Blame It On Her Wild Heart
I remember what it was like to dance before having self-awareness. You could get lost in the music and let it move you however you desired. You didn’t have to worry about what you looked like or how you came across or what others might think of your moves. You simply were. You existed.
I remember the chants of “Nomar” and “MVP”. The boyish shortstop with the wide smile. The one who cheered for the fans even as they cheered for him. I remember how they said that he played his best when he was playing with joy. The “love of the game,” they called it. It was the time before he “lost his smile”.
I wonder what it is like to be a professional athlete or musician. I wonder the point at which joy turns into duty and spontaneity turns into drudgery. There was a time when I couldn’t believe that athletes got paid to play baseball. Now, I wonder if a few of them aren’t so disappointed when the season ends. It becomes about money. Or fame. Maybe the love just wears off over time. Perhaps the continual demand to perform is just too great. Save for the littlest of little ones, there is so much pressure on us all.
I know next to nothing about Stevie Nicks. I mentioned her a few posts ago, but I wasn’t sure of her first name. I don’t even know what this song is all about. All I know is that she was singing it with joy. Who knows if she knew she was being recorded. I don’t think it mattered. For a few moments, she was a little girl again. Her wild heart was free.
