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A weekend full with concerts and cantatas and music.  And somehow full of heartache and smiles and food and shock and laughter.  Somewhere in there, I found myself realizing how angry I’ve been for months now, for one reason or another.

Mostly one reason, honestly.

It’s pretty silly, but you don’t realize that when you’re in the middle of it.  I’m still in the middle of it, actually.  You can hope a storm is over, but sometimes you’re just in the quiet peace of the dead center of the cyclone.  Probably a good time to look around, take stock, and find better cover if you need some before the storm begins anew.

I haven’t had opportunity to actually attend a Christmas concert in…well, a while.  I’m usually in them and enough that there’s no real chance to attend another as an audience member.

There’s a funny thing about a good concert.  Religious or otherwise, the music and the musicians behind it weave a spell around you.  The dynamic nuances, random glances at people in the audience, slightly missed entrances, and particularly solid progressions come together to create a new sort of space.  It’s like a bubble of something better pushing out the mundane the surrounds you so that it can gather you up and get to work on your self.

I had four concerts this weekend and I’m exhausted.  It took the craft of four concerts, a “sleep well” text, a smile from the Starbucks barista, a tweet from about 450 miles away, and a glass of rum that wasn’t kind to my sleep schedule to smack me on the head and scream gently into my nearly closed ears that I’m angry and it isn’t good and there are better things to choose.

I’m not even angry about the things I thought I was angry about, too.  Made for some long overdue good choices that are far more the kind I want to make in my life.

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