I recently picked up Melody Gardot's second album, My One and Only Thrill, again, which is one of my favourite jazz albums at all times.

Melody Gardot's story takes the singer-songwriter's woeful narrative arc and turns it on its head. She barely studied music growing up - a few years of piano here and there, a side job playing in jazz bars for cash - and planned to pursue painting, not music, as a career. But when Gardot was hit by a jeep while riding her bike through the streets of Philadelphia, the then-19-year-old art student was advised to take up an instrument as a form of music therapy. Once she started music therapy, the focus of her music-making changed rapidly.

Since the accident, Gardot has struggled with short-term memory loss, which forces her to write and record compositions before she forgets them. Furthermore, her heightened sensitivity to light and sound — which, despite hearing devices and sunglasses — makes performing somewhat difficult. But she still finds it enjoyable. And she hasn't forgotten about her good fortune, though, where she sees the accident was really something which led her to music, in a more meaningful way.

I truly admire her optimism towards the challenges in her life. Sometimes I wonder why do I easily get depressed even with small matters, as I'm still in a healthy and good form. Anyway, her If The Stars Were Mine never fails to make me smile. Lovely.

Perhaps I just need a little bit more patience.