July 09, 2000
Come from the Heart
When I was a young girl, my daddy told me
A lesson he learned, it was a long time ago
If you want to have someone to hold onto
You're gonna have to learn to let go
You got to sing like you don't need the money
Love like you'll never get hurt
You got to dance like nobody's watchin'
It's gotta come from heart if you want it to work
Now here is the one thing I keep forgettin'
When everything is falling apart
In life as in love, you know I need to remember
There's such a thing as tryin' too hard
You got to sing like you don't need the money
Love like you'll never get hurt
You got to dance, dance, dance like nobody's watchin'
It's gotta come from the heart if you want it to work
When I was in college in Nashville, I grew rather fond of country music. Not surprising, in a city where you can't throw a rock without hitting a country music artist, budding or legendary. My favorite, without a doubt, was Kathy Mattea. With that great low voice of hers, she was incredibly easy for me to sing along with, on top of having some very listenable songs. I pulled the tape out recently and started listening to it after several years. I discovered that I like it as much as I did then.
I also discovered that the above song is a theme song for me, in a way. Melissa puts it better than I possibly could in her entry here than I ever could, but here goes.
Emotionally, I'm not a halfway sort of person. When I'm enthusiastic about a person or an issue or... anything... I can't keep it hidden. Gaming, for example. I try not to bore non-gamers to tears with details of my gaming exploits. However, it's something I am extremely enthusiastic about, and I find myself blathering on anyway. The whole time I'll be thinking "God, Lisa, you're such a geek, they don't care about that, shut up!" but I can't.
I'm the same way about people. When I love someone, I do it unreservedly and completely. My heart's on my sleeve, I can't shut up about how I feel, and the other person is given far too much power to effect my life. When it's a mutual thing, it's breathtaking. When it's unrequited... well... there aren't words. It's utterly devastating. Again, I'll be talking to or about the person, and be thinking, "God, Lisa, shut up!" And I never can.
I've been told I lead with my heart. I do. Very often, it hurts like hell. Hearts are not tough organs designed for constant exposure and abuse from the careless and uncaring outside world. With enough hurt, most people either stop leading with their hearts, or develop emotional calluses and 'toughen up'. And then there are those of us that do neither. Time and time again, we lead with that battered heart, we dive in, often without checking the water's depth. We never check to see what we're getting into.
We don't look before we leap.
I wouldn't trade it for anything. It makes me what I am. Call it naivete` if you will, but that's not entirely accurate. I'm not naive. I know that living and loving the way I do will often lead to me getting hurt. That's the price I pay for being true to who I am, and the rewards are often so worth it. I want to live my life with the passion to howl at the moon, to fall madly in love against my better judgement, to flirt and sing and make faces at babies. To walk in the rain without an umbrella, to defy convention, to avoid doing something just because it's 'sensible'. To "act in accordance with the dictates of my heart, and chance the consequences."
To be who and what I am without apology or regret. Without worrying what the neighbors will say. What my family will say. Even what my friends will say. I don't always manage it. It's tough, especially for someone who's as much a people pleaser as I am.
How does the song tie into that? It's my reminder. On two levels. First, it's a reminder to live exuberantly, passionately, honestly. But it's also a reminder "that there's such a thing as trying too hard", and that I'm "gonna have to learn to let go". Those aren't a bad set of lessons for a little three-minute country ditty.
Posted by Lisa at July 9, 2000 10:39 PM
