and the beat goes on

Lee Simmons' Bass

I’ve spent the better part of the past couple of days with those little white buds plugging my ears, tunes streaming from my iPod directly into my brain. Synaptic snapping. I love music – listening to it, becoming absorbed in it, dancing to it, playing it. It moves through me like nothing else. Add a dose of caffeine and… well that’s another story.

Oliver Sacks latest work, Musicophilia, comes to mind, as does that of Mark Johnson and his “Playing for Change” project. I think of the story I overheard on NPR this morning about the African Children’s Choir. And I think of Lynn’s dad, Lee, who left us so suddenly recently. A lifelong musician, he played gigs with his friends right up to the very end of his days. And his friends gave the greatest testament to him, as a person, at his funeral when they played on without him. Through tears, they played the music that they all loved.

Music is infectious. It is innate. And its potential for positive is limitless. I often joke with friends and coworkers that I wish my life was a musical, that it would just break out into song at any moment. As I think of the New Year dawning, I think that I’ll resolve to keep that dream alive in the coming year – and beyond.

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