Tuesday, October 27, 2015

No Use Waiting

Here it is folks, No Use Waiting, from our new album out Nov 20th at Columbia City Theater

This is the story:

When I was 18 years old, I hit the road on a solo cross­country bicycle trip. I had graduated high school the year before, and completed a year of studying various liberal arts at Boston College which felt like a really boring continuation of high school. I sensed the world that I had always known was stale, and I felt overwhelmingly compelled to discover what the rest of the universe was like. 
In the years since, I've had more than a few self­propelled big life changes, but that was the first, and the biggest. I don't remember feeling much fear, but I do remember often feeling both pure elation and incredible loneliness on that trip.

I left October 7th, 1997. My 18th anniversary of that day recently passed, and the scales are tipping toward having lived more of my life away from Massachusetts than I ever spent living there. It is not a small milestone, and I'm reminded that the passing of time is a perpetually wondrous experience. 
I can't remember anymore how I found out about the Adventure Cycling Association (seriously, it's so hard to remember the days before the internet was ubiquitous), but I do remember calling from the beige telephone on the wall in my parent's kitchen to request a series of maps for the US East Coast. The maps arrived in the mailbox a couple of weeks later, and I set to preparing. A bicycle mechanic at the local shop befriended me when I told him my plans, and I spent at least one night after the shop closed getting a crash course in bike mechanics. I knew nothing. But he made sure that I could change a flat and even gave me a can of beer to drink while we worked. 
That night truly felt like I had passed some kind of threshold into adulthood.

It was too staggering to figure out how to navigate through Boston to hook up with the ACA suggested route, so my mum packed up the car that day with my bike and bags, and drove us out to the small town of Oxford, MA where I could pick up my bike trail. I wrote in my journal that night, while camping about 20 miles down the road and eating canned corn (yep, I packed canned food. I was painfully inexperienced at first), that I thought leaving my mother was the hardest thing I had ever done. 
I remember the feeling so clearly to this day....it was terrible. I've thought often about that day, and wonder how my mother was able to open her arms and let me go. Birth and growth can be plenty painful, but she somehow found the strength to make the transition as easy as it could be. Easier for me, at least, and I wrote this song as a testament to what a great mum she's been.

I've just started reading Chrissie Hynde's memoir about her life as a Pretender, and she has a lot to say about growing up safe and warm and white in the Akron 'burbs during the 1950s and 60s. Mainly, that while her parent's generation was preoccupied with mundane things like providing for their families, her generation defied them all and pondered the meaning of life on acid. Chrissie uses humor well in her writing. I'm lucky too; sitting in the driver's seat of my life, able to make choices, and preoccupied with mundane things like being happy. 
There's no use waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for the Maker to call it off.