Amidst the brightly colored spotlights, the "I love yous" and the sing alongs, and the two gangly, bearded men skipping and jumping around on stage like there was no tomorrow, a sea of the wretched rocked back and forth to the beat.
The heartbroken,
The cold-footed,
The lost,
The hopeless,
And me.
At some point, I thought about how neat it would be if they got everyone to sway in sync. I figured it would be like an ocean reaching up the shore.
And then I realized that didn't need to happen.
There's something special about the sways of the heartbroken, and the cold-footed, the lost, and hopeless. With each shift of weight, they tell a story.
The stories of their failures, and disappointments, and the bad news bearers and the depressed.
The Avett Brothers' carry this, too. Each word written with their own personal endowment. It screams with their pain, jumps with their struggles, and whispers with their success.
I, too, sway to the beat of the kickdrum.
The death of my great-aunt.
And the death of Paprika and Blanchard.
The diagnosis of Mister's health.
The woman who killed herself in the cemetery outside my house.
Watching a horse break her leg and be put down.
My break-up.
Losing the connection between me and my best friend.
My diagnosis with depression.
And the affects of it before and after.
And every battle in between.
I, too, sway to the beat of the kickdrum.
Left, right, and back again.
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