I am currently in hour 7
of 10 of traveling today. I have
already spent more time on the train than I did in my destination total. All for the cause of course, but the
delirium of a double gig last night + 6:40am train this morning + walking up
and down vicious New England hills = one delirious blogger. One good thing about delirium (and
mini-bottles of Dewer’s scotch) is the ability to be introspective without
promoting self-doubt. That is,
unless you’re already fighting the devils of doubt.
I’d be lying if I said I
hadn’t dealt with some doubt devils over the years. I’d actually be lying if I said I wasn’t dealing with them
now, but for some reason the fatigue, delirium, and semi-tasty booze are doing
a pretty good job of giving me clarity rather than anxiety.
It could also be the
fact that I walked around the city most of the day without realizing I spilled
coffee ALL OVER my nice button-down shirt. Seriously people, you can’t take me anywhere. Thank goodness it was AFTER my meeting;
at least I don’t care what train people think about nicely dressed AJ
(Anonymous Johnson, for you newcomers) with a big splotch of coffee colored
grossness on a pretty blue J. Crew shirt.
I’m too delirious to try to flirt with some of the sublimely gorgeous
women on the train anyway – unlike my dear chessboxing opponent one day a few
moons ago…
Regardless, what
normally would make me want to curl up into a ball and cry for Mama is instead
stifled laughter in a semi-crowded train car, currently in the New Haven, CT
station waiting to pick-up Yankees and Elis. Kill me now.
The point I’m trying to
get to: Levity. Or for you
Aesopian moralists (oh how I hate you so): “Always look on the bright side of
life!”
How can I take myself
seriously if I’m running around the world with a huge fucking coffee stain on
my shirt? How can I be mad at
myself for going hours without noticing, walking around and smiling and
thinking everything is peachy-flippin-keen? It’s not like I have an emergency ironed dress shirt in my
army-surplus shoulder bag. It’s my
own damn fault anyway – I was walking down the street with an umbrella, cup of
coffee, trying to smoke a cigarette, while talking to my boss. It was pouring rain; priority was
keeping my bag and computer dry.
Every single one of you reading this would agree: functional computer
> coffee-stained dress shirt.
That’s why god invented dry cleaners, duh.
I digress. Levity. I read one definition of levity that said “the treatment of
a serious matter…in a manner lacking due respect.” That may be true, and however much it pains me to admit it,
I think I’ll have to side with the Aesopians on this one. So what I have a nasty coffee stain on
my shirt – I had a fairly successful trip today, especially considering I had
about 90 minutes of couch napping between when I woke up on Wednesday morning
and getting on a train at the ass-crack of dawn Thursday. The two or so hours of train sleep this
morning doesn’t really count.
So where’s my point, you
ask… If I can sit here, stain and
all, and smile and laugh and poke fun at myself of the whole matter, that is
levity. Levity is what keeps
people from losing their shit over something stupid like spilt milk. Or in my case spilt coffee (which
normally evokes tears anyway…more so for the lost coffee rather than the stain
it may or may not leave).
-----
During the course of my
solo business trip today I had a major league epiphany. Granted, I already knew the result of
the epiphany: I’m a selfish twat.
The irony is that the epiphany would make most people go: “Well, I’ve
done some cool shit. I guess it’s
time to go settle down and start a family and yadda yadda,” which really means
“it’s okay to go crawl under a rock and die now.”
As my meeting was
wrapping up (looking at potential office space to rent for my new job), I had
to give the guy my business card.
“Sorry,” I said. “This is
from my soon-to-be previous career.”
Not like I was going to tell him that it’s a temporary step-back, not an
“I give up,” but I had to somehow justify handing him my lovely, professionally
designed musician business card.
We talked for a few seconds about it, he had some interesting questions
about my career, but it made me think…
Fortunately or unfortunately, when you’re wandering around a strange
city where you know one person (who was out of town today), you can do nothing
but think… The following is my
convoluted train of thought over the course of the afternoon.
I really have done some
cool shit in my life. I opened up
for Natalie Cole and Chuck Mangione at 18. Got to play on the field at the (now gone) Veteran’s
Stadium. A few years later I was
opening up for Talib Kweli in front of 50,000 people. I’ve played with former sidemen for Ray Charles, Jay-Z,
Matisyahu, and countless other monsters of music. I’ve gotten to see places and do things because of music
that would have cost me years (yes, years) of income to manage, including
visiting another continent. Icing
on the cake is, frankly, I’ve never played better piano in my life. It’s not pride talking – it’s fact. I wish I could find a slightly less
ignorant way of saying it, but it’s hard to be self-confident without being a
prick. For the purposes of this
self-aggrandizing/self-effacing blog (combined with fatigue, coffee, and now
booze), I’m just going to push it a little farther than usual for now. No apologies though – it’s not like I’m
saying mean things about yo’ mamma or sumthin…
Me, with my infinite
justifications for levity, bizarre Vulcananian logical deductions, and
hyper-self-awareness came to the complete opposite conclusion. I’ve done some really cool shit. I know I sound like an A-level asshole
right now, but it’s true. To save
(a little) face, I’ve been this way my whole life. Chasing adventures, breaking expectations, not caring what
people think about me, etc., has been my M.O. since I was old enough to tell
stupid people to “fuck off.” (If
you were wondering, it started when I was 5 or so…)
I’ve been re-inspired to
do what is the unexpected; to do what I think is best for my long-term needs
and goals. And as you all well
know by now, starting a family is at the very bottom of that list of needs and
goals. It’s why I’m (albeit
temporarily) giving up a fairly successful music career in one of the world’s
hardest cities to be a musician.
It’s not because I don’t believe in my abilities, it’s because I want to
do bigger and better things that I can’t provide for myself on a mercenary
musician’s income. So sue me. If it means women scoff at my choice of
lifestyle, so be it, I’ll deal.
I reckon there’s a woman
or two out there who thinks along the same lines as I do, wondering why no man
wants to be a part of their world because of their inherent need to do what
they feel is important to their own lives. Maybe our paths will cross. The funny thing is, if my path crosses with hers, we’ll
probably both think each other are turds and never speak again. I wonder if some of my mediocre first
dates have been just that – two kindred spirits on the path of self-discovery
and self-improvement that realize there’s just not enough time in the day to
share it with another. It’s her
loss, but it’s my loss too.
The final conclusion,
aka, the “Moral” (fucking Aesopians): Actually, I don’t think I have one. The onus really is just on the individual
to realize what they want and need.
If they ignore their subtle Freudian needs for a simple cuddle, then
fuck ‘em (figuratively...if I was implying literal, don’t you think I’d have a
much mellower tone here?). I’m not
saying “Hey baby, you’re hot, let’s go [insert boorish euphemism for sex
here].” I’m too old for that
shit. My rule has (almost) always
been: I would rather wake up alone and lonely than wake up somewhere and say
“oh no, what did I do…”
So I guess I do have a
moral: Be honest to yourself. If
you’re willing to give up a little fun for your personal needs, than so be
it. I’m that way most of the time
– I don’t chase. So yea, sometimes
I jones for a little simple physical contact, but I don’t go home crying about
it either. So not worth the time.
Actually, I lied. The moral: All the cool shit I’ve done
in the past has merely reaffirmed my selfishness. I want more.
It’s not like I’ll cut you to get what I want, I’ll just walk around you
instead. I reiterate: So sue me.
I both long and rue for
the day that I meet her. “Her”
being a similarly Vulcanesque logistician that knows exactly what they want,
just not how to get it. All I know
is, we’re going to drive each other crazy, and well, I can’t wait.
P.S. Someone sitting
near me on the train has sumtin smelly....
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