Open up the bottle, pour me one last drink
Tell me this ain’t gonna be as bad as you think
The beauty of art is that you can interpret it in any way you wish. I went through a phase early in my recovery where I invested a lot of time reading into the philosophy behind art, how to interpret it, and how to think about art constructively. It wasn’t a hobby, really, more of a fixation I could pour my time into to keep my mind off other things, worst things. And one of the most important things I learned was: you can choose to interpret art any way you want.
We could, inevitably, debate this topic endlessly if you decided that you disagree with me. Therefore, I suggest you don’t disagree with me. Even then, yes, it is entirely possible to have bad interpretations of art. Just because you can interpret art any way you wish doesn’t mean these interpretations are good, or right, or true. But fundamentally, art is whatever you want it to be. You can enjoy and interpret art the way you see fit, no matter how odd or how unusual that might look to someone else. You can also, as I will go on to explain, co-opt art to make it meaningful — specific, even — to you, yourself, and your life.
And so enter Tom Rosenthal, an artist I have been fastened to by the universe for quite some time now. I listen to his songs when I’m sad, I listen to his songs when I’m happy, and have been doing so for far too long. I’ve always found his music to really hit that sweet spot, making you feel all warm inside. His tunes sound so genuine, so real, so true, that I can’t help but wish every one of Tom’s songs were written about me.
The thing is, Tom Rosenthal recently released a song that I have decided to co-opt and make about my recovery. Not a Catastrophe has suddenly, somehow, become the song that resonates most with me and my journey from drinker to in-recovery person. Something about the blissful melancholy in the melody fills me with such joy, and it’s so rare that I can see my own experiences reflected back at me in a way that makes me feel fuzzy inside. If art is whatever I interpret it to be, then Not a Catastrophe is a song about reflecting on my life pre-recovery as someone who has emerged from that time stronger and sober.
The song is, admittedly, not about drinking, but to me it is. The words work well enough, the beat hits just right. I mean, the song begins with “I thought that I would lose my mind in some rogue way / I didn’t”, which instantly brings me back to the time in my life where I thought the same thing. When I was drinking, I assumed that it would lead to the demise of my brain. It seemed almost like a definite — I would continue like this, and eventually, my mind would give in too. But it didn’t. My mind isn’t lost, or gone, or dead, it’s recovering. Healing. The rogue ways I encountered weren’t enough to tear it apart, and I can learn from the ways I used to think. Really, I should be wanting to learn more about how I used to think, while also acknowledging and celebrating how far I’ve come since then.
Recovery is, in fact, also not the catastrophe I had made it out to be. I didn’t lose my mind because of recovery, not in spite of it. The thought of being sober was terrifying to me then, but now, it’s simply a part of my life, attached to me. The same way my nose or my ears are part of me, recovery is part of me too.
Then, the repeated chorus “It’s not a catastrophe / You had a good time” invites me to remember moments pre-recovery where I did, honestly, have a good time, and how complicated my relationship with these happy memories is because they took place in times of incredible emotional turmoil. I’m asked to think about those happy times, and to reflect on how they fit into who I have become now. Drinking, using, recovery, aren’t just black and white, there’s so much grey, so much nuance to it, and I’m realizing that perhaps I’m not giving myself enough time, room, and love to appreciate and understand this nuance. Self-reflection and growth are skills you’re bound to learn as you begin active recovery, and art can be a wonderful tool to further that inquiry. Who am I if not constantly reflecting on myself and my relationship to the world around me?
It seems what I’ve always loved about Tom Rosenthal has been made clear to me: his ability to shape the small, personal nuances of the world and make songs that reflect that, but also have the ability to reflect so much more. This song he’s written, that I’ve taken such an affinity to, is not about recovery, not to him. But I relate to it. My world relates to his world even though the worlds we live in aren’t alike at all. And that’s what makes it so brilliant.
Not a Catastrophe is a song that has asked me to revisit that bunch of art knowledge I acquired early into my recovery and put it to use — asked me to bring this piece of art into my own heart, and make me think about all that’s gone on in there these past years. It has made me feel better about myself, invited me to reflect on myself, and above all, the song just makes me smile. Art is whatever you make of it, and sometimes, the art that isn’t supposed to resonate with you in the first place is the thing that makes you feel whole. And even if I’ve misinterpreted the entire song, and formed this bad interpretation of a wonderful piece of art, that wouldn’t be a catastrophe, would it?