I've been listening to the Indigo Girls lately.
If you want to enjoy a blast from the past, watch this video. It's perfectly 80's. Now, I grew up listening to the Indigo Girls. I have memories of being twelve and in my best friend's mom's car, listening to Galileo. And then high school brought girl friends and singing harmony at the top of our lungs while driving in Siobhan's truck wearing our cut-offs and bikini tops. I spent hours upon hours singing along with these songs, or practicing them myself on my guitar. The Indigo Girls taught me to like myself--that I had something to offer and that I shouldn't let myself be pushed around. Their songs spoke of love lost and gained, but also of injustice, prejudice and resistance. Their words fueled my young sense of activism and empowerment. They sang to me that maybe I shouldn't be quite so certain of things I thought I knew, but that uncertainty didn't need to be scary--wonder could be freeing. They provided a much-needed soundtrack to adolescent angst and pain, and I didn't feel so alone when I could sink into that music.
When I went off to college I got introduced to the like of Patty Griffin, Dar Williams, and other new musical delights, and my loyalty to the Indigo Girls subsided at bit. Then I married a man who frankly dislikes them, and all of that adds up to a decade of very limited Indigo Girls consumption. Which brings us to the present. I recently was given a bunch of IG in digital form (I owned them all on cassette) and have been able to put them on our ipod. It is so fun to listen to them again and be transported to a self that I have trouble remembering. My teen years were hard in many ways--complicated emotions and relationships that were frequently over my head--and yet there is something so innocent, sweet and simple about those years as well. It feels like a gift to be brought back into some of those old memories, and to know that that spunky girl with flowers in her hair and a more developed sense of adventure is still with me.
The other night, at the end of a crummy day, I lay in the dark next to my snoring husband, unable to sleep. I got up and dug out the ipod, then lay there, listening to songs that my younger self knew by heart. Suddenly I realized that not only is she still with me, but she is a comfort, even a friend to me. That spunky, care-free girl took my by the hand and said, "You're all right. Life will come and life will go... So you know it's all right. Cause you just got a letter to your soul. When your whole life is on the tip of your tongue, empty pages for the no longer young, the apathy of time laughs in your face. Did you hear me say, each life has it's place?"
Thank you, Amy and Emily, for helping me find the words.