Week 8: Home

“This Must be the Place (Naive Melody),” is perhaps my favorite song. If you know me at all, you know this is of vital importance. For those of us that consider ourselves music-philes, having a favorite song is difficult enough. Acknowledging that you actually have a favorite song is almost sinful. You’re supposed to be so overwhelmed by the thought of singling out one track above all others that it makes your head explode.

But, I don’t feel that way.

“This Must be the Place,” isn’t the best song the Talking Heads ever recorded, or David Byrne ever wrote. Some journalists even dismiss the song as being the most elementary song in the band’s history; a hippy-dippy love song with idealistic tropes about humanity’s most obsessive emotion. There’s a lot that can go wrong with a love song, and maybe “This Must be the Place” just falls victim to the trappings.

But, to me, it doesn’t.

To me, the song is an instant allusion to a variety of things in my life: people, time, life and death. The song is about love, without question. Byrne describes it as such, noting that the lyrics are more snapshots than they are narrative. These are the little moments to be savored; the things that make up the grand picture. The opening line, “Home, is where I want to be/Pick me up and turn me round,” always serves as the “little moment” that whisks me away.

Throughout the time that I’ve been aware of this song (ever since I was in high school) the lyrics have never changed, but the moments they transport me to have most certainly altered. At various points in my life, the lines have sent me into a love spell, lamenting on the broken heart-pieces of a young adolescent. At other times, they have caused me to meticulously question everything about my existence (that’s a mouthful and a mindful), about what it means to live and die.

My great-grandfather died last week, and I immediately rushed myself to listen to that naive melody. For me, it’s a way to cope, and a way to accentuate the feelings of love and loss that come with death.

The idea of being “home” is abstract when you look at the lyrics of this song. Home could be in reference to a physical space, or to a space that exists on the fringe of our emotions. For my great-grandpa, home was both the physical town of Flora, Illinois, and home was also wherever my great-grandmother would happen to be. As of a few years ago, I’d like to think that my grandma is living in heaven, or whatever place you prefer to imagine a soul going to rest. So, when I listened to the first lines of “This Must be the Place,” I immediately imagined my grandpa’s wrinkled and broken hands clasping together with my grandmother’s.

“Home, is where I want to be/But I guess I’m already there,” is how Byrne opens the second verse of the song. I prefer to imagine this line as a person stumbling into the place they belong before they even realize it. Specifically, in death, it’s interesting to envision that in our dying moments we see the destination our soul is travelling to before we ever make it. I would think that in my grandpa’s dying moments, he probably understood well where he was headed to. He knew where he was as his light drifted from one world, and into another. Is this a fragment of his mind? Is this real? Who knows, but who cares. The peace that you grant yourself in this moment is what’s of value. Byrne describes love as being too big to capture, and so is death. So instead of wondering whether, or not, my grandpa will ever make it to any pearly gates, I’d rather remember him for believing in these fragmented instances of peace and tranquility.

…

After I returned home from my grandpa’s funeral on Friday, I was swept into a whirlwind of moving boxes, paper, and clothes. My girlfriend and I have taken the plunge into true adulthood, and we’ve recently started renting our first apartment. For the last year, home was actually her family’s house. We lived there with her mom, dad, three dogs, and two cats. I was, and probably will forever be, grateful to her parents for allowing us to stay there. However, we all know that I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want us to break out onto our own.

So, as of Saturday, we’ve been building the foundation of our own home. For right now, it’s small and rather mundane. Two people live there, and one dog. There’s one bedroom with a closet, one bathroom with a washer and dryer, one kitchen with a dishwasher, and one living room with a balcony. The walls are white, at least they were before we started hanging posters on them, and the complimentary colors are mostly mute. Simply put, there’s nothing outwardly remarkable about our dwelling.

Yet, in just the two days that I’ve been in this place, it already has endeared itself to me. It represents much more than a place for me to lay my head at night. For one, it’s a symbol of tireless work; putting in hours at a job you don’t necessarily love so that you can pursue something wholly bigger than yourself. It’s a symbol of sacrifice; putting aside the things you would like to do for the things you need to do. And, finally, it’s a symbol of a promise. The promise is simple: I give a part of myself to my girlfriend, and she does the same for me. Together, we succeed in building this home, or together we fail in building this home. I have no reason to believe we will be anything but successful.

And, as I look at the petite apartment I am overjoyed to call my current home, I think about Byrne’s song. It’s a love song, and I feel love around me in this new home. It’s a song about life and death, and I feel more life than I could imagine given the circumstances of the last week.

…

So, what does all of this have to do with running? The past seven days have been arduous and lengthy. I’ve cried a few times, and I’ve laughed many more than that. It seemed like it would never end, but somehow I always came back home. Home wasn’t always the same spot as it was when I left, but I always managed to figure it out.

