Breathe out

Still no signs of imminent labor, so we're simply trying to remain patient and to enjoy the things that are still so easy in absence of a small one: a spontaneous visit to the pool; a day of writing; the Sunday crossword.

But of course the last few days have also been a quiet lesson in how little control we have over so many aspects of our lives. We've now heard at least a dozen folk remedies for inducing birth, ranging from the traditionally puritanical (castor oil) to the seemingly decadent (Black Russians and peanut M&Ms, taken together) and the frankly weird (Wendy's hamburgers). L.'s followed a couple of other suggestions, but even a long walk didn't bring on any discernible change. So we wait, increasingly aware that this process, even though it's occurring within one of us, isn't up to us.

Which, it occurs to me, is true of my venture into classical music, as well. To a certain extent, I've been trying over the past couple of weeks to control the music I listen to - to give myself (and L., and our imminent daughter) a steady diet of Bach and Beethoven and anything else that seems promising. But simply moving about the city requires one to cede at least a degree of control. Walk into the coffee shop, and hear The Who. Turn on the radio, and it might be Puccini - until it's the news, at 5. Or listen to the news, and suddenly hear a segment of a record that's being reviewed. Try as one might, it's hard to control what goes into one's ears.

All of which must be, at least in part, a result of the rise of recorded music. In the age of Bach or Beethoven, music was only heard live (think about that: it was only heard live!), and was thus a relatively rare and unique experience for most people. Nowadays, though, recorded music can be played so easily and so cheaply that it's everywhere. That's not, by itself, a necessarily good or bad thing; it's just a fact, and a factor in the rise of the diversity that now characterizes our aural environment. It's interesting: recorded music gives us, as individuals, more control over what we hear in private, but it also gives us less control over the music we hear in public.

Is there a moral here? Perhaps there are several, but here's the one I'm interested in. Control can be nice, but it can also work as a reminder that there's a beauty in the uncontrolled. I like pressing play and hearing Beethoven, but the very fact that I can do that makes slivers of unexpected music all the more energizing and potentially delightful. Which is why, in the end, we might resist Wendy's Hamburgers even if we knew that they really do induce labor. There's something wonderful in being taken by surprise.