I stole this from @ThatEricAlper's twitter feed.
As you
might expect, Low took me to a dark place. My memory took over and pressed Rewind
and then pressed Play, and every time I went to press Stop, it would swat my hand
away.
In 2007, my
new job required that I take this personality test called the Clifton
Strengthsfinder. Everyone in the company had to take this test in which you
discover what your top 5 strengths are. They gave me a certificate to keep at my desk, and at the company-wide sales meetings, they made us wear an ID tag with our top
5 strengths listed. The idea is that you keep a person's strengths in mind when you
communicate with them. If so-and-so's number one strength is Responsibility,
you wouldn't tell them how to cut a corner somewhere.
- Empathy
- Adaptability
- Input
- Connectedness
- Intellection
Empathy.
This "strength" has been a dominant theme my whole life, but I don't
think I've ever learned to use it properly. I'm not even entirely sure what the
best use of this trait would be. Perhaps nursing, or teaching, or saving the
environment, or something. But I never had an inclination toward any of those
things. Instead, I had to be artistic. So where am
I going with this?
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It's been kind
of a challenging two weeks, absorbing the Low album. It is a fantastic album. I
was a bit worried about it, because in my pre-reading about it, I learned that
it's primarily instrumental, with only a light smattering of lyrics. I was
afraid that if I couldn't sing along to this album, I might not be able to
relate to it.
How wrong I
was. Low doesn't need lyrics. The music tells the story. And it's not a happy
one. It physically brought me to tears.
Before I
tell the story of where the album took me, I just need to ask one question. Does
everyone go through a "blue period"? Everybody hurts, that's what
Michael Stipe said. And that's absolutely true. But does everybody hurt for an
extended period of time in which simply breathing and getting out of bed to
complete basic tasks like getting a glass of water is damn near impossible?
My blue
period occurred not too far back in recent history - from January 1 2006 to
February 10, 2010. Yes, I know the exact dates, because they were important
dates. Maybe the slide into darkness began somewhat earlier, and maybe the rise
out wasn't completely devoid of pain, but those dates bookend the period rather
aptly. And that's not to say that I never smiled or had a happy moment during
those years... but the dominant feelings were melancholy, restlessness, fear,
isolation, loneliness, anxiety, hopelessness, and an overall feeling of being
lost.
That period
is where Low took me. I could try and make up something else, but that would be
dishonest. Having said
that, I've decided that I don't just want to put all of this out there where
anyone can see it. I mean, I'm kind of doing that anyway, but I'm going to set
up an invisibility cloak on the story that follows. If you can figure out how
to read it, congratulations, you get to find out about some of my darkest
thoughts and moments from that time period. Yes, I'm making you work for
it, which may mean that no one will bother, but it's important to me to set up
some kind of shield. Without further adieu...
The Fall and Rise of the Little Girl With Grey
Eyes
It was the
summer of 2005. Actually, it was not even summer yet - it was early May, but
hot like summer. The hottest spring on record. The Little Girl With Grey Eyes
had just returned to Canada from nearly two years overseas. The time of her life.
She left behind the person she was to become someone else for awhile, to just
be in the world and experience it in an untethered way. The only moment of fear
or hesitation she experienced was the dilemma of whether to continue backpacking
in Europe or put all her money into a flight to Australia. Her next destination
all hinged on that. In May of 2004, The Little Girl With Grey Eyes called her
mom from Bruges and asked her... "So should I go to Berlin or back to
London? If I go to Berlin, I'm going to stay in Europe. If I go back to London,
I'm going to fly to Sydney".
She went to
Sydney. She had fallen in love with an Australian hiphop emcee she had met in
Edinburgh, and she followed him home. She stayed downunder for a year, the best
year of her life. But when her visa was up, it was time to leave. So back to
Canada she did go. She had considered resuming
the European adventure, but her grandmother was sick, and thus decided she had
been away too long.
Initially,
adjusting to life back in Canada wasn't that difficult. The Little Girl was
living a permanent high. She was positively glowing. Everyone wanted to hear
her stories, at least, she believed that they did. Regardless, she told her
stories relentlessly.
When her Aussie
boyfriend ended the relationship over the phone a couple months later, The
Little Girl was instantly crushed. But while the initial blow was devastating,
the longing that so often accompanies a break-up didn't persist longer than a
couple of months. More than likely, his residence on the other side of the planet
helped her to fold him up and put him away into a shoebox on her shelf, out of
her thoughts, relatively quickly. It wasn't long after, that she was suddenly
able to see him with a much clearer perspective the person he really was. How
she had chosen to ignore the fights, the drunken rants, the violence followed
by blackouts, in favour of the beautiful idea of being with him.
The Little
Girl had been working and living in a resort in cottage country that summer. As
the warm weather came to an end, she found herself a hotel job downtown Toronto.
