Reverb 10 Prompt (from Martha Mihalick): How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst?
I’ve mentioned my buddy Eric a few times already. Last time it was about how I’ve tended to ride his coattails as a way of avoiding living my own life full-throttle. Despite this tendency of mine, Eric has always steadfastly encouraged me to head my own gong. As many of my fellow Reverb10ers know well, following your gut, heart, and dreams at all cost is a road — if you follow it long enough — that features not just spectacular vistas and long stretches of pedal-to-the-metal intensity, but also breakdowns, seemingly endless traffic snarls, and even the occasional jaws-of-life-extraction type of wreck. Over the years, when the going has gotten tough, Eric has picked me up on the side of the road and carried me along to the next town, sometimes to the next state even. It’s true, once I get comfy in the passenger seat, I tend to drift into a slumberous torpor. This year though, Eric has inspired me to get back behind the wheel, changing my perspective by the example of his own tenacity.
This is a guy who keeps moving forward no matter what. After two and half years of blood, sweat and tears orchestrating his magnum opus psych rock album, he was finally on the cusp of the type of recognition and success he so richly deserves. Then his drummer moved to New York. [Drummers…(muttering).] His bass player was next to fly the coop. [Pfftt… Bass players. Who needs ’em…] A short while after that, his lead guitarist moved to Denver. [Ouch.] Undaunted, Eric finished the record mostly on his own, playing multiple instruments. Then he recruited some old friends (including yours truly) to fill out the performing lineup. From there he just kept on making things happen. He booked shows, contacted the press, created websites, “made the scene” week in and week out to network with musicians and other folks in the biz. He also flat-out rocked his fucking ass off every time he took the stage.
Then he got laid off from his job. No problem. Now he had the freedom to take his show on the road, so he started setting up a couple of full-scale tours. But the signature on the title of his new touring van hadn’t yet fully dried when both the drummer and I made it clear that our job-having asses couldn’t manage any extensive touring. Back to square one: No band! Dream over, right? Wrong! He books the tour a couple of months in advance — sans band — , spends the interim time recruiting and auditioning new players, and finally solidifies a fully functioning lineup just in time to hit the road and rock people’s worlds up and down the east coast.
Persistence. Grit. Tenacity. Holding fast to one’s dream when it appears all might be lost. Carrying on. Eric has been on this road now for a dozen years, at least, showing me the way however much I refuse to budge.
This year, for me, has not been about sudden bursts of insight or dramatic, overnight changes in perspective. Turning forty took me by surprise, but it’s not something that happened 18 days ago. It took all forty years. It’s my own crying shame that I’ve been going over much of the same old ground for a good part of the last decade, getting all inspired and talking a big game only to return to the comfort zone at the first sign of trouble. I’m not sure exactly what’s changed, really. Maybe I’ve just finally gotten sick of going in circles, tired of napping in the shotgun seat.
We all know the clichés, that it’s about enjoying the journey and not about arriving at any particular destination. Any way you slice it though, we all end up six feet under, sooner or later, somewhere along the side of the road. I’m okay with this, because I have to be, but I don’t want to arrive at my resting place clutching a suitcase full of good intentions. I’d rather my suitcase be empty. Better yet, like my friend, I’d like to get there with nothing but a big lump on my head, hearing the faint sound of a gong still ringing somewhere off in the distance…
“but I don’t want to arrive at my resting place clutching a suitcase full of good”
Enough said. You rock!
Your friend sounds like he’d be a good influence on anyone!
What an interesting person. I too loved the suitcase metaphor.
Better yet, leave the suitcase behind altogether. Travel light.
What a friend to have, yo.
I have a friend like yours and it’s amazing isn’t it? (p.s. loved the last paragraph especially)
@kteelee, @Patti Murphy, @mrs mediocrity, @Stereo, @Krista: Thanks for dropping by!
It’s true, once I get comfy in the passenger seat, I tend to drift into a slumberous torpor. You’re not alone in this one. It’s insidious.
It may be time to admit that I have dated more than my fair share of drummers and well, to say they are unreliable as a species is a generalization and unfair. But it is impossible that I got all the shitty drummers. Fortunately, I married a pianist and will have no more truck with percussionists. I can smell a marimba player a mile away.
I never thought I would say this, but I am wishing you a big, throbbing lump on your head.
@Kim: That’s the nicest thing anyone has wished me in a long while! Thanks!
“It’s my own crying shame that I’ve been going over much of the same old ground for a good part of the last decade, getting all inspired and talking a big game only to return to the comfort zone at the first sign of trouble. I’m not sure exactly what’s changed, really.”
This sounds really familiar. When I was laid off, I wanted to move to Hawai’i and start working as a writer. Neither happened, the former more due to my family being rooted where we are because my wife’s family lives nearby. The latter, because I have a family to support. But I feel the same way you wrote about, that I don’t want to leave anything on the table. I have a “life list” and I’m going about working on getting some of those things done. One of which is to sail from the mainland to Hawai’i. We’ll see how that gets done. :)
@Sam: I can imagine all this gets a lot more complicated with kids to support. I’ve only got my wife to worry about, but truthfully she doesn’t really NEED my support. She’d do fine without me. But kids, that’s a different story. At this point, I may never know how being a father might change my perspective (and I’m fine with that), but still, I’m curious.
I love my kids and wouldn’t trade my life or them for anything, but when you’re the breadwinner and the ends aren’t meeting, it’s not a great feeling. I do feel like I’m letting them down a lot lately, but I know that just being there for them is what they’ll remember, not the money stuff. That’s all mostly in my head. They know we don’t have a lot of money, but they also know we’re not poor. We own our house still, we put food on the table, it’s not drastic. Just little things.