Hey there, Reader!
This week, I wanted to do something a little different and share an essay that I wrote on Substack.
Enter Dreamland
Have you ever felt unmoored? I have, more times than I'd care to admit.
Sometime in the spring of 2020, in the throes of the pandemic, I was burned out from work, had relationship woes, was disconnected from my family, my friends, and myself. I couldn't stop putting my attention on my challenges, and I felt like nothing ever would or could be good again.
My mind could only internalize its most brutal lies, and I couldn't tune out the noise. I kept trying to figure out how I got to feeling that way and what I could do to move through it. Mind you, on the outside, I was a shiny, happy person while my insides felt like a bubbling cauldron.
I can remember one evening in particular like it unfolded last night.
The candles were flickering, and I sat cross legged on my bed with my journal open in front of me. I felt like I was floating outside of my life. It doesn't make any sense, but I felt in my bones that my life was playing out while I was a passive observer. An impossibility, I know, but logical knowledge didn't render the feeling untrue. I might as well have been sitting in a dark theater watching a movie, except it wasn't a movie, it was my life, and I didn't know how to feel like I was in it.
Staring at the blank page in front of me, I knew the most efficient way back to myself was to connect to my Nana. She died 16 years before, but I remembered that she always saw me, even the parts that I didn't want to be seen. She said the truth in the most matter of fact way, and that evening in 2020, I would've sold my soul for a dose of it. It was the only remedy strong enough to lift the veil covering the truth of myself and of my life that I couldn't see on my own.
I grabbed my iPhone and hit shuffle on an Apple Music classical playlist, knowing if I just listened long enough, I'd feel her.
You see, my Nana loved classical music. This music reached my ears as a child in the early morning hours as she drank her coffee while the rest of the world slept. She told me that she loved it because words weren't needed to make it beautiful. You could simply feel the beauty of it. I'd question whether I felt what she felt, but as I got older and developed my own love for it, I understood that I didn't have to feel what she felt. The fact that I felt something was enough to beckon my return.
I digress.
As I sat, staring at my journal, willing words to spill, the sounds of piano washed over me. I gently swayed and closed my eyes. I felt my Nana's presence. I heard her words, "You can do anything, Adrienne. You'll figure it out, but you don't have to figure it out right now. Let the knowing that you can be enough, for now." Tears ran down my cheeks, but I didn't feel sad, I felt peace.
Are tears of peace even a thing? They were that night.
I opened my eyes and tapped the screen of my phone to see the song that was playing. It was Dreamland by Alexis Ffrench. I had never heard it before, and I didn't recognize the artist. I clicked on his name, and his album Dreamland came up. I hit play and closed my eyes again.
As I listened to the album, I felt peace, happiness, hope, and more alive than I had in months. Goosebumps covered my arms, and my hairs stood on end. I sat up straighter and relaxed into myself. It didn't take long before I opened my eyes and scribbled furiously across page after page. With every word, I felt lighter and more like myself.
After that night, the album Dreamland became my companion. It played while I wrote, did chores, laid in bed, contemplated life, talked with friends, ran, hoped, and dreamed. It played while I came alive again, while I found my way back to myself, and it's playing now as I write this.
Dreamland didn't exist while my Nana was alive, but I like to believe she orchestrated my discovery of Alexis Ffrench’s music, which undoubtedly has stirred my soul, invigorated my spirit, and continues to bring me peace.
If you've never heard his work before, give it a listen - the video for Dreamland is below.
If you're a writer, let it play while you write and see what awakens within.
I hope that his music unlocks a beautiful place in your mind like it has mine.
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With love,
Adrienne
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P.S. If you haven't already joined me on Substack, subscribe here.
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