When I run, I’m often caught thinking about the end of my jaunt. That’s usually because sweat is pouring out of my body, and I think I could keel over and pass out at any given moment. It’s also because I’m always looking to get back into the warm temp of my home (I’ve been running outside in Illinois in the winter, it’s freaking cold). So, much of my running is about getting back to a certain point. It’s about finishing my run, and allowing myself the reward of being home. I usually run after an eight hour day spent tied to a chair in a cubicle, so home is my escape. It’s a place where I can just allow my mind to wind itself down, and relish the company I keep there.

It would almost seem like running pulls me away from my home, and forces me to live away from it.

But, in the short two-month span that I have been running, I’ve found that I’ve given myself another home on the pavements I travel over. When I run, I’m not confined to a seat, or a time in my life, or even a particular thought or emotion. When I run, my mind and body wander aimlessly at peace with all of the elements that seem to want to work against me. Sure, I think about my life when I run, but when I truly enter a zone where I’m locked in at the task at hand, my mind is truly empty. It’s the most interesting zen I’ve ever produced for myself. And in the silence of my mind, I find another home.

Throughout this past week, I’ve taken my favorite song and wrestled with it over, and over, and over again. What is home to me? What is home to everyone else? The conclusion that I’ve come to is that the idea of being home is about being assured. My grandpa was assured of his place in the world, my girlfriend and I are assured of our love for each other, and I’m assured that if I push it all away from myself, even for just a few minutes, I am truly happy. All of us arrived home in a different fashion, but we all reached our destination just the same.

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Week 8 Breakdown:

Mileage

Week: 9 Miles

Total: 40 Miles

Daily Mileage/Playlists:

Tuesday: 2 Miles + 3:00 walk + 1 Mile

Playlist: GoGo Penguin - Man Made Object. GoGo Penguin is a Manchester-based jazz trio that began to take shape back in 2012. Since that point, they’ve made three studio albums, and received countless critical acclaims from all over the world. The band plays with a break neck pace, often including more modern elements like Electronica, to vividly move from one piece of music to the next. They often find themselves moving feverishly, especially drummer Rob Turner, which leads to an exhilarating speed while you run. Man Made Object maneuvers around and through itself so well, that it’s easy to get lost in the music; losing countless minutes to its trance.

Wednesday: 1 Mile +3:00 walk + 1 Mile

Playlist: Joy Orbison - “Hyph Mngo”/ The Shrew Would Have Cushioned the Blow. I remember a time in college, long before my musical baptism (wow, that sounds pretentious), when a buddy of mine first played Skrillex. “This is dubstep, man,” he most likely said through a cloud of smoke. From that moment on, I hated Skrillex. And, I hated dubstep. Then, several years down the road, I realized that Skrillex didn’t equal dubstep, and dubstep didn’t equal Skrillex. So, I slowly started to give the genre more of a chance, and wouldn’t you know it, dubstep was damn good. I recently stumbled on Joy Orbison just by looking at top DJ lists in magazine publications. I’ve heard of him before, and for good reason as he’s a fairly popular spinner, but had just never really given him a chance. If anyone knows where I can find some extended mixes, you need to let me know ASAP because the small array of songs and EP’s on Apple Music simply won’t cut it. Orbison, real name Peter O’Grady, makes infectious dance recordings that fuse together the grandest elements of funk, disco, and techno. It’s such a joy to listen to that I couldn’t help but smile while I ran.

Thursday: 2 Miles

Playlist: Nothing really. This run was done in the confines of what was basically an in-home laundromat (read above). Only the background noise of a UEFA Champions League match rattled in the background.

Friday: 1 Mile + 3:00 walk + 1 Mile

Playlist: Childish Gambino - Awaken, My Love! I’m a fan of Donald Glover. I say Donald Glover because I’m actually a fan of the man, not Childish Gambino. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed all of Mr. Glover’s releases as his Wu-Tang name generated alter-ego. But, there’s always been something missing from the persona of Gambino; something that the real Glover has had all along: charisma. Gambino doesn’t ever seem to do anything effortlessly. He’s always trying to be a certain way when he raps. That’s not all bad, and he still makes enjoyable music, but you never fully buy into whatever shtick he’s trying to throw your way. Awaken seems to signal a shift of seismic proportions in this regard, though. Here, Gambino is willing to take more risks, and a lot of that seems to be because Glover himself has been taking more risks of late, too (shameless plug for you to watch his show, Atlanta). Awaken is a lesson in retro soul and funk, straight from the Parliament blue print that the funk pioneers laid down decades ago. It’s a little left of the dial, it encourages it’s host to act outside of himself, and all of the music is genuinely infectious (much like a maggot for those of you looking for cookies). The project encapsulates an artist firing on all cylinders, and Glover moving his way between mediums with utter confidence.

-Ryan