The Big Green House

Thursday, August 07, 2003

 

Resonation and rest

In the course of my current job, I�ve found it to be a good idea to read the obituaries every morning. (Don�t ask.) Having arrived at my particular stage of life, I�m understandably drawn to the death notices of people near my age. So when I saw the photo in today�s obits of the rather intense-looking woman in her 40�s, I felt compelled to read about her. Usually in such cases I find that the only thing we had in common was a similar date of birth. I go on with my day as usual, unmoved. This time was different.

I didn�t know Cynthia Doyon. I think I might have listened to her show a couple of times, although I wouldn�t want to swear to it. I have, from time to time on a Saturday night, stumbled upon an interesting mix of tunes from approximately the era she covered while I was scooting around the radio dial looking for some good music, so I�m assuming that that was her work. Everything else I know about her I learned in her obituary.

So why is her story sticking with me? Why am I feeling a sense of personal loss from the death of someone with, at best, an extremely tenuous tie to my life? I think it�s because I can see some of myself in her, or some of her in myself. Not, I hasten to add, that I�m about to run out and kill myself anytime soon. It�s more of a "there but for the grace of god�" moment. I could easily see myself having gone down a similar road, if not exactly the same one. Cynthia started her tenure at KUOW in 1979. That same year I graduated from high school, with my radio license in my hot little hands. Had my train been on a slightly different track�

From the obituary: �Jim Doyon Jr. said his sister left a note saying she was despondent over finances and her future and that she felt discouraged her radio career seemed to have stalled.� She�d been doing her show for 24 years � half her lifetime � and had just been bumped up to twenty hours a week at the station. Given the state of radio today, I can certainly understand being discouraged; where else would she go to play the music she knew? That still leaves the question of why didn�t she at least get a job at, say, a record store, to bolster her radio salary.

The only person who knows the answer is dead.

There are times in life when one feels boxed in, cornered, with no escape possible. Others might see a way out, one that seems blindingly obvious to them, but if you�re in that position you don�t see it. You can�t. If you�ve never been there, count yourself lucky. It�s not a fun place to be.

How do we end up where we are, and why? I could maybe relate the chain of circumstances, coincidences and blunders which led me to be sitting at this keyboard right now if I gave it enough thought, but I couldn�t begin to tell you why they�ve led me here rather than down to the end of a dock with a gun in my hand. Not in a way that would make any sense to anyone else.

If you�re looking for my point in writing all this, I don�t really know that I have one. Does everything have to have a point? I�m just feeling sad for someone I didn�t know, because parts of her story resonate with me. And if you can�t get behind that then let�s just say that those of us who love music have lost one of our own.

bmarkey 8/07/2003 06:29:00 PM