Uh Oh. Freddie's Been Thinking.

I have just watched a film named “Into the Wild”.  And like most films I watch and listen to, it made me think.  Life, breathing, existence, love… happiness.

And like after most films I watch that make me think, I become so much more self aware.  Time seems to move on that little bit slower, breathing becomes that little bit louder, my heart beat, blinking, every movement.  I don’t know why.  

Perhaps that’s the thing.  Not so long ago, perhaps a week or two, I was asked quite seriously what I wanted in life, apart from my dream career as film composer extraordinaire... 

And I answered, a family, at least two children before I am thirty. I’ve always thought of having four children.  Three boys and one girl.  Or perhaps two children.  Boys, girls, one of each? Why, I even know my four favourite names.

 Many a time I have told friends these names, and they have either laughed, or told me my children will get bullied, how can I be so selfish?

 Wow.  What a response right?  Why, would I, a girl who names her self after a man with a bushy moustache, listen to the crowd and give my children your bog standard names that I don’t like?  That I will regret calling them? 

The way I see it, if you have but one child, you are blessed, for this is your creation.  Your very being, shown in them, and you only have one chance to name them.  Perhaps they’ll love their name, perhaps they'll hate it.  perhaps they'll change it.  I know that perhaps my mum’s heart leaps with disappointment every time I introduce myself to someone new as Freddie.  But I will always be Victoria, the one with the dark brown eyes who looks upon the world with wonder.

And I love my name.  Victoria.  One with meaning. 

 And that is why I think it is important to give your children the names you yourself love.  Because that way, they will have meaning, and the children that laugh at the names of others, are the one’s who should be laughed at for being so petty and pathetic.

This brings me onto fear.  Don’t ask my how, it just does.  I’m not talking about fear of a person or object, or heights and such likes.  

But fear of a sense.  One of the five... or is it six?  How do you overcome such a thing?  I once got asked in a group discussion in a gcse lesson what my greatest fear was.  I said I didn’t know.  But I lied.  

The response to my answer was, “Victoria the invincible, afraid of nothing”.  But that sentence, is not me at all.  I am afraid of many things. 

 My greatest fear being of a sense.  One that is with me all the time.  Perhaps one day I will meet the person who will make me forget about that fear.  It seems that I have recently discovered that my happiness is dependent on the happiness of my friends. 

 There was a line in the film where it read,

“happiness is best when shared.”

Is that the same with every one?  I don’t know.  Perhaps my happiness is not like that at all.  Watching that film has made me feel so small.  

So wrapped up in blankets and sheltered from the storms.  So caught up in society and its monotonous rules.  Take the easy, safe route, work in a bank, shut yourself in an office and never see the light of day again.  But what happens if I want more?

  What happens if I actually want to live the life I want?  Not what any body else wants for me, but what I, and only I want?  Am I allowed?  Is it right that I follow my heart and not my head?  But then, even if I follow my head, it is so full of music and dreams that I would surely end up in the right place anyway…?  

This then got me on to thinking what my favourite piece of music is.  And again, don’t ask me why.  My actual train of thought was much more discombobulating that this.  And, if I were to say a song name, it would be Stars.  

But alas, the one piece of music that jumped out of my musical pit in the back parts of my brain, shouting loudly and waving madly, was the track I like to call Rain, Rain, Rain…  Just a simple loop of the opening of ELO’s Standing in the Rain.  But I close my eyes.  

And I just don’t know who, what or where I am any more.  Perfect.  Meaning.  Care.  Love.

Memories can be so comforting, can’t they?  I mean, not dwelling, but the kind of memories that just pop up from nowhere, when you’re not even doing anything to remind you of that particular sentence that leaked out of a friends mouth so many years ago that made you laugh so heartily, and still does.  Amazing, huh?

I’ll tell you what else is amazing.  The fact that I am very much an outdoors kinda girl.  

Growing up with parents who work outdoors all the time, helping my dad move plants and do small jobs as a little girl growing up on a garden centre, full of adventure, creepy crawlies to be found, trees to climb up, running around wildly and building up my wonderful habit of being totally accident prone.  

Yet, here I am, dreaming of an existence inside a studio, writing music… Music.  A kind of outdoors with infinite freedom, no boundaries or rules, made especially for minds too big to fit nicely inside of skulls.  With all the raw emotions, and adventure.  

All the creepy crawlies found inside the sound of a slow moving bassoon or fast moving piccolo flute.  The clouds stretching vastly across a chamber string section.  The sea crashing against rocks in cymbals, snow or rain falling gently or heavy as ever in the beautiful sound of a celesta or piano.  Such freedom.  Such sorrow.  Such beauty.  Such fear.  Such emotion.

And I wouldn’t trade this life inside my head, for anything.