There was a time when my heart was so badly broken that music hurt too much to listen to. I had to start listening to jazz, because it was unfamiliar to me.

Now, when I hear jazz, I travel back to that time when it was novel, when I was imagining a whole new world for myself.

I liked that me.

I liked the fantasies I had of upscale nightclubs and cool blue lights. People talked smart and were civilized, like in those old black and white movies from the 40s. And I was there among them, shaking loose the brown suede fringed vest and frizzy loose hair of the rest of my life.

I needed a new soundtrack. Something that wasn’t going to make me cry.

I write these essays in the early morning quiet, trying to catch something true before it slips away. If this one landed for you, a tip in the jar tells me to keep going.

Tip Jar!

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