I'd like to think that every person has a collection of songs or albums that serves as the soundtrack to their lives. Because of my mom, I'd have Carol King's Tapestry juxtaposed to endless mornings of listening to her sing over it as she put on her makeup in the other room. Because of my best friend, I'd hear Nick Drake's Pink Moon in her bedroom late at night on Bayou Street (after the Titanic poster was taken down, of course). Because of my dad, I'd be transferred back to those cowgirl colored leather couches and Babysitter's Club books as anything by the Gipsy Kings filtered through the speakers that were bigger than me. Because of Eric, I'd remember the Garden State soundtrack as we drove through the ritzy houses in our small suburban town late at night because we had nothing better to do. Because of Papa, I'd hear that annoyingly catchy song he'd sing about buying candy with nickels as he'd shuffle through the kitchen at ungodly hours to make breakfast. Because of Grammy, I'd hear Coldplay's Parachutes album and see her face as she soaked it up that last summer. She wasn't much for anything that wasn't on the Grand Ol' Opry, but she said she thought it wasn't bad.
I suppose the point I'm trying to make is I actually hope someone or something hears that silly song John must have written when was really into the whole transcendental meditation thing. I hope that in that moment many years from now, someone will think that their ears are playing a trick on them, but will be quickly convinced that they are not. I hope they think it's something beautiful. And I hope that because they've never heard it before and because it was so unexpected in the middle of all the ordinary, I hope they want to add it to their life's playlist. As Charlie would say, "I really do."
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