Destination Moon: On sickness, solitude, and insisting “I’m fine.”

What They Might Be Giants taught me about denial.

Something different is happening here on Kiss Me, Son of Blog next week: for the first time ever, I’m handing the reins to a guest author.

The song up is Self Called Nowhere, and I couldn’t imagine a better person to dive into it than Steve Goldberg.

Steve writes the newsletter Earworms and Song Loops, where he explores the place where daily existence and stray song fragments merge. Steve’s essays are witty, thoughtful, community-minded and I’m thrilled he was on board with bringing his voice to Kiss Me, Son of Blog next week.

Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss this one. It’s going to be a good ride.

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They Might Be Giants’ 1994 album John Henry, featuring the track “Destination Moon.”

As a teenager, the year John Henry came out, I spent most of my time holed up in my room. Black curtains drawn. Cassette boombox cranked. Saying “I’m fine” to every adult who poked their head in was exhausting; it probably came out of my mouth ninety times a day.

My uncle had recently ended his life, and suddenly it was as if the entire adult world had decided I was next. Because I was anxious. Because I loved the macabre. Because I squirreled myself away. I didn’t feel suicidal, but I definitely wasn’t fine either.

The Song Itself

Destination Moon is track thirteen on John Henry. At a 1994 show, John Linnell introduced it by saying: “This song is about being really sick when you think you’re not.”

I think song has four very distinct genres blending together starting with the verses and chorus:

• A church-y vibe, full and rich, with bell tones (this is the majority of it.)

Then in the middle of the song, you’re hit with three different genres back-to-back-to-back:

• A brief classical interlude, like a fever dream shift.

• A sci-fi synth freakout, sequenced because it wasn’t humanly playable.

• A final surf-guitar run, with Flansburgh’s extremely effective guitar riffs.

In good headphones, it’s an absolute joyride.

Lyrics and Denial

Linnell’s vocals move between staccato and legato, mirroring the tension of the lyrics while the narrator insists he’s perfectly healthy.

thank you for the card with the cartoon nurse,

but you see there’s nothing wrong with me

Everyone else can plainly see he’s sick.

As a teen, I latched onto that denial. I wasn’t suicidal, but I wanted people to stop asking, stop watching. Now I realize I probably sounded just like the narrator: claiming I was fine while showing all the signs of distress.

Even the chorus stages this disconnect happening by the end of the song. Early in the song we hear his perspective. Casually throwing back the blanket, hopping in a taxi, boarding a plane, launching into space.

The final chorus, however, give us the reality check: coughing at the airport, limping to the taxi, dragging his withered leg to the rocket.

It’s tragic and absurd which is classic Linnell.

Reflection

Back then, denial felt like survival. Now, I’m trying to recognize when I’m not fine, and give myself the space to heal. Destination Moon still resonates, but not as an anthem of solitude. Now, it’s my reminder that sometimes the bravest thing I can do isn’t blasting off, it’s admitting I’m sick, sad, or struggling.

Something I’ve been learning lately is recognizing when I’m not fine and giving myself the space I need to heal.

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Before We Land This Rocket…

Writing these essays isn’t about chasing clicks. It’s about turning the strange, funny, sometimes heavy parts of life into something worth revisiting.

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