The first time I listened Pharrell’s Gust Of Wind, the song hit me like a blast.
It captured the energy and feeling of the moment I was living at the time.
Just like other songs that became part of my life’s song track, Gust Of Wind played on repeat on my iPhone for weeks.
But there is one specific night walking in Tribeca under a serious but yet hopeful moonlight that I will never forget. My heart was full, and without any reason, or maybe because of too many, the song made me feel like the world had opened up to me. The way ahead was full of uncertainties, the road behind had too many bumps, but I was full of hope.
When I scroll down on my life’s playlist, I can find many other similar moments: Prince singing Around the World In A Day while I saw from the sky Spain’s shore approaching; Raspberry Beret played while I watched dandelions flying behind my bike, Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Moving On was rocking while the bus crossed a long road into the country; Paul Weller’s Wild Wood was blasting loud on the headphones when I was on a catamaran with the wind on my face; and Waterboy’s Whole Of The Moon helped me to drive sadness and joy throughout my life. The list goes on and on.
Yesterday while walking at the beach at sunset, I listened to Gust Of Wind totally by chance. I just pressed play on my Iphone, and it randomly picked Pharrell’s song. It reminded me of that night years ago in Tribeca. I’m in such a different place - pun intended or not - at this time in my life. But it made me think of that feeling and I felt a mix of hope and fear. Fear because I worried I couldn’t relive the moment, but hope because it carried me through everything in my entire life.
I’m not an optimistic person; I’m a hopeful person. Optimism, to me, is about pragmatism and action. Hope is about will and emotion. My heart fills up like a balloon when hope gives me the will to move on amid all uncertainties.
That’s the common thread among these moments and songs. They are all about moving on, all about the journey, and not so much the destination. As abstract as the destination can be to me, hope is that place you long to be, but you know you are not there yet. It’s an unfolding journey made of many moments that are impossible to relive. Fleeting seconds made of a combination of elements that came together only once and without anticipation. They dissipate in a blink of an eye, but not before leaving behind an enduring emotion.
Yesterday I walked on the beach listening to Gust Of Wind as a placeholder, or maybe just as a bridge until I find another song, but I had hope in my heart.