About Dwight

Post 67:

            No, not Dwight from the office. Dwight Yoakam. Now, before you check out, hold on a sec. I get Mr. Yoakam is kind of on the outskirts of what some would call uber famous, whatever the hell that means, but I think he’s got something figured we can all learn from.

            I bring it up because I’ve wanted to bloviate on someone else’s work for a week or so, but instead I decided to drive around in the middle of the night. It’s a new city so I figured it’d be a good time to sort of orient myself without getting into a ten-car pileup. So I drove. And on comes old Dwight.

            His voice is so distinctive. Like he’s weeping the words. They kind of fall out of him, like little broken pieces of his forever shattering heart. I’m a sucker for 90’s country, I’ll admit, but driving around a big sleeping city to Dwight felt right. As ridiculous as it might seem, I felt a metaphysical kinship—one of those moments when the music and the time and the place all just work in concert.

            Dwight does tend toward the heartbreak songs. We can all relate to the loneliness of a failed thing—some better than me, though. I’m not heartbroken, but I think that’s the point. When I hear someone explaining their feelings and the presentation is compelling, suddenly I feel a little of their pain.

            It’s a strange phenomenon. Using other people’s pain to get a little manageable fix of it yourself, a portion that you can deal with, turn off the song and be done with it.

            People have been doing it since Methuselah. Guess there’s something to it.

            So pour a whisky and put your boots up a spell. Take all the good you can from the bad. See you after.