feeling it all: a journey of magic, music, and meaning
A late night thesis on embracing the synchronicities, songs, and small signs that make life beautifully whole
Written By: Syn Devereaux
“test of my patience, there’s things that we’ll never know”
in its six minutes and seventeen seconds of entirety, this song has long meant more to me than anyone could ever possibly know. does it reflect my life and all its evolution? absolutely. does it represent a poignant and indelible relationship i can never fully articulate? absolutely. does it feel like hope and loss and love and magic, holding a mirror to the girl who looks in the glass? absofuckinglutely.
at 2:17, harry (metaphorically speaking, of course) pins me against the wall with the second verse, putting me in an emotional chokehold, always drawing out a broken sob from me. this song… it makes me feel seen and held by the universe and life. it’s like it shines a spotlight on me, saying, “i see you, kid. you’re doing great.” seeing me in all my grit and glory—my bloodied knees and palms from the hard knocks of life. my swollen lip and puffy eyes. my body may be ladened with scars and i may always be crying, but i’ll get through it. i always do.
since moving to the east coast, the signs and synchronicities are everywhere. my camera roll is filled to the brim—every little thing on every block and street corner saying in flashing neon lights, “you’re here! you’re doing it! keep going!” it’s like an eternal compass. just last week, i saw several strange synchronicities of a very special name as if the world was pressing its finger on a map and saying, “right here. focus on this.” a reminder that, despite everything, i’m not alone on this journey. it’s like living in a conversation with something greater, something cheering for me.
there’s a song called “river flows in you” by yiruma that’s held me since i was 14 years old—and god, does she. river flow in—through—me. a cosmic witness to the ever-changing throes of life, weaving and connecting me to my deeper well, my source, to something far greater than i could ever imagine or dream of.
and if you ask me, it’s all beautifully interwoven: the hope, the loss, the humility, the love, and of course, the magic. god, there’s so much profound magic, and i am nearly 32 years and 180 pounds of anecdotal proof of that. i’m learning that that’s me. and more. it’s a complex yet liberating feeling. how wonderful, how beautiful to be a part of this?
my entire life, i’ve been sensitive—sensitive to literally everything. and the older i get, i feel like an open channel, a portal, a doorway between light and dark, joy and sorrow, fully present to everything the world wants to throw my way. and this song, with all its gut-wrenching layers and nuance, feels like it was made for me to feel every bit of that. it’s as if each note and word and chord progression was crafted to meet me exactly where i am, to echo both my softness and my strength, counting every drop of blood, sweat, and tears that’s brought me here.
nothing in my life has ever been easy, the universe humbling me at every turn. even my birth was a miracle beyond the already ever present realms of miracle of birth itself. if my mother almost wasn’t here, then i definitely almost wasn’t supposed to be here.
i’ve spent an absurd amount of time in my life wondering about “almosts” and “what ifs,” turning over the stones of what-could-have-beens, as if the answers were etched on their undersides. but maybe that’s what drives me—the search for meaning in the unanswerable, the pursuit of what lies just beyond the edge of understanding. and maybe that’s why i’m here, still reaching, still asking, with this unquenchable thirst for truth and connection. my thirst and need for knowledge past what we can grasp or understand is never-ending. my mouth in a permanent state of a dry, barren land, aching for the sweet nectar of knowing—understanding—the laws of the universe and, ultimately, myself.
as a highly sensitive person, joy feels monumental, the best high no drug could ever compare to. but the pain, the pain feels like a cheese grater on an already open, festering wound. high highs and low lows. but the older i get, and the more i learn about myself, the better i understand how to balance these and other complex dualities inside of me. ‘as above, so below’, once again
this song represents the duality, always, of these feelings—so raw, nuanced, and complex. if i could tattoo the chords on my beating heart, i would. it’s a part of me, living in the dusty, cobwebbed corners of my psyche. this song doesn’t shy away from the ugly, raw, angry, teeth-gnashing bits. it lets my pain breathe without demanding i fix or hide it. one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books, “the fault in our stars” john green writes, “that’s the thing about pain. it demands to be felt.”
and it does. and boy do i. feel it that is. and it’s as if harry is there, and has been since the song and album came out, with his hand on my shoulder, quietly saying, “it’s okay. let it out. you’re safe here.” in those brief moments in time where i’m IN the song itself, the music becomes a safe place—a sanctuary where i can exist in my entirety, flaws, scars, and all. this song is my sanctum, as harry himself has been. in these six minutes and seventeen seconds, all my masks come off, and i feel like i can finally breathe, wounds, warts, and all. with the guard rails down, i can breathe deep and see what’s before me.
that magic is real. this song, my life, and i are a true testament to the unknown powers that be. and i’m so, so thankful for it all. it’s meeting someone because you had a dream about it and then, years later, meeting someone else with a birthday of that date. or meeting someone with the birthday of your beloved childhood pet. seeing ‘cosmo and wanda’ on every corner, colors paired together in a way only you know, whispering conspiratorially in your favor. and so. much. more.
it’s the things i’ve manifested and brought to life in the most insane, natural way. on the micro and macro side of life. it’s in the way the autumn leaves rush the sidewalk next to prospect park, the music building to perfectly crescendo with my emotions.
it’s everywhere.
magic isn’t in grand gestures; it’s in the subtle shifts and the tiny nudges. it’s everywhere— sometimes loud and bursting through the cracks, sometimes so quiet it’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. and maybe that’s the real gift: to feel it all, to live it all, and to hold onto the gratitude that i get to experience with it all.
i end this love letter to this song by saying this:
keep going. don’t stop. you are love. you are magic. the world is waiting for you.
