Still, It Plays.


Shattered in a million pieces.

No. I’m not talking about my heart, my life or my dreams. I’m talking about something that is the most valuable thing in my possession that I cannot bare to be apart from for more than five minutes, something I will not ever leave the house without.

My project (RED) iPod touch.

I always have my iPod with me in case of musical emergency when I have to escape from reality. Long car rides, a walk during my lunch break, or trying to compose a writing piece are made by putting those standard white Apple headphones in my ears and pushing out the world around me. I can leave the real world behind and escape into my own place of lyrical bliss.

Now, my musical escape is being shattered, both physically and metaphorically.

Honestly, when I say shattered, I mean the screen surrounding the device met its friend Mr Pavement and now looks like it has a nifty spider tattoo. Knowing that the slightest drop or bump could cause it to shatter in my hand and that the device itself is in its twilight years at over two years old, I’ve begun the process of preparing to purchase an updated, but still identical looking model of the same music player I’ve been buying for about ten years. Still, even though I’m getting ready to finish the song with this music device, there’s one interesting thing about this broken piece of technology.

It still plays like it did when I first opened the box it came in.

While the picture of the album cover of whatever song I’m listening to is distorted underneath the web of cracks, the melody is clear and pure as a ringing bell. Music doesn’t skip at the press of a button. Though the screen looks incredibly fragile, the battery lasts as long as it ever has. It reminds me of my first laptop computer in college. The screen part of the device was breaking apart from the keyboard and was only held together by the wires, but those wires were completely undamaged. If I propped up the monitor against something, I could still use the computer as I had been all along. It still worked.

These pieces of technology are/were falling apart, but they just will not die.

Lovely little positive metaphor for life, isn’t it?

It can be so easy to want to let go and give up when everything on the surface seems to be falling apart at the seams. ¬†Believe me, I am the first person to initially follow this line of thinking. When I see the seams of something I am a part of coming undone, I want to throw it all away before its defeat crushes me. It’s easy to quit if it seems too broken to fix. Maybe, I’m being too pessimistic and need to see that life still move forward even if it doesn’t seem like anything is working.

Fractured crayons still can color. Shattered music players can still play.

Broken people can still live.


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