“I’ve always been crazy, but it’s kept me from going insane.”
I’ve never been struck by lightning, but song lyrics have been known to stop me in my steps, which is ironic because I’m notorious for singing the wrong words. Up until two years ago, I thought ELO’s “Evil Woman” was, in fact, “Medieval Woman.” This song came out when I was three years old, and now I finally understand it.
I must have passed this gene down to my son because this morning at breakfast we were listening to “Bennie and The Jets,” and he thought Elton John was singing, “Baby, I’m a Jack.” Regardless, music is my second language, and when I (correctly) hear a lyric that punches me in the gut, I take notice.
While I can listen to most all genres of music (in various doses), I find classic country to be the most fertile for good songwriting, and one of the masters is the late Waylon Jennings. If you’re in the nucleus of my inner circle, you know that I love Waylon Jennings as much as I love driving a pickup — a whole flippin’ lot. Waylon’s solo work, his songs with The Highwaymen, plus his epic duet with Big Bird in the underrated musical comedy film Follow That Bird (1985), make him a certified badass in my book.
That said, when I heard his marinated baritone seep through my speakers earlier this week, my listening ears clicked on. It wasn’t one of my top favorites — think “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys,” or “Lukenbach, Texas.” Nope, it was “I’ve Always Been Crazy.”
I’m sure others can relate when they hear the line, “I’ve always been crazy, but it’s kept me from going insane.” Of course, that tracks for me, but the line that scooped my heart like a cantaloupe was this, “Are you really sure you really want what you see? Be careful of something that’s just what you want it to be.”
Obviously, when I heard this song walking around my dad’s machine shop as a kid, it didn’t have quite the philosophical effect it has on me now. Turning 50, which I did last August, changes your outlook on so many things, as it’s a summit of sorts. You have no idea how much longer you’ll live, but odds are it’s going to be less that what you already have. There’s a sense of accomplishment, a tug of grief and the relentless realization that you need to spend your time wisely.
I’m not gonna lie, turning 50 hasn’t been easy for me. Yes, I’m fortunate any way you slice it, but a part of everyone aches in some way or another. For me, it’s weird that my parents aren’t here for this milestone to give me a high five or better yet, a hug. It’s strange (and sad) that the home and community that rooted me for the first big chunk of my life is mostly gone. And it’s baffling that a vertical wrinkle beside my nose just decided to pop up one morning. (I’m trying come up with a story to pass it off as a scar. Suggestions welcome.)
All that said, with my new box (I’m in the 50-59 group for 5Ks now) comes perspective, candidness and if you’re lucky, humor. When I see a fellow Gen-Xer wearing Peepers and a Cure T-shirt, I feel seen. The same is true when someone gets my Seinfeld references. Conversations with friends have also numbed the sting, as I’ve noticed we talk more about real things than we used to. It’s not that we were valley girls before; it’s that we’re finally at a place where it’s okay to be a little vulnerable, a little less guarded and way less perfect.
At this stage of the game, we’re all looking for life rings, something to hold on to while navigating these new and often complicated waters. We’re not scared to share that we’re in marriage counseling or that our teenagers are struggling with depression or that we spent the past weekend changing a parent’s diaper. And we’re also happy to drink a bottle of wine on the patio while listening to Yacht Rock or act silly during a girls’ night out. The days of glitz and glamour chit-chat have subsided to make way for reality, no matter how messy or crazy it is.
It’s probably not exactly what you thought you wanted to see or exactly the way you wanted it to be, but it’s your life, beautifully appointed with dents, scratches and detours. You can tuck it away behind a curated façade or you can embrace it. I vote for keeping it real, and I think Waylon would agree with me.