Music To My Ears

Having recently been asked why I listen to music and whether I'd give the same reasons as to why I read, a simple, rather glib answer sprang instantly to mind: Love. Madness. Hope. Infinnate joy. This answer also has the virtue of being someone else's words and so absolves me from any real responsibility for saying it, whilst still sounding pretty (and prettily) clever, if not orthographically of the first order. Then I realised that although, it is, in its own way, true, it's not entirely accurate.

Similarly the other answer that flashed into my mind: Yes, I listen to music for the same reasons I read, essentially as a form of escape to make life bearable, whilst initially feeling reasonably sincere, now seems merely evasive. But I'm not sure why I feel this way, except to say that thinking about music makes me feel far more naked somehow than talking about reading. It's almost as if it (music) means more to me (than reading), but it doesn't - or at least I'd be surprised if I were to find out it did.

I'm confused - which is always a good thing. (Except when teaching, when I bluff my way out of it.)

Let me add one tentative observation to the provisional truths above: there are many ways to listen and some are better than others, and the quality of listening is intimately tied to one's reasons for doing so. Oh, and another. Some listening is non-volitional - as a child I sang songs without trying to, as do we all. I think we really have to try to read.

Still confused. I hope fruitfully.