Behind the cheery tune of a busy life though, is the annoying voice that tells me it's all my fault. Washing-up stacked into the sink like the Leaning Tower of Saucepans? My fault. Too tired to pair up this week's collection of socks? Me again. Busy every single waking hour from 10am Saturday to 6pm on Wednesday evening? Over here.
I was at Winchester's Tent On The Green event today. It's twenty four hours of solid worship-music outside the cathedral, led by different bands in ninety minute slots. Typically, Tom (who is always in on these things) wanted a massive fusion of good musicians and a small army of drummers to help him fill his hour and a half.
What he got was a noisy collaboration of 11 drummers, 200 hand percussionists (the crowd), an awesome sax player, an equally incredible guitarist, and me, fumbling about playing the wrong chords to Watermelon Man on a Nord Stage 2. It was loud and chaotic but a lot of fun.
I learned a lot about rhythm. It's amazing how it can get you moving even without melody, harmony or tone. There was something primordial about dancing along to the cross-patterned samba beats of hundreds of djembes, shakers and cowbells. It made me realise that sometimes we do too many notes and not enough dancing.
Which brings me right back to my squishy, spinning, merry-go-round world. Where is the room for dancing? Where is the joy and the freedom to just let loose and get moving? I have over-complicated everything so much that my diary, my brain and my emotions are a clever-looking mess and I am exhausted trying to sort it out every day.
Time to figure out how to get dancing I reckon.
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