Lover [Foreword]

When I found old diaries from my childhood and my teens, they were covered in dust.

I'm not just saying that for poetic effect, they were truly dusty with pictures drawn of first day of school outfits and inspirational quotes I used to retrace over and over to get me through doubtful moments. I'd practice my autograph and tape my guitar picks to the pages. In the entries, I daydreamed on paper and mused about who might ask who to the dance or how nervous I was saying the national anthem at the local baseball game. I frequently and drastically changed my opinions on love, friends, confidence and trust. I vented, described memories in detail, jotted down new song ideas and questioned why I would ever try to shoot for a career I had such a small chance of ever attaining.

But what shocked me the most was how often I wrote down the things I loved. Writing a new song, riding in the car with my mom, the purple-pink skies of the soccer field on the walk home, the one night in middle school when none of my friends were fighting, the dazzle of opal necklaces I couldn’t afford gleaming from a department store jewelry case. I wrote about tiny details in my life in these diaries from a bygone age with such... wonderment. Intrigue. Romance. I noticed things and decided they were romantic, and so they were.

In life, we grow up and we encounter the nuanced complexities of trying to figure out who to be, how to act, or how to be happy. Like invisible smoke in the room, we wonder what kind of anxiety pushes you forward and what kind ruins your ability to find joy in your life. We constantly question our choices, our surroundings, and we beat ourselves up for our mistakes. All the while, we crave romance. We long for those rare, enchanting moments when things just fall into place. Above all else, we really, really want our lives to be filled with love.

I've decided that in this life, I want to be defined by the things I love -- not the things I hate, the things I'm afraid of, or the things that haunt me in the middle of the night. Those things may be struggles, but they're not my identity. I wish the same for you. May your struggles become inaudible background noise behind the loud, clergies voices of those who love and appreciate you. Turn those voices up in the mix in your head. May you take notice of the things in your life that are nice and make you feel safe and maybe even find wonderment in them. May you write down your feelings and reflect on the years later, only to learn all the trials and the tribulations you thought might kill you... didn't. I hope that someday you forget the pain ever existed. I hope that if there is a lover in your life, it's someone who deserves you. If that's the case, I hope you treat them with care.

This album is a love letter to love itself -- all the captivating, spellbinding, maddening devastating red, blue, gray, golden aspects of it (that's why there are so many songs).

In honor of fever dreams, bad boys, confessions of love on a drunken night out, Christmas lights still hanging in January, guitar string scars on my hands, false gods and blind faith, memories of dumping into an icy outdoor pool, creaks in floorboards and ultraviolet morning light, finally finding a friend, and opening the curtains to see the clearest, brightest daylight after the darkest night.

We are what we love.

This is Lover.

Tradução

Voljeni (predgovor)

Kada sam našla stare dnevnike iz mog detinjstva i mojih tinejdžerskih godina, bili su prekriveni prašinom.

Ne govorim to samo da bi zvučalo lepo, zaista su bili prašnjavi, puni crteža garderobe za prvi dan škole i inspiracionih citata koje sam čitala iznova i iznova tokom loših trenutaka. Vežbala sam svoj autogram i lepila sam trzalice za gitaru na listove. Kada sam pisala, sanjarila sam na papiru i razmišljala sam o tome ko će koga pozvati na ples ili koliko sam bila nervozna kada sam pevala himnu na lokalnoj utakmici bejzbola. Stalno i drastično sam menjala svoja mišljenja o ljubavi, prijateljima, samopouzdanju i verovanju. Otvarala sam dušu, detaljno opisivala uspomene, škrabala ideje za nove pesme i pitala se zašto bih ikada probala da pokrenem neku karijeru, kada imam tako male šanse da uspem.

Ali ono što me je najviše šokiralo je koliko sam često pisala o starima koje sam volela. O pisanju nove pesme, o vožnji autom sa mamom, o ljubičasto-rozem nebu iznad fudbalskog terena na putu kući, o onoj jednoj večeri u osnovnoj školi kada se niko od mojih prijatelja nije svađao, o sjaju opalnih ogrlica koje nisam mogla da prijuštim kako blešti u prodavnici nakita. Pisala sam o malim stvarima u mom životu u ovim dnevnicima sa takvom...radoznalošću. Romansom. Videla sam nešto i odlučila da je romantično, i bilo je.

U životu, odrastamo i susrećemo se sa bezbroj poteškoća dok pokušavamo da otkrijemo ko smo, kako da se ponašamo, ili kako da budemo srećni. Kao nevidljiv dim u sobi, pitamo se kakva nas to anksioznost gura napred a kakva uništi sposobnost da nalaziš sreću u životu. Stalno preispitujemo svoje odluke, naše okruženje, i osećamo se loše zbog naših grešaka. To sve radimo dok žudimo za romansom. Žudimo za onim retkim, očaravajućim momentima kada sve stvari budu dobre. Iznad svega drugog, mi mnogo, mnogo želimo da naši životi budu ispunjeni ljubavlju.

Odlučila sam da, u životu, želim da budem zapamćena po stvarima koje volim- ne po stvarima kojih se plašim, ili po stvarima koje me muče u toku noći. Te stvari su možda nešto sa čime se nosim, ali nisu moj identitet. Želim to isto tebi. Neka stvari koje te muče postanu nečujan zvuk u pozadini onih glasnih, jasnih glasova ljudi koji te vole i poštuju. Potrudi se da najviše čuješ te glasove. Primeti stvari u tvom životu koje su lepe i koje te čine da se osećaš bezbedno i možda pokušaj da nađeš nešto radoznalo u njima. Piši svoja osećanja i osvrni se na njih posle nekoliko godina, samo da bi shvatila da sve nevolje i muke za koje si mislila da će te ubiti... nisu to uradile. Nadam se da ćeš jednog dana zaboraviti da je bol ikada postojao. Ako u tvom životu postoji voljeni, nadam se da je to neko ko te zaslužuje. Ako je to slučaj, ja se nadam da ćeš ga čuvati i voleti.

Ovaj album je ljubavno pismo ljubavi- o svakom zanosnom, uzbudljivom, razjareno pustošećem crvenom, plavom, sivom, zlatnom pogledu na ljubav (zato i ima toliko pesama).

U čast nestvarnim snovima, lošim momcima, priznanju ljubavi uveče dok si pijan, Božićnim svetlima koja su još okačena u Januaru, ožiljci od gitarskih žica na mojim rukama, lažnim bogovima i slepoj veri, uspomenama o uskakanju u hladan otvoreni bazen, pukotinama na parketu i ultraljubičastoj jutarnjoj svetlosti, konačnom nalaženju prijatelja, i otvaranju zavesama da vidiš najčistije, najsvetlije dnevno svetlo posle najtamnije noći.

Mi smo ono što volimo.

Ovo je "Voljeni".