“Are all people like this, bigger on the inside?”

-Neil Gaiman,
“The Doctor’s Wife”

Sometimes I worry that the hearts of people are finite, that every bit of kindness or love or intimacy given means kindness and love and intimacy that can’t be given again. I imagine that there will be no room for me. Or if there is room, it is only temporary and I will soon be forgotten or the connections I have with people will dwindle.

I have struggled all my life with typical social relationships. I have always had, and still do have, a deep-seated sense that I am not like other people. This is a ridiculous thought because nobody is really like anybody else, not when it comes down to it. Sometimes I think I go out of my way to be different; I’ve always read different things, watched different things, listened to different things, and done different things than other people, even as a child. And sometimes I love being different, and other times I wish I was more normal. Sometimes I think that I am too different to relate to others, or for them to relate to me. Sometimes I feel awkward and out of place. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t belong in the world around me. Maybe it’s why I spend so much time inside my imagination. Or maybe it’s because I spend so much time inside my imagination that I feel this way.

It’s hard to say if choosing to be different caused my social anxiety or if my social anxiety drove me to be different. Or perhaps, more likely, my social anxiety just shapes my perception of myself so that I feel as if I am too different.

My entire adult life I have avoided making friends or any close relationships. I almost never plan anything with anybody; I don’t even feel confident that I would know what a good plan would be anyway. I imagine that others might think that my ideas would be stupid. Or too often, I imagine the normal things people might do for fun might make me too anxious. I imagine that if I am anxious, I will not be able to be myself and whoever I’m with will not have a good time. I also imagine that they don’t really want to hang out with me (or only will out of pity), or that if they do they will just realize that they don’t really care for my company. And what about other people’s time? Their time is just as finite as mine, and sometimes I imagine it is incredibly selfish to ask them to share any of it with me.

If I do something socially, I worry about what I say, and how I say it. I imagine that others may notice how awkward I seem. I imagine they are not interested in what I have to say. Or I imagine I have talked too much, or too little, or said the wrong thing, or said the right thing but at the wrong time, or in the wrong way. I imagine that I will forget to say something critical or I might offend someone. I imagine that I imagine so many things that I am not as present as I should be and I feel worse for not giving someone else the attention and respect they deserve.

Sometimes I can imagine that it’s okay; I don’t need friends, I don’t need close relationships. I imagine that you can’t fall out of touch with anybody if you aren’t close with anybody. If I’m not close with anyone I can’t disappoint anyone. Sometimes I imagine that it’s too late to do better.

Sometimes I worry that the hearts of people are finite, and I imagine not only that there will be no room for me, but I might not have room for others.

I thought about this before we decided to have a child. Would my love for my daughter lessen the love for my wife, the person I have loved more than anything for the majority of my life? Does it mean I don’t love my daughter enough because I love my wife more than ever? Will my daughter still have room for me when she’s older and she has so many friends, when she moves away, when she meets her partner, when she has a family of her own?

I imagine accidentally showing her less love when others are around, because I feel uncomfortable being vulnerable around them. I imagine acting differently around my wife as our daughter grows up, becoming too afraid to be too silly, too self-conscious to be myself. I imagine acting differently around my daughter as she brings new people into our life. Will I be too self-conscious to dance with her at her wedding? I imagine all my friendships changing. What about old friends, will we fall out of touch? What about the new friends I have made, will I never see them again?

But despite all this, I can also imagine that people are much bigger on the inside. Though it takes great effort, I can imagine not always being so afraid all the time. I can imagine being more connected to others, I can imagine that there is much more room in my heart and the hearts of others.

I also imagine that there are some things I can’t imagine, and that some of those things might even be good.

I will not allow fear to forever dictate the relationships I have or their quality. I will not allow fear to isolate me from having close relationships with others. Part of reducing anxiety is accepting our limits, but I decide where those limits are and where to push them. And those limits will expand and I will grow. And there is plenty of room to grow because I am much bigger on the inside.


"Bigger on the Inside" sounds like an adventure to me, which dovetails very neatly with the Neil Gaiman reference, if you know where it’s from. It’s one of the least dark songs on this album and though it still has some very heavy moments, it’s got a very hopeful sound. When that final melody kicks in at 5:50, that’s the moment of triumph, the moment of clarity. When you hear the riff again after that, even though it’s played the same, it feels different. It sounds like strength and perseverance, it sounds like potential. It sounds like being free.

There are a lot of diminished lines in here. In fact, almost the entire bridge is a large dominant complex built off the diminished scale. Diminished scales and chords are not nearly as dark or scary as they are made out to be. They do bring a lot of tension, but I feel they actually have a slight whimsical quality as well. This again relates to the Neil Gaiman reference. Heavy, but not too dark.

The solos are all improvised, although I think they have become such a part of the songs that I will try to play them note-for-note in the future