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I always thought “Once In A Lifetime” by the Talking Heads was a silly song, with its underwater-wonderland burble and David Byrne’s herky-jerk proclamations and spasmodic gestures punctuating every bark. The storyline was something out of Mother Goose, the crooked man and his crooked house transported to the modern day. “And you may find yourself/living in a shotgun shack,” “Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground” — first of all, um, duh; secondly, what kinda wild gibberish is that?

 

Then I hit my thirties.

 

One morning, on my way to work (a two-hour commute by bus along the most circuitous route possible into Burbank), I slipped the Remain In Light album into my eardrums and settled back for some invigorating morning music with a song I knew by heart, something to brighten my day. But something else happened instead.

 

 

I was 34 years old. “Once In A Lifetime” had been around since I was probably, like, seven. I’ve seen the video a good 600 times. I owned both the Remain In Light LP as well as Jonathan Demme’s Stop Making Sense on VHS and audiocassette, which featured a live performance on the song. I’ve seen that at least 20 times.

 

Tell me: How is it you can know a song most of your life, but never actually hear what it’s saying?

 

This time in — aural suck #34,129 in a limited series — I heard it. It was like I was finally old enough. I was numbed to my toes. No longer the epileptic wet-haired goob, David Byrne stood ramrod straight o’er a pulpit, delivering a sermon more unnerving than “Sinners In The Hands Of An Angry God.” Oh, how his fierce words stung, every verbal parry an expert thrust to the conscience. And when strung together, they carried the weight of personal crisis. “You may find yourself.” “You may ask yourself.” “You may say to yourself.” Oh, my God. Is he talking to me?

 

I stared out the bus windows at the blurs zipping past. They melted into questions without answers. Somehow the Talking Heads, broadcasting from 27 years earlier, had tapped into the doubt and fears that plagued me as I skipped past 30, then 31, 32, and 33 (hey, whoa, waitwaitwait, time out, stop!), and finally hit that point where the future, once so promisingly open and unformed, became day-to-day maintenance of the present, and within a year I’d be closer to 50 than 18. What was I doing with my life? Sure, it was mostly fulfilling, but was it right? Had I sacrificed too much? How soon before I reached that Byrne-ian apex of stunned awareness: “My God! What have I done?”

 

I was reminded of this nightmare I used to have in my twenties. I’m at this girls’ basketball game at my hometown alma mater, yelling and cheering my brains out. A girl in our colors drains the game-winner from way outside the paint as the buzzer rumble-sighs through the gymnasium. Everyone shifts into orgasmic overdrive, stomping the bleachers into kindling. The team rushes jubilantly back to the bench, ponytails swishing triumphantly to-and-fro. But the girl who shot the buzzer-beater stops halfway. Our eyes meet and lock. She smiles and waves vigorously. “Hey, Dad!” she yells. “Did you see that shot?” And then I suddenly snap awake. Old, confused, trapped, hollow, scared. What happened to all the things I’d promised myself I’d do? In Byrne’s words, I had “found myself” in a strange place, one I’d logically reached but didn’t recognize as anything I’d wanted or planned. Funny thing about all those “You may find yourself”s: they describe someone who’s actually lost.

 

But today I wonder. Was that was really a nightmare, or have I been postponing my own life all these years by moving to California and back again, indulging and chasing dreams — somewhat successfully, I might add — all the while aging no matter what choices I make? (Time is fluid/in perpetual motion, hence: “Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.”) I mean, what’s wrong with a family and kids, a legacy to pass on? Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had a great life. Better than expected, in fact. But, yeah, wow, is this it?

 

Yeesh, whatever. Just point me, existentially, to the side with the greenest lawn.

 

“Once In A Lifetime”

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