Notes:

I wrote this song while in New York, just a couple weeks before recording this track. I wrote it on the subway at about 2am. The ukulele you hear is one I purchased during that stay in NY. At the beginning of the trip, I hadn't anticipated staying as long as I did, and I soon missed having an instrument at my disposal. After having the uke for a couple weeks, I was a bit disgusted with it's sound, but after having it for a couple years, I am quite fond of it's hollow twang and tendency to quickly fall out of tune. Maybe I'm just lazy and ignorant, but perhaps this uke is objectively quaint after all!

The night this song came to me, I recall feeling a very triumphant and busy little gypsy. I recall going to an open mic in Brooklyn, meeting lots of nice people, easily convincing them all to let me perform early in the line-up so that I could skip-out early in order to meet an old friend at the gig of some new friends (Irish musicians) at Swift's in Manhattan. At the open mic they adored me, and I them—I fashionably dashed across the city to get to Swift's on time, caught up with said old friend, and built on new relationships—I'd moved quickly and talked quickly—with eagerness and from my heart—dancing with chance and asking to have it all and having it all work out! I remember riding the subway back to Ridgewood that night feeling dizzy and elated—that the accomplishments of the night (the lone fact that I made it everywhere on time was incredible!) were remarkable and validated my hunger for variety and fed the manic magic part of my ego—and I was aware that this feeling perhaps encapsulated my whole reason for being in NYC.

As I sat in the subway car, I remember furiously scribbling the words in my notebook, a tune whirling into form inside my head—I remember a young man sitting next to me wearing headphones from which I could hear other music playing. I found it rather distracting and asked him in a tone which allowed for no argument: "could you please turn down your music?" He instantly complied, with unnecessary apology. It was out of character for me to request someone to change their desire for my comfort, but I was in some kind of fervor and I was not going to relinquish the birth of this new ditty due to outward distraction. When I got off the train, I stayed on the subway platform, singing the words into a voice memo—the tune came out just as you hear it here.


It is an homage to the feeling—heightened by NYC's then effect on me—and a statement of awareness of my addiction to newness—the intoxication of gaining momentum traveling as fast as possible from moment to moment and from new relationship to new relationship—meaning places and people, not just individual amorous explorations—and the madness of such intoxication. It is a song celebrating, noticing, and lamenting the manic impulse of running from and to. Though I do not need to sing this song anymore—for I am a changing person with changing needs—I still love this song, and this recording of it especially makes my heart smile. <3


* * *

further explanations/babbling. . .

Of course, part of Running's message is to explain why I feel so lonely at times—the words speak of no one being big or weird enough to get me to stay—attributing the cause of my lot, of being a lone wolf for most of my life, is at least (if not more) as much as my choice to be single, in search of “perfection” or some such perversion, as it is due to others' choices. Though the song holds a shadow of self-pity for feeling alone in search of perfect belonging, it is born of self-awareness and clarity of thought that my lot is my choice born from the impulse to never stay put—to never be bored—to never put down roots—to never settle. Of course, using logiv I think anyone can understand the greatest rewards in life come from putting down roots—digging into and committing to a person, place, or thing—in order to accomplish long-term change, and deep, vertical, many-layered growth. But I tend to need to learn all lessons for myself. And I think we all need to move horizontally—to gain as vast variety of experience as we are able, before it is possible for us to judge when and where it is worthy to sink our teeth and our feet. Some people seem to know the path they want and the community they desire based on seemingly very little variety of experience—though experience is all relative—this has not been my lot in life and I have wasted energy envying these folks who seem to have found what they want earlier than I have. Some people seem to stick to what is safe, timidly staying still, a choice not born of confidence in loving their lot, but born of fear of losing the security of what is familiar—this also, thankfully, has not been my lot in life.

These days I feel much more aware of my needs and wants than I did when I wrote this song. I feel myself slowing down a little bit—or maybe it's just that I am much better at understanding my own anxieties—I think I will always be a wanderer, hungry to know new folks, places, faces, ideas, and hearts—but I feel myself handling this gypsy spirit with more peace—the wanderings steeped less in manic search and more in the love of what already exists. This world is indeed filled with endless wonder—from a childhood on an isolated apple orchard; to traveling with acting troupes across countries and oceans; from leaving all that is familiar to start anew again and again; to open-hearted strangers at an open mic in Brooklyn; to being able to hug old friends I haven't seen in years; to being mesmerized by old Irish songs in a dark bar; to losing one's religion and in turn finding miracles everywhere one goes; from honey bees and apples blossoms; to flash floods, to eclipses; to running down the streets of Delphi; to laughing with a homeless, toothless man about daily absurdities; to riding trains for days alone; to living on a boat in Puget Sound with a dozen other fantastic souls; to every birth of every seed to every death of something great—the whole damn shebang, the infinite web of life—the endless wonder to be found—and I am blessed, year by year, to feel at home wherever I roam.

'Cause—Hey! Maybe I've never been running from anything!

Maybe I am simply, and awesomely, blessed! Blessed, or lucky, or whatever you want to call it, to find something familiar wherever I go, able to love and be loved wherever I wander. Like I said, as years go by, my wanderings seem more and more steeped in the love of what already exists—I don't know what I've been searching for at any given time —acceptance, beauty, god, love, belonging, myself, possibility, opportunity, freedom—but I seem to find it more and more these days, everywhere I go. Here's hoping the trend continues ;)

xoxo,
k. kunkel