It was a little under 4 years ago that
I sat in the back of a darkened theatre setting up mics for a
less-than-impressive musical revue and thought “why aren't I
performing? Didn't I always say I was going to be a performer?”
That night I started booking my first tour. I had no contacts, and no
idea what I was doing. I accidentally booked a 14 hour drive between
venues at one point. I not-so-accidentally booked more than one 10
hour drive. Despite having played in bands and recording solo albums
since I was 15, I had only actually performed solo a handful of
times. I was terrified and clueless.
“When I left my home and my family, I
was no more than a boy. In the company of strangers, in the quiet of
the railway station running scared.”
I doubt most 26 year olds think of
themselves as children, but in hindsight, that's what I was. I knew
nothing. I hadn't experienced much in life. Certainly not much bad. I
had never heard the terms “pneumothorax” or “bleb.” I had no
idea of the dozens of little time bombs waiting in my chest for a
little physical stress or the comforting embrace of the NYPD to go
off. I also had no idea how much a 2 week trip around the Midwest
might change my life. When I left, I was a Sound Designer who played
music and wrote sometimes. When I came back, I was a Musician and a
Writer who did sound design to sustain himself and for fun sometimes.
The designation was important.
I had just spent 5 years of my life
going all in on an identity. I worked on some 200 plays. I ratcheted
up residencies. At one point, I designed the sound for every single
play in the BCA Plaza space for a year in addition to a majority in
their other spaces. I'd worked Off Broadway and in major regional
theatres. For a 26 year old, I was about as successful as one could
be as a theatre designer. But I wasn't happy. I was stressed and
anxious. I was tired and frustrated. I had invested all my time and
energy on a career that had never been my goal. It just sort of fell
into place. I had never really had it in me to give being a musician
and a writer a go.
It took me 2 years to figure out how to
perform. To figure out how to let an apathetic crowd roll off your
back, and how to put your entire heart and soul into every note, even
when you've sung them more times than you can count. It took me
another 2 years to figure out how to book and plan a tour. And that's
not to say I'm an expert at any of those things. Just that I'm less
terrified and clueless than I was. It's fitting though that the only
two songs from that era that I still play are “Let's Get Lost”
and “The Glamorous Life.” One is longing for adventure, the other
is bemoaning all the bullshit that comes with it and wishing for a
decent night's sleep. Those twin poles of wanderlust and stability
continue to be the forces that draw and quarter me.
It's fitting also that I began that
first tour with all my possessions in a storage locker and no real
sense of what would happen next when I got back. 4 years later, and
still in a moment of indecision, the best thing I can think to do is
go look for answers on the Eisenhower Interstate System.
This is Pen Pen going somewhere he
probably shouldn't to see what's on the other side.
This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.
