Volaré, oh, oh
I’m walking down Grafton Street in Dublin, past the Disney Store, Levi’s, Victoria’s Secret, and souvenir shops selling shamrocks and leprechauns. Up ahead, a busker is playing guitar and singing his heart out
Cantaré, oh, oh, oh, oh
I chuckle. This guy sings well, but his voice seems wasted on a cheesy pop hit. I expect to hear the Dean Martin version – silky, sanitized, tame. But no, he continues in the original Italian. And it’s not tame.
Nel blu dipinto di blu.
Felice di stare lassù.
He is singing with vigor. Full-throated, uninhibited, almost operatic. This man’s charisma is all-in, his joy ringing off the shop windows. His passion is infectious. People passing by walk in step, nodding in time, some are singing along.
E volavo, volavo felice
Più in alto del sole,
Ed ancora più su,
Mentre il mondo pian piano
Spariva lontano laggiù.
I let the mood of the street permeate me. My spirits lift, my steps lighten. I awaken to the delicious reality that I am walking in the sunshine of a beautiful city, in a crowd of smiling strangers, bathed in a song that shouts, Life Is A Gift. How can I not feel gratitude? More – I am happy.
When we touch something honest, everything becomes honest. The well of joy and grief at our feet reveals itself as simple fact. I think of my mother and father, who passed last year. My throat catches and my eyes wet. My happiness does not diminish, it receives, rounding out to include their absence and their presence. They also knew that life is a gift. I can’t enjoy this day with them, but I can enjoy this day for them.
I throw a Euro into his case and tell him, “You sing well. Thank you.” We exchange a glance. He nods and smiles without missing a beat. How is it that we make the world lighter just by being ourselves? Why do I learn and forget this lesson over and over and over?
Una musica dolce suonava
Soltanto per me.
Volaré, oh, oh,
Cantaré, oh, oh, oh, oh.
Click here for a rousing clip of Volaré, sung by Il Volo
Photo by Yunus Tuğ on Unsplash