I've said before that I'm a big fan of the Talking Heads album Fear of Music, as much for its humor as for its adventurous experimentation, but this piece of it is an enduring favorite for slightly different reasons. It's not without its jokes, of course—the way Byrne yelps and otherwise fools with the chin-stroking, thoughtfully meditated problem of making the comparisons ("good points, some bad points"), and the thing about the smells of home cooking in Memphis ("home of Elvis and the ancient Greeks") being "only the river." But at a time when I badly wanted to leave the place where I grew up, Minneapolis, it offered a kind of primer on how to decide what to do next. "Find a city, find myself a city to live in" became a way of living for a year or two before I finally settled on Seattle, a place I visited and instantly felt a connection. I still love the way the song so much makes oneself the agent of the decision, and the open approach it takes to solving it, considering as example in its four minutes or so London, Birmingham (presumably in England rather than Alabama, but who knows, given what follows), El Paso, and Memphis. In the end, evidently, Byrne chose New York. But you know what? You can live anywhere you want, anywhere that feels right. It's just a matter of picking up and doing it. As the song warns, you'll get a little freaked out now, and that's for sure—I didn't know anyone in Seattle, I didn't have a job, and I didn't have a place to live. But it all works out. This ridiculous little song provided me a lot of comfort on the way.
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