in college my friends loved ani difranco. i could never get into her. i knew i would, one day, when i was ready to hear her message. in those days, i could sense the importance of her words and the significance of their meaning, but was not in a place to internalize her message.
last week i loaded 10 days of music from the past 8 years of my life onto my new ipod. i've been running with it--and getting a real kick out of being one of "those runners." i get why they carry that little electronic device now. it's neat. having someone belting out, "how can we be lovers if we can't be friends," while trekking up yamhill or lincoln. that's when i noticed ani was on--as i passed the new seasons on division and started heading toward home. i crested the hill and i started hearing her. i felt the same chills i saw on the arms of friends so many years ago. it's not just a story she's telling about that one time in her life, appropriately matching or using a word simply for it's rhyme factor. she's using the language of her soul. and she's illuminating her pain, painting her love and breathing life into her story. by 39th i couldn't get her voice out of my head. what a beautiful experience it is when artists delve into the deepest pockets of their souls--seemingly the most lonely place to visit--yet they return with the stories that viscerally remind us we're never alone in this walk. or in my case, run.
"i don't like my edges rounded off" - ani difranco
"love is loose, shifts each time you move" - ani difranco
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