Rocky road baffles me. It’s an interesting concept to be able to quell your personal rocky road with some rocky road in a pint or a gallon.
Perhaps one of the few things they have in common is that we hover over both.
We, as humans, tend to be hoverers. We harp on everything and can’t let go. Not because we don’t want to. Not because we are rebelling against what we know we should do. But because society just won’t let us.
No one wants to let anyone forget Michael Jackson. Television stations changed scheduled programming to incorporate specials on the Pop legend. Family and friends are blowing up our e-mail inboxes and cell phones with up-to-date news. I have even read that Twitter crashed because of so many people microblogging. In every conceivable medium, people are talking about the king of the 20th Century. Even if you could care less about the simultaneously famous/infamous star, you can’t help but think about him.
This morning, on my hour-plus commute to work, every single one of the six preprogrammed radio stations in my dashboard was talking about MJ’s death. The hosts who weren’t talking about it were having listeners call in about it. Every time I clicked from station 1 to 5 to 3 to 4 back to 5, I couldn’t tell if I had even changed the channel. The only thing that changed was voice of the person speaking. I chuckle to myself because at work, the two Cuban seamstresses, who listen to a mini radio straight from the early ‘90s, keep trying to change the channel to listen to their typical Spanish music, and even they can’t find a station (in English or in Spanish) not talking about or playing Michael Jackson.
Memories. That’s what we have. And “the way he made us feel. “
I heard over and over again (in my car and at work) about his contributions to society. His Thriller album going platinum 28 times. His Neverland Ranch and the joy it brought sick children. His ability to go from rags to riches. His influence on the music industry and the dance world. His role as an idol. No one dare mention his allegations or issues regarding child molestation, hanging babies over balconies or financial troubles. They only talk about the good, the great, the fabulous, the superstar. They harp.
As much as I tried to escape the chitchat for sheer and utter sickness of hearing about it, it kept on. What’s worse are the songs. The power hours of continuous Jackson hits that only linger with you long after you leave your car. Last night, on my late drive home, MJ wanted to “rock with me all night.” Then again this morning, he wanted me to “beat it,” but even as I tried my hardest, there was no escape.
Elvis Duran on the Y-100 Morning Show tried to make light of the situation and remind listeners that it’s Friday, and normally on Fridays we can all be happy because it’s the start of the weekend. But just because it’s the weekend doesn’t mean the hurt or the sorrow, no matter how great or small, goes away. In the real world, there is no such thing as “your week self” and “your weekend self”. And everyday problems or upsets will still affect you at night, in the morning, at coffee get-togethers, during dinner and when you try to sleep. You’ll push out all the bad and invigorate yourself with the good memories, while still really getting nowhere, but spinning your head in circles by thinking about the past.
Funny how life works. The underlying symbolism is undeniably uncanny. A brief look at this week’s weather forecast in South Florida promises scattered thunderstorms for at least the next ten days. And it’s as much the end of an era for Michael Jackson as it is for me right now.
Sometimes we just have to leave the pieces, walk away and bank on our instinct that the heart of life is good, even after devastation, shock and hurt.
Yes, rocky road can be an obstacle….but I’ll take it as an ice-cream flavor. With a crew of friends and a smile, I can make it disappear.
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