Miles Davis Saved My Life (Again)

I've been having a bit of a rough time lately, as you may be able to tell from the ups and downs of my posts. There's just an awful lot tumbling through my head right now: MFA applications, current classes, my assistantship, whether to get my MA, oh yeah, and my writing. I seem to be in a productive period right now, for which I am always thankful, but why when I am in the middle of so much other crap? Probably because my brain is on overdrive.

Anyway.

So, I've been stressed. I've seen the signs that point to panic mode, but I wasn't really paying attention. I should be learning by now. On Thursday I hit major panic, and had a small anxiety attack. I say small because I was able to control it, to push it down and get home to safety. I didn't hyperventilate, although it was a near thing. I am glad for this because when it happened, I was in Bemidji, just about to head home for the weekend, and I knew that if I couldn't control it, I wouldn't be able to drive home. My drive home is isolated, dark and winding, rife with deer munching by the side of the road. I generally do not mess around on the way home, drive carefully and slowly, and with a wary eye. I knew that if I could not put away the anxiety, or at least postphone it, I wouldn't be able to get home, which was what I wanted more than anything.

I can thank two artists for making this possible. The first is Van Gogh. I stood staring at the print of this painting that I have in my office. It never fails to comfort me. It's as close to being home as I can get sometimes.

But the bulk of my thanks goes to Miles Davis, hands down. This isn't the first time he has pulled me out of something, but it was definitely the most dramatic. Off and on, all day that day, I had been listening to 'Round About Midnight, possibly my favorite Miles Davis album. When I went into my office and shut the door, feeling the impending panic, I put 'Round About Midnight on again. But just the first track, 'Round Midnight, over and over. It soothes me like no other piece of music I've found. It's like a hand rubbing my neck, brushing my cheek, running down my hair. This feeling is so palpable that if I close my eyes I can almost feel fingertips on my cheek. It is, I am convinced, the only reason I was able to slow my breathing, and stop those awful herkyjerky sobs that hurt my chest (I am not a pretty crier, especially at times like these, when there are no tears involved, just dry sobbing noises and hiccups and little pitiful whines and sniffles).

Thank you, Miles Davis. I love you.