I was listening to my favorite podcast the other day, and the comments of a guest neuroscientist struck me:

“It’s counter-intuitive that sad music makes you feel better when you distract yourself with it.When you are feeling unhappy and depressed, you feel misunderstood, and the last thing you want is to listen to some rousing, happy music because that is just another person who doesn’t understand how you are feeling. You put on the right sad music and you go: “Ah…yes, that musician understands me. I’m no longer sitting alone at the edge of the cliff, looking over the abyss, but there is somebody next to me—somebody that’s been through this and who has turned their experience into a beautiful work of art.”—Dr. Daniel Levitin

I really like that idea, and it makes sense, doesn’t it? I love happy music too, big time—but what is that thing about sad songs that draws us deeper? We all seem to know there is comfort there, but to have it described in such a way feels like a sort of revelation.Sometimes songs come up that remind me of times with Vernon and even the happy ones can make me feel more sad than glad. But music was always a big part of our story, so why shouldn’t it continue to be a part of mine?

This song came up today. It’s one of my favorites: we even have the record. Vernon and I went to see this guy when he played in our town in England, and I was listening to this album on my headphones (to relax my nerves) while waiting at the Tom Bradley terminal for Vernon to arrive for his first visit nearly 13 years ago. We also had it on constant rotation through Vernon’s ordeal. So yes, the song is sad, but it has meaning. I guess you could say this song has been an understanding and loyal friend for many years.

And THIS brings to mind the wonderful, healing voice of Isabelle Logie, her rendition, and some more memories…which are indeed quite sad. When the sadness like this comes, I embrace it, as it is a privilege to feel the past…especially as we go forward and the visits of the past are less consistent, yet still surprising. This kind of fleeting sadness is a gift, like seeing a rainbow in California or a deer in a wilderness. I try to stop and take in the moment while it’s there.