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224 pages, Paperback
Published September 17, 2020
"I don't know why singing makes me cry. But I think it's because when we construct a song from the air with our memories and lungs and mouths, I feel connected to other people in a way I struggle with otherwise. I like losing myself in the thickets of othe people's voices, in my friends' voices. We're people in middle age and life has happened to us: bereavement, separation, children, no children, ill health, redundancy, pain. Sometimes you can hear it in the way we sing."
"At my most vulnerable, I worry that being without children makes me an un-important non-person. I worry that I'm going to get weird, that not having a feedback loop of care with a smaller human is going to cause my heart and soul to shrivel up. I worry that we were put here on Earth to be people-makers and that if I don't get on with that task I'll lose my membership card for the human race. And I worry that having children grants people access to some big secret that's denied to the rest of us."
"Young men from backgrounds like mine are encouraged to be ambitious and clever, and, maybe, in a slightly detached way, to be kind. We're taught abstract notions like 'ethics.' But we're not conditioned to nurture or care. The most socially respectable approach to care for the middle classes is to earn enough money to pay other people to do it. So, with all that in mind, it's a beautiful thing when you realize that it's something you can do: to physically care for a stranger."
"For every day that I drove home from work with scratches and bruises, feeling like I'd earned my wages, there'd be another where I had experienced the simple force of someone else's love and it felt like I had stolen something."