Tour time.
The time before the tour is strange. Mostly because it isn't strange. I know that sounds cryptic, but the way I am saying it belies how simple it is - some people would be stressed out that they have to live in a van for weeks, stressed about what they need to bring, thinking about all the precautions they need to take...
Where as I haven't even packed yet - and I leave in mere hours. I just never 'feel' the tour coming; I woke up today, as I did every other day - and I find that very strange. With writing this blog, it has the potential to come off rather pretentious, and I don't mean to sound that way at all. I mean it very genuinely that this feeling of, well, no feeling, really baffles me. Though, when I really think about it, I have always been this way, since a little kid. Sort of. Let me explain:
I feel my childhood is split into two - and with that I feel like I carry those two sides with me into adulthood.
When I was very young, I was an immensely lonely child. I was the kid that would talk to himself on the playground, the one that would be happier with his nose in a book than making eye contact with someone. I was bullied constantly - the kids would pick on how quiet I was, or the clothes that I wore. My mother tells a story about how I was in first grade, she dressed me in these new corduroy pants, and that afternoon I came off the bus crying - some kids had been pushing me around and ripped them all the way up the seam. Suffice to say; I had very few friends, yet, the friends I had are still my friends to this day - so I can easily say, of the few friends I had - they were true blue.
I was a nervous kid, constantly scared of what was happening around me. I would hide in the bathroom at school until a teacher would have to come and pull me out. I would worry myself until I threw up about the most inane things.
Then at around fifth grade, something happened. I, for some reason or another, began to become popular. I can almost pinpoint the moment it changed. I can even remember the joke I told, that made one of the popular kids laugh - which then in turn made us friends. However, as that happened is when the disease started creeping into my life. I began to show symptoms of what would turn into a life long struggle. So it was then that I was forced to make a choice:
Would I hide in the bathroom like I did as a child, or would I accept myself for who I was and be damned with the rest?
And I chose the latter. I gave up trying to control everything, because, really, you can't. This disease was going to happen, no matter what I did (to an extent) so the only choice I had was to be okay with it, and myself. The kids were going to pick on me, sure, but something strange happened - I became more liked, and more popular. It seemed that when someone brought up the "weird patches on my skin" or "why I slouch" they would mimic how I would react. That is, if I brushed it off with an air of self confidence and indifference, then they did too. If I made a big deal out of it, they did too. I could control their reaction simply based on the way I felt about myself. It was at this moment that I decided to let go. Qué sera sera.
It has followed me to adult life - not without it's relapses. I worry a bunch, I stress out, I throw fits about things I can't control, but on the whole I find that for new adventures I am going to take, or new life experiences I will live through I just say "Well, here we go."
So perhaps I've already prepared for tour - I've prepared in the things that have happened in my life. It's those things, that some would consider hard times, that truly were the experiences that made me who I am, made me feel like worrying is futile - what will be will be.
So I am ready for you, open road. We will play some good shows, we will play some bad shows - but whatever happens, at least we did it. I hope you'll all be there to experience it with us.
Hmmm. I didn't set off to write such a mushy "chicken soup for the soul-ish" post, but there it is.
Oh well. Why worry about it?
(*Clicks Publish Post*)
Where as I haven't even packed yet - and I leave in mere hours. I just never 'feel' the tour coming; I woke up today, as I did every other day - and I find that very strange. With writing this blog, it has the potential to come off rather pretentious, and I don't mean to sound that way at all. I mean it very genuinely that this feeling of, well, no feeling, really baffles me. Though, when I really think about it, I have always been this way, since a little kid. Sort of. Let me explain:
I feel my childhood is split into two - and with that I feel like I carry those two sides with me into adulthood.
When I was very young, I was an immensely lonely child. I was the kid that would talk to himself on the playground, the one that would be happier with his nose in a book than making eye contact with someone. I was bullied constantly - the kids would pick on how quiet I was, or the clothes that I wore. My mother tells a story about how I was in first grade, she dressed me in these new corduroy pants, and that afternoon I came off the bus crying - some kids had been pushing me around and ripped them all the way up the seam. Suffice to say; I had very few friends, yet, the friends I had are still my friends to this day - so I can easily say, of the few friends I had - they were true blue.
I was a nervous kid, constantly scared of what was happening around me. I would hide in the bathroom at school until a teacher would have to come and pull me out. I would worry myself until I threw up about the most inane things.
Then at around fifth grade, something happened. I, for some reason or another, began to become popular. I can almost pinpoint the moment it changed. I can even remember the joke I told, that made one of the popular kids laugh - which then in turn made us friends. However, as that happened is when the disease started creeping into my life. I began to show symptoms of what would turn into a life long struggle. So it was then that I was forced to make a choice:
Would I hide in the bathroom like I did as a child, or would I accept myself for who I was and be damned with the rest?
And I chose the latter. I gave up trying to control everything, because, really, you can't. This disease was going to happen, no matter what I did (to an extent) so the only choice I had was to be okay with it, and myself. The kids were going to pick on me, sure, but something strange happened - I became more liked, and more popular. It seemed that when someone brought up the "weird patches on my skin" or "why I slouch" they would mimic how I would react. That is, if I brushed it off with an air of self confidence and indifference, then they did too. If I made a big deal out of it, they did too. I could control their reaction simply based on the way I felt about myself. It was at this moment that I decided to let go. Qué sera sera.
It has followed me to adult life - not without it's relapses. I worry a bunch, I stress out, I throw fits about things I can't control, but on the whole I find that for new adventures I am going to take, or new life experiences I will live through I just say "Well, here we go."
So perhaps I've already prepared for tour - I've prepared in the things that have happened in my life. It's those things, that some would consider hard times, that truly were the experiences that made me who I am, made me feel like worrying is futile - what will be will be.
So I am ready for you, open road. We will play some good shows, we will play some bad shows - but whatever happens, at least we did it. I hope you'll all be there to experience it with us.
Hmmm. I didn't set off to write such a mushy "chicken soup for the soul-ish" post, but there it is.
Oh well. Why worry about it?
(*Clicks Publish Post*)
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