How a Numb, Phony Zombie Started Singing Her Own Song
“Alas for those that never sing, but die with all their music in them!” ~Oliver Wendell Holmes Six years ago, I came across a line from an old poem that punctured my present moment so profoundly it seemed to stop time. On an average Tuesday, there I was, sitting at my desk, ignoring the stack of papers I was responsible for inputting into a spreadsheet and procrastinating as usual on the Internet instead. At this particular time, Pinterest was my drug of choice—anyone else? As I was aimlessly scrolling through wacky theme party ideas and spicy margarita recipes, suddenly, here came this old-school poet Oliver Wendell Holmes with these words that leapt off of my laptop screen and stung me like fourteen different bee stings to the heart: “Alas for those that never sing, but die with all their music in them!” I was floored. It was as if Oliver’s invisible hand had reached into my day and popped the protective bubble of my well-established comfort zone, sending me crashing down to t...