In life we get these moments that string together and make us who we are. That’s what life is, a big run on sentence of moments. What’s strange about going through a divorce, is losing all of the good moments. Because obviously the relationship had them, right? I mean you did fall in love with each other. Back before you were blocking each other’s phone numbers and deleting their naked pics out of your phone. Right? Did you dream that? Moments snuggled up in the morning, before the kids were awake, whispering silly things to each other. GONE. Not just the moment, but THAT person is gone. It’s like the person you knew died, except you get to fucking fight with the ghost of them! And fault, ha! Fault is such an easy thing to assign. Truth is, it’s my fault. It’s his fault. It’s OUR fault. It was never one moment that led to the fall of Rome. It obviously wasn’t the good moments that led us down this road. It was the moments we walked our own roads instead of walking home, together. One team. Without being united, we stood as an easy target. Now I hear the hatred in every thing you say. It pierces me to know I made decisions that make you speak to me this way. But you’ve always spoken this way to me when you were angry, the only thing new is the hate. And I feel it. It cuts me. It’s doing what you want it to. But not for the same reasons. I used to hate knowing you were angry at me, but now I just hate that we hurt each other. I hate that you think you never mattered to me. I hope that subsides over time and you remember those mornings. Because I don’t want to feel like I wasted ten years of my life in something that ended in hatred. I want to learn from our mistakes. I want to make sure I water and feed the trust moving forward. I want to learn from the mean words that floated between us, because you really can’t take them back. I don’t want to spend another night in a panic attack on the bathroom floor because I said the wrong thing and you turned your phone off. You’re an addiction I can’t feed, it’s no good for me. I read your words again, I can tell I hurt you, because you’re slashing. I know you. I had to fly from here. I read your words. I have to delete them all. I can’t let them be all over my week anymore. I’m standing now. I can do this.
It’s been roughly 86 hours since I watched the Counting Crows. Give or take. I still can’t wrap my brain around it. You know those moments in time that you wait for… then they happen, and before you know it you’re left reflecting on it?
My mind is still blown. Beside itself. Inside out. So without further geeking out all over this sentence, let me try to put this life altering (for me) concert in perspective.
I get to Nashville around 5 pm. While changing for the OUTDOOR concert, it starts POURING, monsoon style. Now I’ve missed them before, due to rain cancelling a show… mind you. But this time, I don’t even waiver. Finish straightening my hair, add an extra layer of clothes… fuck it, this is happening. My ticket says rain or shine. Let them try not to play. LET THEM TRY!!! The rain ended as brazenly as it began and the sky became crystal clear within the hour.
The Ascend Amphitheater is down by the river in Nashville, the city glowing behind the stage. Two beautiful bridges just off to the right, it feels like Nashville. It feels like a great American city built around a river, music, and life. I may have been skipping at this point, which is a big deal for me, I don’t skip… or exude happiness often.
By the time we are finding a place to stand out on the grass, Rob Thomas is already doing that sexy, crooning that he does so very well. His energy radiates from him, and has the audience involved and captivated by him immediately. Not only that, he’s wearing a Counting Crows t-shirt. Whhhaaaaatttt. I don’t want to take away from Rob Thomas for a second, Matchbox Twenty was my first concert, 20 years ago, and I have seen him 4 times since. I LOVE ROB THOMAS.
However, the Counting Crows… the MFing Counting Crows were about to come on stage. I didn’t miss it… again. And then just like that… they were there. And Adam Duritz was pouring out the lyrics to Sullivan Street. I felt like I was high as hell, my head was spinning, my heart was pounding, there were legitimate tears in my eyes. But I had only started sipping my first beer. The high was straight life and happiness. There is such an amazing quality to that feeling.
The concert went by in a blur for me. The band was fantastic. His voice was clear and crisp throughout, his mood was energetic and happy. His demeanor feeding off of the intensity of Rob Thomas. They shared the stage well together. One of my favorite moments was listening to Rob sing Rain King with Adam. The first time he got to do that on stage must have been surreal for him, I clearly remember him covering Mr. Jones 20 years ago. He’s made it pretty clear he’s a big fan of the band. All in all, my night was an intense high, watching two of my favorite writers/performers end a summer long tour together on stage in Nashvegas, TN.
Until next time sweet Nashville, until next time. xxxooo
At least ten thousand times I’ve sat down with a pen to capture words and cage them, call them mine and save them. At least a thousand more I’ve stared at a blinking cursor, waiting for the things I wished to say to hide behind the things I must. Backspacing, back peddling, watching the cursor mock me.
Be bold. Be daring. But don’t be hurtful. Don’t be spiteful. Ah those lines they are such a tightrope to walk. Truth hurts, does it not? Tell your story. Free yourself from it. Own it, don’t let it own you. For years, one of my biggest writing inspirations has been Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows. When I say for years, I mean it… I’ve been listening to them since I was 11. It’s been 24 years. I’ve found myself buried in their music in my best moods, my worst, and all the in between. They light my soul up. He says it all. He stabs with truth, and suicidal tendencies, and love, and heart break, and scents of the season, and change. God does he capture, LIFE. The over walked road, the one not taken. Lefts and rights… and the smell of the ocean. The way the lights kaleidoscope in rain drops on your windshield. Ohhhh Lord, I love this band.
