Let’s ignore the fact that she was born in 1989, when I was already fourteen years old and bopping along to ‘Like A Prayer‘ and ‘Express Yourself’ and instead focus on the December 13th part, on which we celebrate the birth of the brilliance that is Taylor Swift. For many years I was a reluctant Swiftie of sorts, not quite a hard-core fan, but not quite a hater either. There were moments she thrilled and chilled me, and her musical song-writing prowess has never been in question. It took ‘folklore’ to bring me fully into the Swiftie camp, and ‘evermore’ solidified that standing. Today, I’m a die-hard fan, who is embarking on a re-visiting of all her previous work thanks to the Taylor’s Versions coming out at full-throttle.

Here, in honor of her birthday, are all the songs that have touched me so far, with plenty more just waiting to be written:

• Lover
• The Archer
• Blank Space
• ‘Tis the Damn Season
• Betty
• Champagne Problems
• This Is Me Trying
• Mr. Perfectly Fine

Comeuppance doesn’t always happen when it should. It doesn’t always arrive just at the moment the person who needs the lesson most should by right and justice and karma get their just desserts. Sometimes it comes years later, and over all that time in slow deterioration and gradual degradation. It eats away gently, insidiously, and so perfectly you don’t even realize it. And it’s usually the ones who inflict the hurt who aren’t the ones left unscathed in the end. 

Mr. Perfect face
Mr. Here to stay
Mr. Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away
Everything was right
Mr. I’ve been waiting for you all my life
Mr. Every single day until the end, I will be by your side

But that was when I got to know Mr. Change of heart
Mr. Leaves me all alone ~ I fall apart
It takes everything in me just to get up each day
But it’s wonderful to see that you’re okay

Sometimes, the intended recipient of the lesson doesn’t even know the song was written about them. Sometimes we don’t think we were even worthy of something like a song. Or a letter. Or a regret. And the hurt that we never meant to hurt so much rebounds in the most brilliantly hurtful way, taking its toll the long way – the lifelong limp to some sort of damage, some irrevocable damage. There are some things you cannot take back. There are some breaks that can never be mended. There are some hurts that simply won’t heal. 

Hello Mr. Perfectly fine
How’s your heart after breaking mine?
Mr. Always at the right place at the right time,  baby
Hello Mr. Casually cruel
Mr. Everything revolves around you
I’ve been Miss Misery since your goodbye
And you’re Mr. Perfectly fine

Mr. Never told me why
Mr. Never had to see me cry
Mr. Insincere apology so he doesn’t look like the bad guy
He goes about his day
Forgets he ever even heard my name
Well, I thought you might be different than the rest
I guess you’re all the same

Most people don’t think of themselves as the villain in any story. It’s very hard to admit when that’s the case, and even when we realize it might be so, we can still justify and explain our actions so as to be seen as complex instead of cruel, honest instead of hurtful. The mangled contortions involved in so masterfully switching the narrative, tweaking it just so, hanging innocence on singularly exact words and creating a maze of semantics, too often result in a shroud filled with holes  – a net not capable of capturing the smoke of what only ever amounts to a lie. 

‘Cause I hear he’s got his arm ’round a brand-new girl
I’ve been pickin’ up my heart, he’s been pickin’ up her
And I never got past what you put me through
But it’s wonderful to see that it never phased you

Hello Mr. Perfectly fine
How’s your heart after breakin’ mine?
Mr. Always at the right place at the right time, baby
Hello Mr. Casually cruel
Mr. Everything revolves around you
I’ve been Miss Misery since your goodbye
And you’re Mr. Perfectly fine

While we toil at seeing ourselves as the villain, we have no problem seeing ourselves as the central character of every story we think we’re living. We aren’t alone. A geocentric view of the universe is the original mistake we as humans made. We’re still making that same mistake, still thinking the world revolves around us. It doesn’t make us bad. It just means we’re human, and humans were designed to fail first and fix later.

So dignified in your well-pressed suit
So strategized, all the eyes on you
Sashay away to your seat
It’s the best seat, in the best room
Oh, he’s so smug, Mr. Always wins
So far above me in every sense
So far above feeling anything

And it’s really such a shame
It’s such a shame
‘Cause I was Miss Here to stay
Now I’m Miss Gonna be alright someday
And someday maybe you’ll miss me
But by then, you’ll be Mr. Too late

When I used to drink too much, I’d get to a point where friends would ask if I was okay, and I’d always snarl, “I’m fine” with a laugh and half a scream. When I was sober and someone hurt me, friends would also ask if I was okay, and I’d say the same thing – “I’m fine” – with a dismissive shake of the head. These both occurred with some regularity over the years. It turned out I was never fine. Not perfectly fine, not imperfectly fine, not fine at all. 

Goodbye Mr. Perfectly fine
How’s your heart after breakin’ mine?
Mr. Always at the right place at the right time, baby
Goodbye Mr. Casually cruel
Mr. Everything revolves around you
I’ve been Miss Misery for the last time
And you’re Mr. Perfectly fine
You’re perfectly fine
Mr. Look me in the eye and told me you would never go away
You said you’d never go away

And then one day, maybe near the end of our lives, we forgive, or we forget – there’s eventually no big distinction between the two. It then becomes… nothing. Like we never met. Like it never happened. None of the hurt, and none of the happiness. We work so hard toward erasing the bad bits, to overcoming the sad parts, to picking up all the pieces – and we forget the music and we lose the song. If we’re lucky, we hear it again, and it strikes in a different way. We allow ourselves to see our part in the pain. We acknowledge it. We own up to it. We apologize in our heart – as sorry for someone else’s damage as for our own – because it’s always the same, always from the same place. A tear is a tear, no matter what pushes it down the cheek. 

Damn you, Taylor Swift. 

A few feet above me, the wind rushes by in a brutal moan. Sitting in the attic, I look slowly upward at the ceiling, which is also the roof, and I listen as it creaks and crackles. There’s something exhilarating about being this close to nature’s wrath in the middle of the night, and still remaining warm and cozy. It’s hyggelig, and in the amber glow of a Charlie Brown-like Christmas tree, I snuggle into the space while the wind makes another pass above the roof. 

Andy has warned that the rain will soon turn to snow, making for a messy commute the next morning; for now it’s not quite cold enough to turn the water solid, and not quite heavy enough to make a sound on the roof. All I can hear is the dull rolling wind, like the most muted thunder in the distance. It rumbles with an occasional whistle, one of those enchanting entities that can only be heard or felt, never seen, even as it surrounds you. Like music. 

On this almost-winter night, a piano lends its voice to the wind, and the duet is unexpectedly pleasant and calming. It’s usually easier to sleep when the wind is providing its ambient noise, the same way it’s easier to fall asleep to the sound of rain falling. When there’s no noise, every little sound is calamitous; when there’s an ocean or the dull fall of rain in the background, it blunts those cacophonous explosions. 

This was intended as a night-time post, but at this time of the year some of us rise before there is light in the sky, and in that stillness and silence perhaps a little piano music might be of use.