Growing up in Northern Ontario, she had
always wanted to live in Toronto. On December 1, 2005, she moved into a share
house on Sullivan St. at Queen West and Spadina, with a group of art students
and a spiritual coach type guy. According to local lore, her snazzy new
dwelling was three doors down from where Margaret Atwood once lived.
December
31, 2005. The Grey Eyed Girl was working the evening shift at the hotel. A good
group was working that night. Their shift was supposed to end at 11pm, and they
had planned on cramming themselves into the nearest bar and ringing in the New
Year together. But hotel workers rarely finish work on time when it comes to such
holidays. The group made it to the bar just after midnight, and stayed for a
couple of hours to celebrate. The Grey Eyed Girl felt good. She liked her new
life. It wasn't Europe or Australia, but she had made friends and was happy,
making ends meet in Canada's Big City. She may not have been living her dream,
but it was good for the short term.
At 8am on
New Year's Day, 2006, The Grey Eyed Girl bounded out the door and up Sullivan
St. on her way to work, just a short 10 minute walk away. The two men walking
briskly in her direction gave her a bad feeling, but she didn't want to be late
for work, so she continued on her way. As The Girl encountered the men upon the
sidewalk, they pulled out knives and held them to her neck and back, demanding
money. The Girl gave them the $15 she had on her, and hoped that would be enough to
satisfy them. They let her go, physically unscathed, with only the warning that
they saw which house she came from, and would come back for her if she reported
them to the police.
The Little
Girl's brain had difficulty processing the thought that she had traveled the
world by herself for nearly two years, without so much as the slightest incident
occurring, only to get mugged in her homeland.
Life after
that became strange for The Girl. She was thankful those men didn't hurt her.
She knew the chances that they would make good on their threat were slim. And
yet, she feared them. She feared everyone, particularly during the earliest
hours of the day. She became convinced that there were only two kinds of people
out in the early mornings - those going to work, and those who were up to no
good. She tried to identify them. There seemed to be a lot of the bad kind.
Leaving the house in the morning became difficult. She asked for afternoon and
evening shifts, which her manager was happy to give for the most part, with
only a few exceptions. Still, leaving her room became a challenge.
A couple of
months later, The Little Girl With Grey Eyes ran into a friend from university.
They hadn't seen each other in about 8 years - had it really been that long?
She liked him, always had. He was smart and creative, and well dressed. After a
day of enjoying sushi, drinks and clothes shopping, the two became an item. Unfortunately,
The Girl lived in daily fear that The Smart Boy With Amazing Shoes was going to
leave her. He could sense it and revealed to her that he had always thought of
her as a secure and confident person, but now he had gotten this feeling that
she wanted a body guard, not a boyfriend.
When he
broke it off, the devastation crept into the Girl's heart more slowly and
insidiously than it had with the Aussie. She took the news quietly, thanked The
Boy for giving her the chance to be with
him, and then proceeded to spiral down, down, down, into a hole so dark and deep
that it was impossible to tell which way was up. She took a sick week off work
to lie in bed. Going back to work, she was barely able to stand. The crushing
loneliness and newly developed fear of being alone spawned terrible, alarming thoughts. Thoughts about going outside, closing her
eyes, listening for the nearing ding of the streetcar, and walking out onto the
road.
The Grey
Eyed Girl broke her lease six months in. The insipid, lilac-frosting coloured
walls of her room were closing in on her. Sullivan St. was a nightmarish world
where everyone walking her way was coming for her. She moved up the road to a
flat above a restaurant in Chinatown with a girl she met on craigslist, The Pretty
Girl With Golden Hair . The apartment was small, but cheerful, with tiffany
blue walls and enormous bedroom windows through which happy glowing rays of
sunlight beamed. The change of scenery was welcome.
At first,
The Grey Eyed Girl felt sure she had left everything that happened to her on
Sullivan St. behind. Chinatown was always busy, with people crowding the
sidewalks at the markets. No one could hurt her there. And her new roommate was
a lovely, chipper girl. Then, things changed at work.
During the
first year of employment at the hotel, everyone at the front desk was required
to do a three-month stretch of overnight shifts. The Grey Eyed Girl's stint
began that June, immediately after her move to Chinatown. The first couple of overnights weren't so
bad. But soon she found she was unable to sleep during the day, despite her
best efforts. She made Daysleeper by REM her anthem, and blasted it on her
stereo when the sun and the sounds of the street got to be too much. The big
bright window that had seemed such a blessing when she moved in became a source
of vast discomfort. With the hot June sun shining into her room and filtering
into the rest of the apartment, her eyes would not stay shut. She wanted the
darkness back.
