"There's a girl in New York City
who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I'm falling
and flying and tumbling in turmoil,
I say 'whoa, so this is what she means'..."
- Paul Simon
Hot, bothered, and restless -- that's just about where we've been teetering these days. Jumping in and out of relationships, jobs, and cities, where routine threatens silent suffocation and panic sets in when things get comfortably numb. They say we're the generation of "instant gratification," but I think some of us are really just wondering what happens next.
At some point, we started questioning if there was there something beyond it all: the overconnectedness but undercommunication; the simultaneous rapid fire of information as we wave our hands in the air like ghosts, unable to grasp anything at all; the unnerving feeling that we're always chasing the clock but never seem to have enough time. We were taught that a+b = c, and believed it for years, that is until it was revealed that the formula is only hypothetical -- that it's dependent on things like external factors and noise -- and what about other variables, like d and e and maybe even f, that might actually also be parts of the equation or solution?
And that's when we enter the state of being in flux, half-suspended above our own lives, observing it all with one eye in real time and the other looking forward to what happens next. Words across the computer screens break down from paragraphs, messages, and memos into a bunch of meaningless letters and symbols. We stand in our shoes and feel the wind blow and think it might actually be some other force nudging us in another direction, that is, if only we could figure out just how that direction fits on the path that we've been trying to stay on and lose at the same time. And all the while, we sit there wondering if we've just gone completely mad.
"The Girl's Gone Bananas" is an unparalleled conundrum of a hi-hat confection. Equivocally rich and light moist chocolate cake topped a creamy peanut butter frosting that is dipped in chocolate, all while hiding a secret core -- sliced bananas. It's one tall order of smooth cocoa introspection with a crazy kick in the pants on the inside, just to shake things up.
Lately I've been thinking about that little life crossroad as a place between a madwoman tabletop rumba and a brainless la-di-da. Whenever it's reached I can hear myself saying the same thing over and over again: "just feel your way through it." Because maybe there are many routes, any number of a, b, d, or e's that will lead us to where and what the c in our life actually is. Maybe they're better, maybe they're not, but maybe we're supposed to plug them into the equation regardless, just to find out.
So we roll the windows down, turn the volume up, and head toward the water, the gym, the open road, wherever the air's the clearest. We put the headphones on and lean our tired heads against the scratched train window. We doubleknot our laces, close our eyes, press play, and exhale. We take the first step into an ever-building gallop. And in the meantime, we carry on.