This must be the place: 'Be in love with your life, every minute of it'
Blue Ridge Mountains. Garret K. Woodward photo
I’m not doing well. And it feels oddly good to say just that, whether it be to family, friends, strangers or you readers alike. I haven’t felt good in a long time. Truth be told, I can’t remember when the I began to feel this way.
Don’t get me wrong, I love life: the good, the bad and the ugly. But, lately, I’ve felt utterly deflated and defeated.
It’s like that moment in the seminal 1961 film “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” when Audrey Hepburn’s character Holly Golightly says, “You know those days when you get the mean reds?” Her co-star George Peppard (aka: Paul Varjak) replies, “The mean reds? You mean like the blues?” Golightly shoots back, “No. The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?”
Why yes, Miss Golightly, I do get that feeling. It’s currently washing over my mind, body and soul. Oh, and by the way, hello from the lobby of Homewood Suites (by Hilton) on Church Street in downtown Nashville. Just a few blocks from the whirlwind circus that is Broadway and all its honky-tonk bars and neon lights.
I’m here on assignment for Rolling Stone. Covering a gig at the Ryman Auditorium (“The Mother Church” of American music). The assignment itself was a full circle kind of thing, one where I found myself backstage interviewing Peter Rowan about the tribute held that evening to honor his long-gone band Old & In the Way. Rowan was the first person I ever interviewed and the first article I ever had published in a real deal magazine. That was 2006. I was 21 and a senior in college in Connecticut.
To preface, this past holiday season was, quite possibly, one of the worst of my entire existence. I’ll spare you the details and whole back story, seeing as it’d probably fill up this entire newspaper on its own (and then some). Regardless, I ended up in a very isolated, lonely and vulnerable place throughout Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The image of myself sitting alone at the end of a bar counter in a rowdy pub in the heart of Waynesville, sipping my beer slowly, gazing up to the glowing screen high above blasting coverage of the gigantic ball ringing in 2025 way up in Times Square.
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And here I stand on the backside of New Year’s Eve. It’s Jan. 11, which just reminded me that today’s the 40th birthday of my former high school sweetheart. I still hold her in high regard all these years later, seeing how she’s become an incredible mother, wife and friend to so many faces wandering this planet. I haven’t seen her in years, but our last encounter was on good terms, as it should be.
Seeing that date on the calendar. Hanging out with Peter Rowan. Currently wandering the snowy streets of Music City with an old buddy. My heavy heart (trudging through reruns of my dismal holiday season) tagging along as fast as it can with the restless, endless thoughts ricocheting through my brain. My emotions a rollercoaster of sadness and grief. But, also a renewed sense of self, this new, unwritten chapter now in my hands.
Thus, I’m not doing well. So, I decided to start doing therapy a few weeks ago. Now three sessions in (and although my emotions are raw and real), I’m enjoying talking to this therapist who was a complete stranger just last month. But, now she’s knows a lot of my backstory, and a lot of what makes me, well, me. Personal traumas felt, things that trigger my emotions, and what it means to transcend into your true self of potential, passion, and purpose.
To note, I totally believe in the value of therapy. But, personally, I avoided it for decades. And for many reasons, the biggest of which being forced to do therapy as a young elementary school kid in the midst of the 1990s ADHD/Ritalin craze. I was a good kid, just a little rambunctious and talked a lot. But, the nuns in my Upstate New York Catholic school didn’t like that. So, I was placed on this high-octane medicine for several years, coupled with therapy.
By the time that period came to a close, I was already in high school, with big dreams of forever leaving behind my small farm town on the Canadian Border. My eyes and heart aimed for the unknown horizon of my pure intent to seek out genuine love, intrinsic experiences, and always remembering that kindness breeds kindness. I ain’t perfect, but dammit I try to be kind, to show love and compassion to others, even in the face of sorrow.
So, yeah, here I am. A fresh calendar on the walls of my mind. Juggling nonstop assignments. Sitting down constantly to pour everything I saw and heard onto the blank page. Finding time each day to go for a jog somewhere, anywhere I may land. Finding time to spend with family and friends. Finding time for therapy. And, perhaps most importantly, finding time for myself, to be able to calmly and carefully understand the beauty of being on my own.
And I remain an eternal optimist. I believe in love. I believe in friendship. I believe in the good of people, where I truly feel there are way more good folks than bad on this earth. And I wish I could have all the time in the world to meet and interact with every single one of those kind souls. But, alas, I’ll have to make do with the handful of people I’m lucky enough to befriend, interview and write about week-in and week-out at this here newspaper.
The world is' a crazy place right now. Always has been, always will be. But, the essence of whatever the meaning of life is (at least in my honest opinion) seems to reside in those fleeting moments of connection and heartfelt sentiments shared with others, whether on purpose or simply by happenstance. My head remains held high.
And as the late singer-songwriter Bert Jansch sings in “Running From Home,” these words and guitar notes echo out into the universe: “The passing image of you/Reflects a pain in my heart/And disappears into a crowd/Runnin’, runnin’ from home/Breakin’ ties that you’d grown/Catchin’ dreams from the clouds.”
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
