I walk without a compass or a clock and I don’t read road signs. Steadily focused on the sound, touch, taste, smell and sight of each step, I soak in now. And as all-encompassing as that can be, I still step steadily into the future.
I try not to fret, and yet my strings whisper from half step to half step choppily and thoroughly different than fretless. And as the pitch increases, so does the tempo, so does the weight of the elephant sitting on my chest situated just so it makes my heart sometimes feel compressed, and I ask aloud, “My God, What is next?”
It’s the end of an era. On Saturday, I peeled the stickers off my bass. If I had $30, I would replace the pickguard, fix the loose strap lock on the horn and get rid of the duct tape. I’m not rock and roll right now, I’m just playing covers of covers. Songs rearranged after written by others. I’m remote from that musical place where my concerns float away on sound waves and instead I’m logistical, calculating. Those are not words generally used to describe artists, and there’s a little part of me that never stopped feeling nineteen that is having a little bit of a crisis.
I think I will return to a band. At least God, I really hope you have a plan that leads down that path.
I’ve been in my job a little over a year now, and I’m starting to feel like I know what I’m doing. I feel more stress than I did before, for sure, but I see some future beyond this role, and that could be really awesome.
I’ve been a dad for nearly three years, and its been pretty great. Sometimes I feel like I suck at it. Sometimes, I don’t. I think thats probably true for most parents. I hope when Ariella is my age, she thinks I’m as awesome as I think my mom and dad are. My mom and dad are totally cool and were totally cool.
I’ve been at Revolution for several months now, and I think I’m finding some sort of rhythm, albeit stuttering and in serious need of practice. It’s fun, exciting. It’s something I’d like to share with some of my old friends in Fredericksburg, who sadly, I don’t really see much anymore. It’s cool, though, I still love them, and I think they love me, and when next we meet, I suspect we’ll find old patterns quickly. Revolution is going to make a difference.
I am thinking about all the church meetings I’ve been to in the last ten years and how like mist, I’ve faded from those churches, yet they have not faded from me. Bits of DNA from Calvary Chapel, Spotsy Pres dwell in me still. Common Ground’s left large chunks of DNA, mostly good, but some laced in bitterness I still discover occasionally with surprise. I miss CG and what six years there did for me. It’s odd to go back feel like a relic, separated from the present CG and yet a big part (in my humble opinion, of course) of its history. Centerpoint still dwells in my recent memory, and I miss my friends there. Though we live mere minutes from one another, scheduling conflicts and the barriers I have for my family time have made it seem like a million miles.
Social plate tectonics.
I am thinking about Here Today and Sweet Old Etcetera and This Boys Trouble and Bryan Ewald (who taught me to play bass) and how every time I’ve touched an instrument with a band or a friend, it’s left imprints still visible on the musician that I am.
So, while it may be the end of an era for my bass, the past still forms a big part of who and where I am. Thanks everyone. Happy Birthday Common Ground. Get ready for the birth of Revolution on October 24.
I’ve been having writers block, so please give me some inspiration if you have any.