The Burnt Omelette
Lansing, Michigan is home to many things…one of which is a small breakfast diner, Golden Harvest. Known for its intense waiting lines, heavenly and colossal meals, and a wicked iconic logo (a skull with crossbones made of cutlery) this place doesn't mess around. As I perused my Instagram feeds Sunday night, I somehow stumbled across their account. Amidst the mountains of french toast and islands of eggs was a photo of a burnt omelette. In a web world of tropical vacationers, selfie goddesses, and workout plans that simply just work, was a small reminder that no one is perfect, and how grateful we are to have do-overs in life.
Today was not a perfect day. I had a case of the Mondays. My morning was filled with meetings and my afternoon was exactly the opposite, empty, a creative rut in full effect. Normally my HBO marathons don’t carry over into the week days, but this was an exception. And then, right before I brushed my teeth, the right song came on… and all was well. Bills Bills Bills by Destiny’s Child echoed throughout my bathroom, a throwback, a reminder that it’s pretty badass to be a badass independent woman. A dance in the shower.
Music is not only an outlet for me, it’s therapy. When I’m stressed at work, headphones and Tchaikovsky’s Concerto In D Major on repeat put me into some sort of meditative coma. The Beatle’s Got To Get You Into My Life is for morning commutes, because baby they sure can drive my car. Stevie Wonder’s Don’t You Worry ‘Bout A Thing is saved for the really bad days, and usually not until at least mid-afternoon. It helps when I can channel my inner Olivia Pope and prance around the kitchen with a glass of wine. Norah Jones, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, and Frank Sinatra are my cooking buds. They help me relax and unwind. They put my mind at ease. And then there’s rap, current and old, to help a gal get her kickball on.
One of the greatest feelings is the sense of inspiration after a creative block, a rush of ideas, a newly found optimism, even when over the smallest of things. Wherever tomorrow takes me, I’ll have a list of songs ready to tag along, and some tucked away just in case I need a little something extra. But regardless, I get a blank slate. As a painter stares at a vast and empty canvas, I too will face my mockups with wonder and ambition. Because at the end of the day, sometimes all you really need is a little do-over, and some song you loved when you were thirteen.