My childhood was a charmed one, and a large part of that charm was due to my own fertile imagination. I lived mostly in the woods behind my house, in my bedroom, and in my head – all were the stuff of fairy tales and fantasy. A waltz by Tchaikovsky spoke to me from a Tom and Jerry cartoon, a strange way for a gay composer to find his way into my earliest lexicon, but I heard the call and heeded it in my heart. Beauty spoke to me in my sleep, and in my waking hours I sought her out.
Why did this music imprint itself upon my brain at such a young age and why did I carry it with me all these years later? Imagined worlds unfurled before me – allowing for escape, allowing for survival, allowing for finding goodness in a place that wouldn’t always find me good. If I could create goodness, if I could conjure beauty, even if it was make-believe, perhaps it would be enough. Whatever gets you through being a gay kid and surviving somewhat intact.
A waltz. A walk in the forest. A whisper from my future self.
