Back to you, it always comes around
Back to you, I tried to forget you,
I tried to stay away, but it's too late
Lyrics such as John Mayer’s Back to You, allows me to view the world differently than just the usual black and white. The way different artists are able to express themselves in a lyrical sense allows me to do the same with writing. Having the beats run through my veins, controlling the tapping of my foot, and even making me sway my body from left to right, music is something that captivates me to write and have passion within my works. Going through the list of artists on my ipod, John Mayer is the one I keep coming back to no matter what time of day it is. The way he is able to express his feelings about love and the world, his lyrics allow me to open my eyes, allowing me to see more than black and white. I don’t see him as the typical recording artist where they are told what to sing and how to sing the song. John Mayer is able to really sit down and absorb the moment and surroundings that impact him every day. I look up to him as a singer and writer because he struggled with writer’s block, but everyday he challenged himself to connect between his thoughts and his words, which I feel writing has allowed me to do.
I struggled a lot with writing papers and expressing myself in high school English classes because I never had the need to express myself in that way. When I enrolled in my Creative Writing class, I had a difficult time writing my inner thoughts, especially during free write. As my friends cruised through this class, I could never get through a free write without thinking things through and forming well thought out paragraphs. The idea of writing down how you felt and revealing to the teacher my inner thoughts made me uncomfortable when writing anything. But with the growing challenges I had to face in high school, Creative Writing class influenced the way I write, to even how I express myself on a personal level. There was no better feeling than to be able to express myself on an emotional and personal level; I was excited being able to use this class to my advantage.
With the load of classes and extra curricular activities, I found myself constantly looking for the “right” answer, which pushed me to think logically throughout most of my high school career. Going to a predominantly white school was something that never struck me as weird or different. I felt like this was a way to discover myself as a person from my background and culture from my own personal thoughts. Although the idea of self-discovery is meant to happen in the changes of high school, the idea of change and understanding myself hit me during the last few months of my high school career as I continued to write in my Creative Writing class.
Something about you, it’s just the way you move, the way you move me, yeah, I’m so good at forgetting, I quit every game that I played.
My parents have constantly hovered behind my back following every move and decision that I made throughout my life as a teenager. I went through the same teen angst of having to fight with my parents over matters of school, friends, and life. Every night there was at least one argument that echoed throughout my house, but with the load of assignments and tasks I had to complete, I never let that get in the way of what I did. My parents drove me to enroll in every science fair, club, and music program my high school had to offer, to the point where I lost track of time. I pretty much was consumed with homework, to the point where I had to drive away my friends and as well as myself to become the best in high school through the eyes of my parents. Having to take 4 AP classes starting from my sophomore year in high school was probably the highlight of having nothing but mental break downs, sleep deprivation, and stress to the point where I completely broke down during an exam. I was always coming home frustrated, and sometimes felt the need to have something create a new path for me. Moments that created havoc in my life allowed me to grab my ipod, close the door behind me and write every feeling and emotion that ran across my body, which later made me feel better in the end.
Should have smiled in that picture,
If it's the last that I'll see of you,
It's the least that you, could not do
I always wondered what it would have been like having my dad there for me when I needed him the most. Ever since I was a little kid, I would always wake up only to find my dad off to work or off on a business trip and afterschool, he would always be sleeping on the couch for countless hours. I would always be crushed, because between my mother and me, we never got along very well. She would always want to talk about how I was feeling and do the whole girl talk thing that never caught on to me. I hated the idea of telling how I felt and what I felt, because there was no time to stop and think about those things. I had a ton of guy friends growing up where the idea of dressing up and any girly stuff was out of sight throughout my life, to the point where my mom refused to let me hang out with them because of their “boyish” influence. Whenever my dad came home, silence would fill the room, where I felt uncomfortable saying anything about how my day went, or what’s been going on in my life. I never blamed him for not being there, I knew the job was demanding, but something about replacing his affection with money never got around to my understanding.
I felt proud being around my dad wherever I had the chance to go with him, only because it made me feel tough. I was able to play football and hockey with the guys, and starting in the fifth grade, I picked up snowboarding with my guy friends. Every year, my dad and I would go to Colorado Ski and Golf and just enjoy the massive amounts of boards and bindings, which are some of the things that connected us on a personal level.
But with my dad being gone for a majority of my life, I befriended a few guys who are known as my close friends. I don’t think I will be able to let go of my close guy friends, Max, David, Nate, and Matt, only because we’ve been through so much since pre-school. Whenever one of us got hurt, we would always be there for one another; as for the idea of having relationships outside of the circle of friends, we never let that get in the way. I loved the idea of hanging out with these guys, only because it would make my mom furious when I would come home bruised and bloody from a rough game of football, but, I would look over and see my dad smile a bit and chuckle to himself.
When it came down to choosing the college my friends and I each desired to go to, I was the one who was hesitant to pick. My friends, especially Max, was the one who pulled 20 questions on me and helped me realize how much I loved writing and teaching, which is what brought me to UNC. Although all of us separated to different colleges, we still find ourselves calling each other up and talking about stupid things. Even though I am still not able to make the connection between me and my dad, I turn to my friends for advice on anything because they helped me find myself and connect with my inner thoughts.
At the beginning of senior year of high school, I didn’t know where to even begin for a spark of inspiration at this point in my life. I read as much as I could, going anywhere from Jane Austen, to various novels that I was able to pick up off the shelf of my sister’s room. Nothing worked at this point. I struggled to really get into the mind of the characters, the setting, and my mind couldn’t slow down for me to truly connect the book to my life. I was getting frustrated because no matter how hard I tried to understand the idea of literature and language, it was attacking me in all the wrong ways. I was either too occupied to sink myself into the book, or I had piles of homework that needed to be done. With the continuing stress of school and the daily routines that I went through, I knew I needed to stop trying to force the idea of passion and writing into my life and focus on having life take its course.
Thinking back to the moments of listening to John Mayer and being able to become a “musician” with writing, I can write as much as I can without anything holding me back emotionally and physically. I reflect back on those who have influenced me, such as John Mayer, my friends and family, as a writer and the amount of passion I am able to have with anything. I am still connected with music to the point where I am always listening to songs one way or the other. Even with the piles of critical writing assignments that are given in my English classes in college, I push the “shuffle” button, take a deep breathe and plunge into the assignment. Maybe it is because of the lyrics that get to me no matter what. When the beats run through my mind, I’m in a rhythm of writing non-stop with my feet tapping the ground, hands moving as if the music shifts my direction, taking me to a completely different level.
Back to me
I know that it comes
Back to me
Doesn't it scare you
Your will is not as strong
As it used to be
Posted by dover94 on December 4, 2008
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