When The Wall built around me at age 14, Pink Floyd embraced me with open arms. Reminding me that it’s okay to be different and it’s okay to get it wrong.
Perhaps my obsession was unhealthy, but as I think back, they truly helped through the toughest times. All I had to do was press play to the sound of a guitar wailing in seeming pain. A voice soaring through me, a beat of march, leading the way and an atmosphere that leads you to another world. Our world, away from the warehouse world.
And as the years rolled by and I flew through the teen years and my 20s and speeding through my 30s. My music taste has broadened and even though I don’t play Pink Floyd as much as I used to, mainly because my obsessions have shifted to Bob Dylan but whenever I put Pink Floyd on, it’s a feeling like I’m being greeted by an old friend who helped me through the toughest times. A friend I can’t help to hug and say thank you.
