Pour Me Another

Wednesday, September 14th, 2005.

√ Turned 25 years old.
√Married the love of my life in Vermillion, SD
√Band made cover of popular Italian magazine
√Spent good portion of young life touring the country and over seas, performing music passionately with overwhelmingly positive responses

Well, I consider the beginning of this tour to be the moment everybody finished saying their farewell’s; Some with handshakes or bear hugs, the lovers rhythm of kiss-hold-whisper promises-kiss, eyes locked intensely as one, foreheads resting on the other’s at exactly the same point- two bodies entwined forming imperfect symmetry, infatuation and longing mirrored. My buddy’s final Autumn evening this year with his six year-old son, Jacob, which was a little hard for all to witness.
I’m not a fan of prolonged goodbyes: wading in a grey pool of in-between, pinning my guilt and frustration to the most sensitive part of my sorrow.
The sun faded down as we all stood in that parking lot in the industrial warehouse hub that is North East Minneapolis. I’ve said “Good bye” many times before, boarded a gasoline-guzzling beast and gone sailing down the paved artery that connects our country from fingertip to fingertip, but this time felt different. I did not feel so naïve and hopeless. I did not feel like a pair of tumbling dice, praying that the right numbers would determine the outcome of my travels- I felt that there was a greater plan laid out in front of me. I can feel the love around me, watching over the souls I am traveling with, from my precious wife at home, my parents, friends, and extended family that are scattered across the planet with enough love, wisdom, food and shelter to last for several lifetimes.
In the past, I became lost within the chaotic uncertainty of tour life- holding my breath as we went hurdling through the night as desolate and at the mercy of the elements around me as a rowboat drifting upon an endless midnight ocean.
Searching for identity, purpose and inspiration, I was somehow unfulfilled between the truck-stop diet, the holes in my pockets, no sense of home, direction or direction home, the living room floors, couches and car seats we laid our frail bones upon, with both arms crossed and one eye open.