“Your conscience awakes, and you see your mistakes, and you wish someone would buy your confession.
Days miss their mark and the night gets so dark. Some kind of message comes through to you, some kind of message comes through…
And it says to you love when you can, cry when you have to, be who you must that’s a part of the plan. Await your arrival with simple survival, and someday we’ll all understand…”
I cried today when I heard that Dan Fogelberg is dead at age 56. His songs have played an important role in my life, at many of my own key moments of crisis. In some ways he taught me the power of a song.
At one of the darkest times, when I was 24 and had just barely gotten out of Seattle with my life, I learned from the above words that there are times when we just have to “await our arrival with simple survival.” Sometimes, when we truly see no future for ourselves, we have to keep going until the next step presents itself.
In Seattle in 1979, the love of my life had dumped me for a friend I had introduced him to. And when you’re 24 years old, this stuff is gigantic. I learned all about what anorexia was, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a common term yet. I lost 30 pounds in one month!
My strongest memory besides the daily desire to die, was when a friend’s mother came to visit us. She was very wise, so I ask her, “How long will it be before life makes some sense, and it isn’t so damn hard?” Her answer was not what I was looking for, but it turned out to be true. She said it would be years.
I know now that I was at the beginning of an early and important learning cycle: the first time I had to learn how to survive one of my toughest times, even though I wasn’t sure why. I was learning who I was deep inside, and what I was made of.
One of the fringe benefits of becoming a writer for me is a deeper appreciation of the art of song writing. In a song, you get so very few words to express all of the emotions of a lifetime. And there are very few writers that have that kind of talent, one for capturing it all in song:
“There’s a light in the depths of your darkness.
There’s a calm at the eye of every storm.
There’s a light in the depths of your darkness.
Let it shine, oh, let it shine!”
Dan Fogelberg’s album “Souvenirs” from 1974 spoke to me in so many different ways, and kept me going in the worst time of my young life.
Thank you Dan. You touched me deeply, and even saved my life a few times.
***Dedicated to my brother John, another talented songwriter ***
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Thanks for thinking of posting this kind memorial. Dan Fogelberg’s music colored my life as well. The sound of his voice soothed many joyous and jagged days for me. I was in the midst of wondrous changes when I first heard his songs … fresh from a cross-country move as a newlywed and holding onto life by the tail. Thinking of his songs brings back the joy of those heady days … the immensity of feeling so alive and capable! And also the aloneness of not having friends and tons of family nearby. Fabulous music that meant something … I’m grateful for the man and his music.
Go to Dan Fogelberg’s website to hear his music immediately: http://www.danfogelberg.com/.
I was in college when Dan Fogelberg came to play his piano for us. A shy, tall and shaggy man, he sat alone on the little stage in the concert hall and played his music. His voice was wonderful, he played beautifully and the tunes were so moving, but it was the lyrics that melted my heart. He sang of love and the world out there, and adventures. He impressed me as a sweet and generous man, a wondrous poet and an astute observer of life. His song, the Leader of the Band, about his father moved me every time I heard it. I wondered about the love he felt for his father, a fellow musician, who obviously passed on a gift of music to his son.
I felt so saddened yesterday. Like you, I treasured his music. Thank you for remembering his unique contribution and know that many mourn him with you.
For what it’s worth, I am glad the “years have flown” since your Seattle hard times and that you did indeed survive.
I cried too…