Why I Don’t Need Music

So I still haven’t tried to set up Sirius Radio in my car. Why? Here’s the thing: When I was in my twenties, my then-boyfriend asked me, which is the one sense you couldn’t do without? Now that’s the kind of would-you-rather-eat-a-shit-sandwich-or-a-pee-sandwich questions that I hate. Neither one, thanks: pass the ice cream. I finally, grumblingly said, okay, if I had to choose, I’d most hate to lose my hearing. Because: music. He didn’t get it. He could give up music pretty easily. But he was a photographer. His eyesight was most precious to him. I didn’t get it then (not that I was aching to go blind), but I do now. Driving through the country these last weeks, my mind is so full of everything I see, of wondering how I can possibly describe it later, that there’s just no space for anything else, even sound. Without a traveling companion, I’m no longer responsible for sparkling — or even marginally articulate — commentary on the passing scene. Even though, multiple times a day, I’m blown away by green-gold grasslands, luscious, barn-studded pasturelands, quirky/funny/inventive road signs, or just the golden slant of light on the face of a building. Still, without an audience, I’m happy to rely on three exclamations: “Oh come on!” “Are you kidding me?” and “Ho-lee shit!” I know what I mean. Articulation — and music — can wait.