it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

tonight i had a really good talk with two friends about how scary it can be to be adrift in this part of life. we talked about how and why people grow roots at various
points in their lives, and whether or not the concept of root-growing terrified us. it's interesting to have the travel bug all the time, because when you're never quite home, going away forces your little apartment and your little job to be home-- the focal point to which you will yearn to come back to.

the general idea of settling goes against a lot of who i think i am right now... when i had to run home today from work to update my resume,i realized how many things i wanted to add to that list. "taught disabled children how to ride horses," my life's history says, "babysitter, library wench, migrant worker in greenhouse, receptionist, barista, book seller, cello teacher, admissions officer, production intern, dub room intern, assistant editor, boom girl, producer's assistant, producer, head writer." i want my resume to see a lot more ink-- documentary script writer, muppet, best-selling author, foster care advocate for change, cowgirl, gallery assistant, photographer, comedian, screenwriter, bartender, sommelier, foster dog trainer.

the theme of my internal monologue these days, and the pressing question on my mind, is how to re-group. i was resisting roots, but apparently i've grown some... and when i least expected it, they were up-rooted. the ground is still open below me, and i could attempt to regenerate growth, but i could also catch the wind that picked up unexpectedly, and become planted somewhere else with different stakes and risks.

my friends and i couldn't tell if we are happier as trepidacious wanderers, or if we'd be happier as slightly resentful in our planted ways. i left their comfortable presence, got into my new car and played a song that always feels like home. jeff buckley and rufus wainwright both do good covers of "hallelujah," but i've lost rufus, so jeff and i sand loud and soulfully the whole way home. this is one of the top 3 best songs that i can harmonize to, right up there with radiohead's "i will" and ben folds' "fred jones"-- right in the sweet spot for an alto's voice and a guitar in a minor key. it fits what i'm struggling to understand-- the contradiction of a minor key with a major transition, embracing the cold and broken hallelujah. the song always moves me in a way that i can't quite put into words, which is possibly the reason i like it so much

now i've heard there was a secret chord
that david played, and it pleased the lord
but you don't really care for music, do you?
it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
the minor fall and the major lift
the baffled king composing hallelujah
hallelujah

your faith was strong but you needed proof
you saw her bathing on the roof
her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to the kitchen chair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
and from your lips she drew the hallelujah
hallelujah

baby i've been here before
i've seen this room and i've walked this floor
i used to live alone before i knew you
i've seen your flag on the marble arch
love is not a victory march
it's a cold and broken hallelujah
hallelujah

well there was a time when you let me know
what was really going on below
but now you never show that to me, do you?
but remember when i moved in you
and the holy dove was moving too
and every breath we drew was hallelujah
hallelujah

i did my best, it wasn't much
i couldn't feel, so i tried to touch
i've told the truth: i didn't come to fool you
and even though it all went wrong
i'll stand before the lord of my song
with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

maybe there's a god above
but all i've ever learned from love
was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you
and it's not a cry that you hear at night
it's not somebody that's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
hallelujah

hallelujah hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah