Operation SuperCoach – Chillout Song, And Just Breathe
I love ze frank. At least one of the posts on this blog has already been inspired by him – check out “you are not alone (and whether picking chocolate chips out of the tub of ice cream is illegal)”.
Between friends and clients, I know a number of people I care about are struggling with today. With yesterday. This week. This month. This year. This lifetime.
The first question I ask of my near and dear is: “How can I help?”. Followed with some options:
– Jump in the car, pick you up?
– Bring you soup?
– Give you a hug?
– Take you out to a movie?
– Get you drunk?
Unfortunately, I cannot offer all of the above to ALL of you, due to geographical, professional and other limitations. I wish I could.
So, instead, I am gifting you a song.
What I like even more than this song, is the story of how this song was written. Here’s what ze franks says:
[quote]I received an email from a woman named Laura, who had recently moved to a new city for a new job. She was overwhelmed with anxiety and asked me to write her a song to help her calm down. I asked her to send me an email describing what it felt like when she was overwhelmed.[/quote]
She responded with the following:
[quote]it feels like days dont start. and days dont end. there is no sense of time.
it feels like bring dropped into a dark void. completely dark. and all the darkness has weight, a thickness. not liquid. not a solid. something else. and youre trapped. and the longer you are there you know the black is just growing and growing and growing. and theres nothing you can do. the hole would just be bigger to dig out of with every passing hour. but you cant even do that.
watching a pane of glass sllllooowwwwlllllyyyyyyyy have a crack weasel through it. but you dont know when it will lose its stability. [/quote]
ze frank wrote a rough sketch, and asked some of his audience to record themselves singing along. He received about thirty recordings, and mixed the tracks together. This was the result.
A number of years ago (maybe, ten… maybe, two… maybe, yesterday), I listened to this song on repeat, while sitting on the floor of my kitchen with my back leaning against the cold fridge.
For few minutes.
And then it would stop.
So, I would press Play again.