A couple of
weeks into overnights, things fell very much apart. With very little sleep, The
Little Girl found herself unable to eat much. Her thoughts became increasingly
irrational. She was relieved to learn she had been given three days off in a
row, beginning on Tuesday. Rather than sleep, she called every friend in town
to see who wanted to go on a bender. Being a Tuesday, no one took her up on it.
Insistent that she was going to get blind drunk, alone if necessary, The Little
Girl bought herself a big bottle of wine and popped Moulin Rouge into her
laptop.
She awoke
the following afternoon, having slept most of the hangover off. But what
concerned her more than feeling a tad unwell was the knife she found in bed
with her. How it came to be there, she could not recall. She called her dear
friend Snruby for advice, which was to go to the hospital and tell them what
happened. The Little Girl did, and stayed there for two days.
Mostly she
slept, but when she finally woke to find herself in a room filled with a
hundred different kinds of crazy, the need to get out became overwhelming. She
considered going to Montreal to see a friend there, but the doctor talked her
out of it. Before leaving, he gave her three things: a note informing her
manager that she was not medically able to work the night shift, a bottle of
Zoloft with an accompanying prescription, and a recommendation to attend
Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. The Little Girl took the note and the pills, but
rejected the other suggestion. In her mind, the wine didn't get that knife,
something else did.
Zoloft is a
strange thing. Within hours of the first dose, the Grey Eyed Girl felt as if
she was swimming slowly through space. This effect eventually wore off, but the
additional effect of not being able to cry or laugh persisted. In this
quasi-functional state, life became sort of livable again, even if it wasn't
what could be described as joyful. Despite this, the mediocrity was punctuated
with joyful moments - her sister got married, and she rekindled her friendship
with The Smart Boy With Amazing Shoes. She and her roommate moved to a larger
apartment with a better sunlight balance, and a balcony. She left her job at the
hotel and began working what she hoped was going to be a more creative role.
Fast
forward to December 2008. The US economic crisis had left the American-owned
company The Grey Eyed Girl worked for in a state of financial emergency. Jobs
were cut. For a time, it was rumoured her position was on the chopping block.
Fortunately, she didn't lose her job, but over 150 of her colleagues in the
Canadian facility lost theirs. As 2009 took over, the impact of the closing of
the Canadian facility became apparent in the Toronto showroom. Fights between
sales reps broke out, profanity-laced rants filled the atmosphere. A thick film
of anxiety covered everything - the office walls, the floors, the photocopier,
her computer, the entire showroom.
The Grey
Eyed Girl wasn't a fighter. As she had learned during her first week at the
company, her number one strength was Empathy. She absorbed it all.
It got so
that she could barely answer the phone, and when she did, the words "What's
wrong?!" fell out instead of the standard greeting. She spent hours in the
washroom. She cried at her desk. She ate almost nothing, and when she did, she'd
often spit it out before swallowing it. She took a lot of sick days. She drank
every night. She thought insects were
crawling in her hair. She probably should not have stopped taking the Zoloft.
Eventually,
the Girl's behaviour and resulting weight loss were brought to her attention by
my manager and two of the sales reps. She had no choice to admit that she
wasn't alright. She was encouraged to take a short-term disability leave to get
better.
Upon
returning to work in December 2009, The Little Girl With Grey Eyes knew it
wouldn't be for long. The fear and sadness were still there, but something else
had taken root: Hope. 2010 was coming, and The Little Girl was tired of all the
bullshit. Tired of being sad, of being afraid, of phantom insects, of feeling
lost and not knowing where she was headed. She knew that 2010 was going to be
the year that everything changed. She gave her notice on February 10, and never
looked back.
*****
I have a love/hate relationship with Low.
Musically, it's beautiful and incredibly moving. The first time I heard Warzsawa,
it made me cry in public, and I still get a lump in my throat when I listen to
it. Sound and Vision's lyrics just about
put me on the floor, despite its upbeat music, and Be My Wife... OH GOD IT'S
ALL SO SAD. (And can I just say that the first time I heard Subterraneans I nearly choked during the lyrical part of the song. It's uncanny how it actually sounds like he's calling my name... Shelley Shelley Shelley... I'm not crazy, I played it for some people and they agreed.)
Having this
album take me back to my blue period is painful, but I know that it's behind me
and I refuse to let myself ever slide back to that place. I am not that person anymore. I could argue that
I'm currently living in my "rose period" - the most creative period
of my life so far. My time overseas may have been the happiest and most fun,
but no one should live in that kind of unbridled hedonism for so long - you
come down too hard. Balance is important.
This album is among my favourites, because of
the way it never ceases to make me FEEL. Having said that, it does get to be a
bit too much at times. It is also hard to take because I know its creator went
through his own personal hell during the making of it, and of course, I empathize.
Fucking empathy.
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