Tonight I was hanging out with the new guy I’m seeing (who despite being Colombian looks as though he hails from Russia or Lithuania or some other Slavic republic) and for the first time in my life, I saw love in a man’s eyes.
It’s not as romantic as it seems. He was showing me the new electric guitar he’d just bought and some late ’80s/early ’90s heavy metal songs (via youtube) that he’s trying to learn to play on said new guitar, which is pointy and metallic looking. When he showed me the different guitars he owns, I nodded as if I could actually tell the difference. These are the things you do early in a relationship so the other person thinks you’re nice and continues to like you.
But anyway, while he played the air guitar to Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train, I thought how amazing it must be to have that kind of passion. I like drawing and writing, but I don’t know if I could call it a passion. When I asked him how it felt to play the guitar, he said…well, I won’t say what he said as this is a blog my family reads, but basically, that it was amazing. I’m always kind of envious of people who have a passion in life. Well, more than kind of envious…I wonder if those of us without a passion are somehow less alive.
Now I’m listening to Nina Simone, wishing I had a bottle of red wine, feeling nostalgic and wondering if the ability to really feel music counts for something.