On Friday, September 7, Mac Miller's death stunned millions. It's almost a week later and I still can't really comprehend his passing. I always thought I was at terms with the general idea of death, however, Mac Miller's tragic ending brought up a lot of questions. Although there's a lot I'm still unsure of, there is one thing I'm certain: I need to keep writing.
I adored Mac Miller. His music was the soundtrack to my high school years. I remember being in ninth grade, roaming around the neighborhood at night with my best friends blasting "Knock Knock" and "Party on Fifth Ave." His early, feel-good music fueled my young and naive soul, someone who thought they had the world at their fingertips. As I got older and starting learning more about myself and the people around me, Mac's music evolved into more than just catchy bops. On "GO:OD AM," I started actually listening to his words, which were all lessons in disguise.
2016 was a big year for both me and Mac. I was graduating from high school, I was in love for the first time and Mac released "The Divine Feminine." I always thought his music was pretty in touch with his emotions, but this album was the first that was intimately in touch with them. It was also one of the first that inspired me to write poetry. I wanted to describe things as beautifully as he did.
Two years later, Mac gifted us "Swimming." A lot has happened in this two-year gap, for both myself and Mac. While I'm sure those two years were spent much differently, we did have one thing in common: heartbreak. When I listen to "Swimming," I hear a man trying to heal in one of the only ways he knows how. I hear a man who is just trying to make sense of the world around him. I hear someone who's so hurt, yet still so strong. But when I hear this album now, I think of how these were the last thoughts of a man who's inspired me for years.
I know others have said the same, but Mac Miller's death has resonated with so many because we grew up together with his music. His death was so unexpected because we thought he was going to continue to grow with us. But for me, it goes beyond that. Each album came at a time when I needed it and fit into whatever it was I dealing with, whether it was the reality of growing up or navigating love. When I look back on important moments in my life, there's usually a Mac Miller song associated with it. His music had a way of making me feel like it was written specifically for me, as if was saying, "Hey, I know you're going through some shit, but I think this song may help."
Over the past couple of months, I've been in a writing rut. There's been a lack of creativity and motivation. I had started to give up hope that my writing was worth something. Then, Mac Miller died. I couldn't believe someone, whose newest album I'd been listening to on repeat for weeks, was never going to make music again. I began replaying every album, looking for some sort of answer. Somehow, I understood him more than I ever thought I did. I began analyzing every lyric, trying to break down the walls he put around their true meaning. Then, it hit me. I would never get the chance to see him live. I would never hear what else he was going to make me feel.
Because that's why I loved Mac Miller so much. He always made me feel something. And that's exactly what I want to do with my own writing. His music has impacted my life and my writing in a way that not many other musicians have. Now, I not only owe my writing to myself—I owe it to him too.