So here I am, middle of massive amounts of change in my life, with tickets to see them tonight, their last show of the summer, with none other than Rob Thomas. Who the fuck else would it be. My two GO-TO musicians (I say musicians… but as I say that if you don’t know that by musician I mean, poet, artist, soul inspiring, story telling mastermind…. you should stop reading). Anyway, tonight… Nashvegas… Counting Crows and Rob Thomas, and I can’t keep a thought. Lyrics are running through me, it’s cloudy outside.
I think about listening to them tonight, with other fans… I wonder where and when and how the lyrics have affected them. What their roads have been. What the impact has been for them. Do they only know the words to Mr. Jones and 3 A.M.? Do they know why Adam wrote Sullivan St? Have they ever wondered who Maria is?
I can’t wait to let the God of Ocean Tides roll through my night. Lyrics of so many songs rattling through me today. I AM SO DAMN EXCITED!
“This dizzy life of mine…” “You open windows and wait for someone warm to come inside…”
My favorite of theirs though, Murder of One:
“Are you happy where you’re sleeping?
Does he keep you safe and warm?
Does he tell you when you’re sorry?
Does he tell you when you’re wrong?
I’ve been watching you for hours
It’s been years since we were born
We were perfect when we started
I’ve been wondering where we’ve gone
All your love is just a dream”
Each moment of your life builds a chain, a hallway on a journey somewhere. Destinations aren’t always known as the path starts to twist and turn on you. I find myself so very often wondering about my road. There are a lot of stories behind me. A lot of mistakes, regrets and misfortunes. But there are just as many beautiful tales in my book as well. Chapters seem to be reading faster these days, I’m not sure why my sense of time is so hyper aware currently, but it is. My daughters are rushing right into adulthood at an alarming rate. Not only that, but I can sense myself getting older because hooking up and getting the right channel on the television is getting harder and harder… why are there 7 remotes? Ugh. Yes, that was a tangent, but I do that. That’s actually exactly how the hallways of my mind became so cluttered. I turn, and weave and curiosity has a tendency to grab and shake me before it redeposits me back on my course. I always land changed.
I recently read a blog about a girl who was going through a break up, because she intimidated people, she was told she was too much, ridiculous, over thinking things all the time. I wondered how many times I had thought the same things she was feeling. One of the worst things I’ve ever heard are the words, “you’re being crazy,” said when I was trying to genuinely explain how I felt about something. I’m not sure how much time I’ve actually debated with myself over the words of someone I love telling me, I’m crazy. I used to write a lot, it freed me. But then it became something that I had to explain to people, because a blog had bothered them, they took it personally. I became censored. A word that drives me bat-shit crazy. I’m a journalist! Censored. FUCK.
You know what’s craziest to me… those moments… the good ones. They always seem to fade in comparison to the bad, until time has started to go by. Then the good ones seem to resurface and remind you of what was great about something. Not in a, ohhhh I would love to do this again way, but more of an… oh yea, that’s right… that was a great day. I have that stupid Timehop app on my phone, and I haven’t decided if it is a good thing or a bad thing in my life right now. I get pictures from a year ago, football parties at our house, us as a couple, smiling and happy…. then I get reminders that 4 years before that we were split up and I was about to go to Italy, and he was going to his girlfriends house. Moments of hate. Moments of love. Just normal moments mixed in as well. Soccer games. Pictures hung in the hallway. Moments further back, before him, the girls and I alone. Times back in Florida, moments I have forgotten actually. The words, “you’re overreacting,” play in my mind. Maybe I always do. Maybe I’m crazy.
I think of the love I’m feeling now. The wonder mixed with the raw hurt. How you can mourn something and feel something new and enchanting all at once. Earlier today I watched the movie Serendipity, and there’s a scene in it when Sarah is telling Jonathan that Serendipity is one of her favorite words, and he says, “Why?” with pure curiosity on his face. Every day since I have known Stuart… since high school, when he asks me why, about something I love, it’s with that same curious expression. He wants to know, because my answer is a little more insight to… me. My thoughts feel rambled. I know that’s how they appear on the screen as well. Maybe sometimes you just have to throw them out there, and see what sticks. I know that how I feel is different, as love always is. Each time. Something in you changes. Pieces break. What I love about him is completely different character traits than I’ve ever even looked for in another person… maybe that’s because he’s always been my person and actively in my life. To be honest, I’m not even sure. This road is long and twisty, my GPS is down, and it’s not bright enough to see my map. I’ve got to move off of sheer gut instinct at this point. And it leads to you.
The lyrics pouring through my mind right now seem to bounce from Metallica to Phantom of the Opera to Garth Brooks. I’m all over the place. I painted my nails a deep dark purple, almost black. Fitting. I think about writing. I think of all the people that always seem to have something to say after I’ve written. I contemplate just buying a journal. Internalizing everything. But isn’t it already in there? Putting it in my journal doesn’t free it. Doesn’t let it go. Doesn’t let it reach out.
Words that never set themselves free from my brain, they plague me. They tie themselves down to my tongue and send nervous reactions through my mind. My eyes are darting back and forth looking for somewhere to verbally vomit. It all shuts down. The words bouncing now, around my mind. The coffee gives them jitters. I shouldn’t have given them coffee, now they’re just banging on things looking for an escape.
I check my watch. It’s 9 am. Lovely. Mon-fucking-day. Ahhhh Monday. I reach inside for inner peace, it washes over me slowly. I can feel it. My breathing calms, I focus on that. Smooth, gravel voice in my ears. Breathe. I must relish in this calm, because in mere moments I know there is someone just waiting to push me down, just to see how I react.
Hey Monday…. not today my dear, not today.