How Beethoven Saved Me On a Rainy Existential Funk of a Day
From the Department of Life Is Inherently Playful, and Wants Us In It & You're Not Alone
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Dear Beautiful Friends,
Do you ever have one of those weekend afternoons where you’ve taken to the couch or a lounge chair for some well-earned R&R—you’ve got your book, a bowl of popcorn or gummi bears, a sparkling drink—when all-of-a-sudden there’s something you must Google, and two hours later your face is still glommed on to your phone, you’ve purchased a sundress from some random website, you’ve read why Molly Ringwald didn’t participate in “Brats”—and you don’t feel rested or refreshed, because: What have you done with your wild and precious afternoon, other than burrow deeper and deeper into the depths of scrolling? So now you sink into a malaise, with barely the oomph to properly chastise yourself, all that zest for life run dry, and you can’t rustle up one good reason to get out into the world ever again, I mean WHY, when you’ll never, ever, ever (for real this time) experience another enthusiastic, curious, light-hearted, fun moment?
THEN THE MAGIC. I WAS SAVED BY THE TRICKSTER OF LIFE, BEETHOVEN (and my mother)
My funk was cut short because I had to pick up my mom for family dinner. I pulled my car out of the driveway a bit recklessly and opened the windows to let my existential funk breathe and feel the air against my skin.
And what do you know!—a cascade of surprising occurrences, i.e. BEAUTY.
My car happened to be tuned to the local classical radio station, KING FM.
That station just happened to be playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever created.
Beethoven’s Ninth is famous for the “Ode to Joy,” the final section of this magnificent symphony, and also the European Union’s official anthem (civil people!). It’s filled with choral singers and solo-ists; it’s rousing, it’s sublime, and get this: It was written when Beethoven was completely deaf, at the end of his life, pain-riddled, love-defeated. He was a bit of an ass, but, or AND, his humanness was capable of producing some of the most soul-bending beautiful music in history.
So, I was stoked about my good fortune. This put a wag in my malaise-y tail. It was a seven-minute drive to my mom’s retirement home. I pulled up to the front and waited for her to come out.
“Hello, Stranger,” she said, getting in the passenger seat. We hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, there was a lot to catch up on. I didn’t even greet her, just waited for her to catch up with the music.
“Turn it up,” she said, and we drove.
We drove, wordlessly, through the rain, over streets that were more than tree-lined—these lemon-limey big-leaf maples were arched over the roads, creating leafy tunnels. We drove through those tree tunnels, through the rain, the afternoon darkness, with the Ode to Joy filling the car, filling our bodies, playing our nervous systems.
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We were almost home, but the music wasn’t done.
“I’m going to keep driving,” I said. My mom nodded. We drove to the very tip of the island, as the chorus slowed and stretched into not just the song of angels, but the song of angels’ angels. It’s the kind of music that, if Hope for Humanity had a musical definition, it would be THIS music.
I turned right at the last possible street, as the angels’ angels exited, and the music gathered more gravitas, more force. The final block brought us to the rousing conclusion. The Ninth concludes not softly or serenely, but with vigor, a proclamation. We’re here! This is Life! Just say Yes!
I parked. One more minute of music. Then it was over. YES, SAY YES TO LIFE!
My mom and I didn’t move for twenty seconds, just breathed and looked at each other, shaking our heads, smiling.
“Bloody beautiful,” my mom said.
I wanted to say “Fuck me with the sublimity of that mad-beautiful music,” but instead I said, "I loved it even more once you got in the car,” I said. “It was instant.”
My mom just kept nodding. She understood. “The day wasn’t wasted,” she said.
YOU TOO MOM? I thought, and my love for her billowed and bloomed like a long elegant French curtain in the Riviera breeze. We entered my house, which was filled with the happy shouts of grandkids, and dinner being prepped.
You’re not wasting your life, I thought. What a perfect, unexpected moment. And I didn’t have to DO anything for it, other get off the couch, get into my car and drive to my mother’s.
That’s a good life.
Now your turn—one easy beautiful prompt:
Watch this video of Ode to Joy—or listen to it—with another person.
The video is just the Ode to Joy section, and 17 minutes.
I’ve also included a Spotify link to the entire Ninth Symphony, below. xo
Reading this, I was WITH you in the car, music surround-sounding my inner and outer selves, and those insanely beautiful green parasols of trees overhead, blessing the world, you, all moms, Beethoven, days whose purpose is uncovered in a shared musical moment.
A beautiful snippet of the exalted. And since I'm typing this comment while listening to the Ninth, you've effectively spread the JOY. ❤️