I know it doesn't make sense to most people, this Andrew thing. 27...that's too old for pseudo-celebrity crushes. It's too old to drive nine hours just to turn around and drive back again. It's too old to get giddy over simply being in the presence of this man.
But this, this Andrew thing, well, it's more than just all that. Five years ago life was tumultuous. I'd just graduated. I was processing a life-changing four months in Central America. I had no clue where I wanted to go or even who I might like to be.
And then there was this voice that made things bearable. I'd been into music before, but never in this way. The voice, the piano, the lyrics--it was utter escapism.
I remember the first time I met Andrew. I had no words. I think I choked a little. Possibly tripped. It's all a blur. But then we met again. And again. I started to realize that, rather than an elevated deity, he was a tangible human being. He is someone who is willing to lay his life out in full view of the public, subjecting it to critique and vicious dissection.
I wish I could do this. I wish I could pour out my heart and attach it to a lifting melody. But, in addition to the lack of a singing voice and piano skills, I'm just too scared. I worry about rejection, about what people might think. As much as people might think I reveal too much in my blogs, I am incredibly self-censored.
So instead I stand back. I stand back and I listen and I revel in the days that I get to hear him live. For as much as I joke about his attractiveness, it's not what this is about. There is this energy that pulls me in and has yet to let me go.
Keep singing, Andrew. Keep giving me a sense of peace, a place to retreat to when the world is too much and nothing seems to make me smile. Five years and you still have yet to let me down. You're giving me hope, and who doesn't need all the hope she can get in this lonely world?
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Now playing: The Format - Threes
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