A Love Letter to Patty Griffin at Bedtime

A few months ago I discovered the singer/songwriter Patty Griffin. Several weeks later she played a show in Dallas. I decided I didn’t know her well enough to ride five hours.

Now I’m kicking myself.

She sings like she’s shouting a secret that only one person can hear. It’s like listening to someone play a show in my living room.

I have trouble sleeping, so I listen to Patty at night. She doesn’t really put me to sleep as much as keep me company until I fall asleep.  

Music is one of the most important things in my life, and I listen to just about anything. One thing I love about Patty is the stories she tells. As an essayist, telling stories is my job. I do it because I love stories.

When I turn on Patty’s music at bedtime I feel like I’m visiting the Greek and his Italian girl, the man there’s no talking to, and Chief, who walked until the soles of his feet turned black. It’s like having a conversation with good friends while I’m winding down.

I get unusually attached to songs and the people who sing them. I don’t expect to ever meet Patty, but she’s become a part of my life over the last nine months.

My bedtime routine would feel lacking without her whispering in my ear.