A chink in the armor

I had a conversation with my long-time friend TLC and after a fabulous discussion about her current man problems (she keeps being asked out by amazing guys who have EBJ (everything but Jesus) Oh, the tragedy of it all!), we briefly talked about how long it had been since I got married. She asked..."almost 3 years?" and the answer was nearly 4. Though it was the tiniest of moments that passed, and then we moved on to other things like this sad event in the history of her rock-star travels, it made me think.

It was 5 years ago that we walked around and around that rubber track at Vandy, talking about the future. Nearly 5 years ago, when I put out my last album, I had plans to go on the road. Although a marriage and all the drama that followed derailed those plans at first, it was this self-knowledge that followed that truly took the train off the tracks. I hate touring. I hate being homeless and sleeping in random places. I love to travel, but traveling is not work that I have to do. I can do what I like, see what I like and take it easy. Mostly I love to live where I travel. I sorta nestle down in one spot for awhile and get to know the place. Then I can move on. My musician friends live in their cars, eat from a cooler or fast food places, sleep on scratchy hotel sheets or a borrowed couch every night, and are alone, for the most part, especially the independent ones. Though I envy them many things (among them: their music being heard, living a life that leaves space for music and creating every day, new places, new friends, having an awesome apartment in Manhattan, writing, speaking, adventures, sweet Cash!) this is one that I don't envy. It's one of the big deterrents for me to picking up my guitar and going.

At least that is what I tell myself and everyone else. If I never am on a stage in a strange town, I never have to worry that no one will come. If I never risk failure, I'll never be a failure, right? I read a quote somewhere, just a silly little thing, but it whanged like a gong in me. "If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you ever tried." I have spent so much time doing this! I put on the bravest face I have in my bag and tell people I don't care. "If I say it enough," I think, "it won't hurt when people remind me of how I didn't measure up." Not that many people do though, outside of my family that is. I think that residue still hangs on me a bit. My family, though I love them dearly can sometimes be like chickens. I know that sounds like a weird comparison and you might think, 'Umm...Chickens are harmless...and afraid of everything! What are you talking about?!" But if you have ever been around chickens, you'll understand this analogy. For those of you who didn't grow up on a farm or the like, I'll explain. If a chicken is hurt or shows a weakness, they are pecked to death by the flock. One limp or bloody eye and it's over for that chicken. They don't all jump on it at once but that chicken dies at the hands of the whole flock, who kill it one peck at a time. Then they actually eat it!!

In my childhood, I saw my family eat people alive emotionally. Pick on them, tease them, make them feel like crap. Show one weakness and you are toast. I participated!! I remember once my little sister had a crush on someone and had written his initials on her notebook. Well, he had rather telling initials and soon we ALL knew who it was. We teased and teased her about it until she scratched his name off of her notebook. To like someone made you vulnerable, to be sad made you vulnerable, to love, to be happy, to worry, to dream, to fear. So on the surface, I stopped doing those things. I was strong, sarcastic, quick to comment on others faults. I carried sardonic humor like Indiana Jones' whip! Spot a chink in the armor and 'whap-pow!' I'd hit it.

It made me very popular in college (when that sort of thing is smiled upon - think Woody Allen), but soon after I got married, my husband called for a cease-fire. It took tons of gentle and not so gentle reminders for me to actually stop. It has taken nearly 4 years for me to begin to take down the barriers and armor that had guarded me so well and be vulnerable. Sometimes I still fear that I'll be eaten alive, so I strike out first with words or anger...no... lets be honest and call it rage. Rage has been my best weapon of late. But little bit by little bit, I am working toward being vulnerable.

So here's an attempt. I am sad that I am not a rock star. I love my life and who I am. Most days (as I blogged about recently on a particularly good day) I am content, but there is still this little voice says, "I want that life." My birthright and my instincts tell me to hide all evidence that I ever wanted that; deny that I longed for that gypsy life on the road and say intelligent things about how the music market has changed and there is no room for a 30+ year old woman who is overweight, no matter what her voice or songs sound like. How the business is all about selling yourself and I'm not into that (more like I don't think what I've got is worth buying). About the importance of being sensible and stable, putting down roots, investing in my marriage, finding other outlets for my creativity, contributing financially to my family etc, etc, etc. And yet, that voice does not fade. Its a whisper that drives me to fill blank pages with words that no one will hear, to pick up my guitar when I am tired from a 40 hour work week and rebuild the rapidly fading callouses on the ends of my fingers, to have Berklee's online music courses saved in my bookmarks so I can look at them and dream about a Masters course.

So I'll say it here where no one, anyone and everyone can see it: I want to play on stage, not every night, but lots. I want to drive around the US (not alone, and with my own sheets) and take silly pictures in front of faded landmarks and national monuments while we stop to pee on the side of the road. I want to sell the 6 boxes of cd's I still have in the basement. I want to play my guitar and sing every day and be in community with other musicians who respect me as a songwriter and fellow musician. I don't have a solution, but, for me, saying it out loud and setting aside what I am afraid you will think is a start.