This is a delightful little song I discovered upon popping in a mix at work (rainy days seem to demand some kind of mix, though I haven't made any for myself in years -- I really wanted the Garden State soundtrack but I left it in another CD wallet) created long ago by the boy who, metaphorically, taught me to see music in color.
This particular piece is just weird enough to escape being truly pop, and cheerful enough to escape being depressing. Bouncy and full of a lighthearted not-quite-cynicism, it expresses that weird hope that won't be swallowed but fights its way to the surface of the soul. Even when the waters try to keep it down, it slips out of the depression's grasp and bursts to the top again. Have you ever tried to keep one of those floatie noodles underwater in a swimming pool? You can't do it for long. I hate to be trite and say, "Hope floats," but it does. Not in a limp, feathery way either; in a fierce, muscular, determined way. It's the thing that yanks against the depression's dragging grasp, that by its very nature will not be swamped, and can carry the weight of a struggling swimmer and still remain buoyant.
On some of my very worst days I will find myself, for no reason, smiling and glad and cheerful, and I know that the clouds are pressing all around, but they don’t, in that moment, matter. In that moment, I am, though nothing has changed, transcendent -- free.
And in that moment, and in the others surrounding it, I’ll play happy little sad-sweet songs like these, because I know, and my job is, and I’m glad that, “Deep in the heart I’ll seek I’ll find it all.”
I'm going to win.
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