Letting Go in the Key of Emmylou

There’s a certain comfort in the hum of the old vinyl spinning, soft crackle and all, especially on a blue evening when the world—my little world here—seems too heavy to carry. Last week, while sorting through a dusty box of old 45s I keep in the attic, I stumbled upon a record that hasn’t caught the glare of a jukebox or the backlit haze of radio play in many a year: “Easy From Now On” by Emmylou Harris, from her 1978 album “Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town.”

Now, you might say Emmylou isn’t exactly a hidden treasure. Sure, she’s more celebrated than half the hats in Nashville, but this particular tune—the words by Carlene Carter and Susanna Clark—never really made its run as a chart-buster. It lived gently, reigning over the quiet corners of juke joints, and mostly passed from hand-to-hand, heart-to-heart, for those of us who needed its kind of wisdom.

I’ll admit: Growing up straddling two cultures—my father’s voice eternally tuned to Dutch radio, and my heart right there in the dust and twang of American country—I always felt a shade out of place. Even now, sometimes the nights here in Helmond (there, I said it: Helmond, my stage and my anchor) feel more like Texas than Brabant, and I drink to that sweet confusion.

This song, though, is a compass. Its first line bites you sweet and tender:
*“There he goes gone again / Same old story’s got to come to an end.”*

Funny, isn’t it? How some stories just repeat themselves. All my life I’ve found myself stuck in a loop of starting over—love, gigs, friendships, hope itself. The endless cycle of promising myself, “This time it’s different.” But it never is, not really. Back in 1985, after a gig at a near-empty truck stop outside of Antwerp, I remember sitting out behind the van, hurting over a breakup that felt like it had circled back from the grave. Under a crescent moon, I played this song through battered headphones and felt less alone in my chaotic patterns.

*“And I’ll be easy from now on / I’ll be the strongest one standing…”* croons Emmylou, a voice both fragile and unbreakable. There’s something powerful in that defiant longing to be “easy”—not in the careless sense, but like a river smoothing out rough stones over years. Something I never managed to learn until recent years.

Maybe that’s why the song resonates so fiercely for me. I spent too many years wrestling with the need to fix everything—my own moods, the hearts of women who didn’t need my rescue, the idea of perfection in music and in life. I chased the illusion that if I tried just a bit harder, I’d finally become the Kroes that would never be left, never be disappointed.

But this song—these buried, flawless couplets—teach a different lesson:
*“I’ll be easy from now on / There’ll be one less set of footsteps on your floor…
Maybe you’ll find out someday, how hard it was for me to stay away.”*

It wasn’t about making love last at all costs, or fighting for myself until there was nothing but ashes left. It was about letting go. About awakening to the realization that sometimes the best you can do is step off the floor gracefully, stop leaving footprints on the hearts of others, and begin smoothing out your own heart’s jagged edges.

Back in Helmond—or anywhere, really—the grief of separation is a river we all wade through. Whether it’s a lover, a dream unfulfilled, or even a version of yourself you never quite became, there always comes that moment of surrender. I remember a particular afternoon two summers ago, slouched in my favorite armchair facing the window, guitar on my lap, watching the rain track its slow descent. I’d lost a close friend—irretrievably, this time—and the urge to fix what had fractured inside me was loud as thunder. But I let myself be easy, if only for the length of Emmylou’s song. I leaned into the pain, let it wash me clean, just as those lyrics invited:

*“I’ll be as gentle as a flower…
I’ll try to be easy from now on.”*

What makes “Easy From Now On” such a treasure is its gentle prescription against the violence of regret. It’s not bitter, not vengeful—just honest resignation wrapped in the softest velvet. I think it’s the song for anyone who’s ever been accused of caring too much, of trying too hard. It tells us it’s okay to loosen our grip, to choose the quieter path, to be the best of ourselves—yes, softer, but no less brave.

I like to think of myself, here in my little Dutch town with its cloudy afternoons, as one of those “strongest ones standing.” Strong, not because I never bend, but because I have learned to let go and keep singing. My heart’s calluses are earned, yes, but they’ve taught me to laugh at life’s patterns rather than rage at them.

So tonight, as the needle rides the grooves, I leave you with this: put on the record, turn up the volume, and let Emmylou’s plea wash over you. Let yourself be easy, if only for a song’s length. Forgive your own stubbornness. Love your patterns. And when the story repeats—and it will—let yourself step lightly, softer than before.

Here’s to the gentle, the persistent, the hearts in quiet revolt. “Easy From Now On” is our anthem, tucked away, always within reach.

– Kroes den Bock