My apartment is located on the top floor of our building, so, in the morning, in pursuit of coffee, I walk down two flights of stairs and out the door. I always pass two apartment doors on my way out and on Monday something was different. The doormat sitting in front of the second apartment had been replaced. What was once a thin, grey mat was now a fresh, tan bristled thing with three words imprinted on it: ‘Our Happy Place’. A small herb garden also sat atop the opposing window sill. It was August 31 and it was a warning sign. When I walked down two flights of stairs and out the door in pursuit of coffee on Wednesday, the sun shone brighter and there was a comforting warmth. The coffee shop was busier than usual and people’s grins, wider. The hum of chatter seemed louder too. Nothing had changed but everything had. September was here and we were in bloom. All of a sudden, everyone was bringing their Big Spring Energy.
Our days, which were once cyclical and mundane, have been interrupted with small moments of pleasure. A pink sunset, a blooming flower. We’re all still stressed but it’s at least cast against the backdrop of something lighter now. The lens we were observing our lives with has been upgraded to one that is clearer, brighter. And I can’t help thinking about the parallels between the delight of a new season and hearing a song for the first time. Which brings me to Phil Collins, the destination I hoped to arrive at this morning. In early August, New Yorker staff writer Amanda Petrusich wrote an op-ed about Tim and Fred Willliams, twins in their twenties living in Indiana, who have spent the past year filming themselves listening to famous songs for the first time. In the article, titled, ‘The Addictive Joy Of Watching Someone Listen To Phil Collins’ Petrusich writes of the twins listening to In The Air Tonight.The YouTube video has amassed seven million viewers so far and it is everything you could hope for. The young men start listening, and from the beginning, they’re impressed. “Phil Collins, he’s killing it,” Fred says, but he doesn’t know what is about to hit.
Three minutes in, the moment we are all waiting for arrives and the drum fill begins. The twins halt, then fall back into their chairs, then look at each other, then gasp. They’re still processing what has just occurred. They start dancing in equal parts confusion and awe, and then pause the song to collect themselves. “That was cold! I ain’t gonna lie, Phil — you got me on that,” Tim says. “I have never seen anybody drop a beat three minutes into the song,” Fred adds, before turning it back on, “Let’s wake ‘em up!” They spend the last minute nodding their heads and tapping their chests in appreciation for a song they will never hear for the first time again. But that awe, that joy, is something we can all hold on to. And I have a feeling it means a little more to us than usual. As Petrusich muses, “I have rewound this particular sequence many times, simply to revel in its hope.”
I have no doubt that the delight found in the arrival of this new season has felt so delightful because of the year we have had. As my boyfriend likes to say, nothing exists without contrast. Or as writer Julian Barnes once wrote of love and mourning, “Nature is so exact, it hurts exactly as much as it is worth.” Being holed up in our apartments only means we will find a deeper pleasure in the expanse of a green paddock or the saltiness of an ocean swim. Last night, for example, my youngest sister buzzed my apartment and had a beer with me on the balcony as the sun set. I had not seen her in eight months. A seven dollar beer with her, all of a sudden, meant everything. This newfound delight in small moments is, of course, our payment for enduring the chaos that has been. And if this is our only payment, I hope we can hold on to these small moments - or at least the joy that springs from them - for a little longer. They are Our Happy Places and they will continue to refuel us and sustain us going forward. For the chaos isn’t over and if the last week has taught me anything, it’s that the hard stuff is always easier to tackle with a spring in our step. Keep bringing that energy.
Some related (and unrelated) recommendations:
Of course, 'The Addictive Joy of Watching Someone Listen To Phil Collins' by Amanda Petrusich for The New Yorker.
Everyone is talking about this Mariah Carey profile by Allison P. Davis for New York Magazine.
Like many, I am devastated about the death of Chadwick Boseman who passed away from bowel cancer at just 43. Highly recommend reading this stunning profile on him from The New York Times. Everyone knows him from the film 'Black Panther', but I highly recommend '42' and 'Marshall' as well. Boseman stars as Jackie Robinson and Thurgood Marshall respectively. Rest in power.
Everyone is also talking about this fascinating feature from The Cut.
I have had this album on repeat this week because it also has Big Spring Energy. Highly recommend.
This video, of course.
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