I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free — Nina Simone

I know what this song is about and I know it does not belong to me. But when I hear it I’m reminded of the most organic feeling of my biological self.

“I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free” was written by Billy Taylor and Dick Dallas in 1967 for a live jazz album of the same name. Nina Simone covered it for her record Silk & Soul released that same year. Quickly it became an anthem for the Civil Rights movement and has been covered many times over.

A wish for freedom is simple. When we think we have it, we don’t. We think others have it because we have it. No one is created equal.

When I hear the song, particularly Nina’s version, I wish I was free from myself, and from my anxiety. Every time I hear it I think about quietly balling my eyes out on a downtown 5 train leaving the 59th Street Station.

My therapist has since moved down to Madison and 33rd. But when I first met her she was up on 68th between Madison and 5th Avenue. I would go to her office on Tuesday mornings before work. I traveled an hour and a half out of my way in commuter rush hour just to keep talking to her, even when she didn’t take my insurance and I paid far too much out of pocket, every week.

At first I would just cry unsure of where to start. The blast of daily confusion about myself, why I was feeling so sad, so mad, and so trapped caused every tear I didn’t know I saved for 26 years to come forward. First as a trickle and then as a jet. I didn’t get used to crying in public, it just started happening. I became unable to control when or where I’d cry. After our sessions I’d wade back to Downtown Brooklyn, just a few stops from where I started, and fumble into the office where I thought I hid my tears behind my desk every day.

Simultaneously I was discovering Nina Simone. Her version of “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free” caught my ear because of the subtle piano beginnings. Her tender voice, the universal calming, soothing voice of a woman, made my shoulders relax. Even as my face continued to swell, my eyes darted away from strangers. Sometimes I noticed people wonder if they should ask me if I am OK, my eyes glazed over with anxiety.

The song tells me I am not alone in the feeling of being trapped in my own skin. I was told years ago not to compare the struggle of others to myself — struggle is struggle — but the desire for freedom in the song is so far from my desire to escape the prison of my mind. I feel guilty for this comparison, and wonder if this Music Memory is in bad taste. But once a song is released into the atmosphere, I also wonder, can it belong to anyone? I find great solace and comfort in it. It feels as though it belongs to me. I hope this is allowed.

When I am anxious I cry. Sometimes I shake. Usually I want to die. I want to get out of my own way, which I cannot. I fill with rage. I forget to breathe. I want to take a nap and never wake up. I want to drink until I fall asleep.

“I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free” is a short three minutes. Play it on loop, breathe in for five Mississippi and out for five Mississippi. When I hear the shake in Nina’s voice, I feel the cold subway pole on my hand and the pull of my arm grabbing hold of it. Anchor me. Let the jerk and twist of the train pull me back above the surface.

At the end there is a great swell. Drums and horns join in, creating a plush cushion around Nina’s voice.

The downtown 4/5 platform at 59th Street is way below ground. Tile on the wall is cracked and scattered. The song reminds me of a place of peace, where I could be alone in public. People are nearby, I am safe. People are nearby, I am not alone. People are nearby, and they will leave me be.

Well I wish I could be

Like a bird in the sky

How sweet it would be

If I found I could fly

Oh I’d soar to the sun

And look down at the sea

My therapist taught me that trying to intellectually understand my emotions will never work. They are a feeling and cannot be understood. I find the need to remind myself of this too often. Maybe one day it will really stick.

I write and share about my anxiety in hope my transparency will show other people they are not alone. Not everyone can ask for help. Not everyone knows how to. Naming things has been incredibly helpful for me as I ebb and flow through life with anxiety, and the occasional bout of depression. Not everyone is able to go to, afford, or even seek out therapy. You cannot make someone go. I wish I could go every day. It has changed and saved my life. I am here to tell you: you are not alone.

Music can be a guide. Find your way to the cold subway pole. I’m starting to think it was its temperature that woke me up that day.