Maybe, Maybe
T-Wolf (he/him/his, she/her/hers)
Editorial Team Member
Last year, over the course of the summer, I became a deep fan of a band called AJR. Though I’d known a few of their songs since middle school, I had never delved deep into their music. I didn’t know how much I’d grow to love the subject matter they focused on, from the struggle to feel creative and unique, the struggle to keep up with fans’ ever-ballooning expectations of their music, the constant chaos and turmoil of the internet and content surplus, and so much more. The more I listened through their albums, the more I felt seen and assured that these questions and worries could be felt by anyone, no matter the level of success. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for popular creatives to admit aloud that they struggled with feeling like they deserved their success and they were truly making art. But it was new to see a set of creatives that could address those struggles over and over, practically making it their whole brand, while having each song hit the nail even harder on the head.
I wasn’t very invested in the band as celebrities or people, not beyond how it provided context for their songs. But I still got to the point where I had playlists of their albums on repeat all the time, constantly listening and singing along to them. The lyrics, in the strange combinations of orchestral and synth, just made the emotions feel so raw. I sometimes caught myself wishing I’d gotten into AJR’s music even sooner, back when I first discovered them in middle school, or even during high school. It would have been the time I needed them most, or so I believed.
Perhaps I did need them more back then. But over the past few months, of starting my first year of college and diving into a world of decisions in a completely new home, I think I still got into them at the right time.
I’d survived two months of my first semester when AJR came out with a new album, The Maybe Man. Up to that point, college had felt both muter and busier than I’d hoped for. Neither was too much of a surprise, given that I’d booked myself for 17 semester hours per week, while simultaneously working on a long novel-length project- yet it was disappointing nonetheless. For all I was used to this sort of workload in high school, it kept me from making a lot of new friends or connections, and I was internally dissatisfied and bitter. Now though, rather than it being aimed at mandated curriculum or class instructors, the negativity was really aimed at myself. I chose this harsh workload for myself because I knew I could get through it- but in this environment of so-called freedom, I was learning that I really, somewhat desperately, did not want to. The academic toil that I was often praised for in my younger years was wearing me down.It was under this sullen schedule that I began listening to The Maybe Man, curious and excited that I’d finally get to experience a new set of songs when it arrived. The signature AJR style of lyrics and instrumental hit me immediately. But with each replay and looping of the album, it grew more and more on me. The tone of this album, so laden with this undercurrent of despairing frustration and exhaustion and resignation, resonated with me. Even more so than the albums and songs of the past. And I took that knot of emotions reflected in their music and ran with it.
Perhaps it was the recency bias firing me up. Perhaps it was just that this was the first album for me to get into during my struggles. But even now, The Maybe Man still has so many personal anthems of mine, of the heavy expectations I made for myself, of the fears and worries and exhaustion I own. Even now that it’s my second semester of college, I still feel stagnant. I still feel myself slipping into the same old habits. I still feel beaten down by work. I don’t know where I’m going, I never know what to do at any given moment, and I am still trying to do everything.
Maybe I’ll learn enough to lessen the weight next year, or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll emerge feeling victorious and vindicated, or maybe I’ll just want to never come back. But there’s an album of songs that screams alongside me with all those feelings. There’s an album of songs growing alongside me in this broken leg of life. And maybe, so utterly maybe, that’ll keep me going a little longer.