Don’t Rain On My Parade – Playing Piano In The Zone


Don’t tell me not to fly, I simply got to  /  If someone takes a spill, it’s me and not you
Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade

I love that song written by Jule Styne and Bob Merrill, the words just light up the world and all it’s possibilities for me.  Don’t rain on my parade. I used to let people do it a lot;  didn’t know I had any control.  They didn’t completely stop me doing what I wanted to do, but they took the pleasure out of it, and the times I landed on my face were all the more painful for it.  I told you so.

Of course it’s not just the bullies on the outside who do the damage.  Mostly it’s the ones on the inside.  The enemy within, and I’ve had a whole army of them to disarm.   Imagine an army of Harry Potter’s Dementors living right inside your head.  Times when they’ve been the most powerful and destructive have been when I’ve really applied myself to something meaningful in my quest to claim my life – and am succeeding.

I’ve realized lately that those times have been the ones when I’ve been addicted to something. In one period of my life I was addicted to food, just couldn’t stop myself eating, couldn’t stay away from the fridge.  For years I didn’t know what hunger was because I was always full.  It was terrifying, the almost vengeful power of a deep longing that consumed me.  Food would satiate it while I was eating, and then I’d be flooded with relief.  But as soon as the food was finished the panic and longing would overwhelm me again.  Thank god those days are over.  No more addictions, no more Harry Potter Dementors living in my head.

And very few bullies and spoilers in my life.  Now when they try I (metaphorically) show them three fingers and say read between the lines.  I’m really giving them the middle finger, but I’ve got plausible deniability.  And I can’t tell a lie.  That one isn’t mine, it’s a Charlie Sheen line from Two and a Half Men.  Poor guy, living in his own hell, addicted to crack cocaine, in rabid denial.   Glad I don’t have his demons.   Glad I never tried crack.

Yesterday I spent the day playing the piano, altering a new dress I bought, and listening to Barbara Streisand, Billy Joel, Bette Midler and Johan Sebastian Bach.  Letting myself be. Playing piano always releases something I can’t even describe.  My whole body comes alive and life makes perfect sense.  My vision for life looks clear, and my imagination roams wild.   I see life as the big, grand thing that it actually is when there aren’t any spoilers and bullies around.   Sometimes thoughts pass on by, sometimes I get real insight into things I’ve been wrestling with.  It’s a kind of meditation, I guess but with masses of energy being generated.

Alive in the zone.  Timeless.  It’s a place where nobody can rain on my parade.  Feels pretty damn good.

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