of any of my circles, and I am not part of theirs. But for a few hours there we are, transitioning from point A to B together. Our lives, for a brief period in time, merge.
So I have no clue who this woman is behind me with the baby. I don't know if they're heading home to Charlotte, or if they're Austin-ites paying North Carolina a visit. I can't even assume that Charlotte is their final destination (mine's not). I don't know if it's business or pleasure; if the reason for their travels are happy ones or unhappy. Of course, I could turn around and ask her all these things, but that would obviously cross the line of "standard airplane decorum" we've adopted for ourselves. Besides, it's near impossible to turn around in those seats anyway.
So I imagine a story with the two of them as the starting place. And the fact that what gets typed into my computer is almost certainly nowhere near the truth isn't really the point. What is the point is that a song is being born at 35,000 feet:
flying us air
baby in her lap
she knows more than she lets on
of what awaits her when
she finally touches down
cause there's a man at gate 3 with flowers and a hope that fills his heart
it's been two long months since she left town and his world was ripped apart
he's hoping there will be a chance to have a new fresh start
this time, this time
Later we would arrive at Gate 20, not 3; and there would be no man with flowers waiting for them. But I'm not really concerned with that. I'm focused on the song that's unfolding in bits and pieces; the chord progression and melody running through my head that I furiously type into GarageBand before the stewardess tells me I have to turn off all electronic devices and I lose it forever. The next week I'm at my music space and the rest of the story gets told:
he remembers how it was
back when everything
seemed to go so well
they danced the dance so long
and when both tried to lead
they never made it home
you know her daddy told her that timing is the glue that makes it tight
cause two roads have to merge to one for things to work out right
and when she saw the road they were dancing down, that's when she took to flight
away, far away
Life is what we live before we die
Between the new hellos and old goodbyes
And those who dance with us will never hide
Everyone's a part of us, everyone's a part of us, everyone's a part of us....
She's high above the world
She's down now on the ground
She's walking through that gate
He gives her the bouquet
He reaches for his child
He smiles to celebrate
I'm wondering where this "dance" thing is coming from, and then I remember that old adage I've heard before; that marriage, and relationships in general, are like a dance. I've since adopted that image for my own wedding ceremonies on occasion, with what I believe to be an important clarification: it's really more like a Jr. High dance. You know, loud music, flashing lights, tons of distractions; guys and girls at opposite ends of the rooms with their back pressed up against the wall. Lots of awkward moments. And at some point one of the two gets the guts to walk over to the other side and ask the person to dance. They take to the floor, and it takes some time to get into rhythm with each other. There are moments when they move with tremendous grace and beauty. And then there are times when they get out of rhythm, or step on each others toes. But that's when the dance gets good; when they rely on the other to extend grace and help them get back in rhythm, and they keep going at it, learning all the time.
There's another theme present in the song - and again, I didn't really plan for it to be there. It just happened. As long as I live I'll never forget something my 11th grade English teacher said to our class one day. I can't remember what we were reading; some standard novel all juniors are supposed to read (maybe a Steinbeck book?), but I know we were talking about the characters and the relationships between them. And that's when Mrs. Norton offered this little gold nugget: Every person you come into contact with in your life - no matter how long you know them or how short - every person becomes a part of who you are.
Some 25 years later I'm still haunted by that thought - haunted in a good way. There is something irresistibly beautiful about the idea that I am a composite of all the people I have crossed paths with; all the circles and spider webs I'm lucky enough to be part of. My lovely wife and boys, my dearest friends....and a young woman with her baby sitting behind me on a three-hour flight from Austin to Charlotte.
The song is tentatively titled The Dance. Inspiration strikes in the strangest of places. And if that doesn't lead you to write a song, I don't know what can.
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