Secret Heart, What Are You Made Of?

I had heard Ron Sexmith a lot, considered myself a fan, but the version of this song which etched itself into my brain is that of Feist.  She killed this tune on TV, everyone took notice and I, like usual, was late to the party.  

Could it be three simple words, or the fear of being overheard? 

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I'm the guy with the secret heart, but only to myself.  Nobody ever has to tell me to get a grip, for my grip is chronic.

Secret heart, why so mysterious?  Why so sacred, why so serious?

So yeah, I'd heard Ron sing this song many times.  Loved it.  But a woman's voice changes the whole thing around.  Now she's my mom, my girlfriend, my sister my aunt and my grandma all together.  Very encouraging: Come on, you better do it, Trev!  You gotta loosen up and cry or dance or laugh or whatever.   "Oh come on, just let it out you'll feel better."

Easy for you to say!  Call it fear, pride or whatever your flavor of resistance: it's rarely voluntary.

The very secret that you're trying to conceal
Is the very same one that you're dying to reveal.

It's not supposed to be hard to express ourselves, but somehow we've made it so.  Men, we take a few knocks and decide we'll keep it all inside for now.  

But there is only right now, always.  

You can't bury your truth inside and let it fester.  I've learned that I have to reveal it, but it doesn't come out by itself.

Go tell her how you feel!

How different would my life be if I'd summoned certain courage in certain moments, in the face of certain unexpected opportunities, or at least when certain kisses were being dangled just that once?  

Could it have something to do with admitting that you just can't go through it alone?

Merciless in its truth, this song is like a self-help book.  It's The Art of Loving, When Things Fall Apart, The Artist's Way and Dale Carnegie all rolled up together.  Encouraging you to summon the guts to connect more truthfully than you think possible, and telling you to do it now.  

I need this song every day.  

Thank you Ron Sexmith.

 

Trevor ExterComment