Savant Some More

In American society we take pride in our independence.  There is a certain geography of thought, to borrow a term from Richard Nisbett, that accounts for the high value we as Westerners place on free will.  Autonomy is hardwired in our DNA, and with that comes certain expectations and comfortable assumptions: we take solace in the fact that we can control our lives.  We shape and control our destinies - not the other way around - and we thumb our noses at predestination (“we” is excluding, of course, Calvinists and the imaginatively challenged).

Because of this, the nature of the news I bring you is accompanied by terrible remorse and great reluctance.  It is all a sham.  There is an endless supply of sheep somewhere in liars-ville that are perpetually sheared to keep the wool over your eyes.  

Today I stepped outside to 85 degree weather, and…I…smiled.  I didn’t just smile, I whistled, I danced a jig, I felt an inner warmth within me grow and branch out to every extremity.  I was more than happy, I was content.  Underneath the rays, I could hear Thoreau whispering: “That man is richest whose pleasures are cheapest.”  Oh and how rich I was, all for the price of a saunter outside.  

But to my point: The moment I stepped into the light, I had no control over my emotions.  Nature was my puppeteer.  What happened to my control? I’m an American, gosh darnit, and I decide when I will feel and why I will feel that way.  So, where did the autonomy of my senses run off to? The beach, probably.  Let’s come to terms with an irrefutable fact of life: our moods are subject to the weather.  We are machines of the seasons, dragging our feet through the basement of Winter until we can frolic in the fields of Spring.  There seems to be a direct correlation between sunny days and affable temperaments, and I am no exception to this natural law.  Yes, there are those who are only happy when it rains, but they’ve either been listening to far too much Garbage for one’s own good…or are clinically insane.

And so, to commemorate the loss of American rugged individualism in the face of pure, genetic, knee-jerk emotions, I will jumpstart the spring music scene with the band that invades my iTunes whenever the sun is out: Led Zeppelin.  

Posted here is Bron-Y-Aur Stomp: a spirited, lively, feel-good song for any time the window is open or the top is down.  You’re in for a lead-in bass drum, slide guitar, hand-clapping, group vocals and “oohs” and “ahhs” that would require five consecutive viewings of The Deer Hunter to make you not smile.  

A fitting song for the forecast, if I do say so myself.  And here, now, at this very moment, I propose to you an engagement in brief vulnerability.  Ditch the control. Instead, let the weather and the soul of a song control you. The rewards are priceless. Breeeathe. Ahhh.   

:)

Joe.