You might think that 620 miles is too far to drive for a concert, but that just goes to show how short-sighted you are, people. You’d be sadly mistaken, my poor, misguided friends, sadly, desperately mistaken. I was back at work today after my whirlwind party like a rock star weekend in Toronto, and I’m not gonna lie–it’s way more fun to be on the other side of the equation–the looking forward to it side. (It’s also not like I actually partied like a rock star; I’m forty-eight years old so my for reals partying days ended half a lifetime ago, except for that one time after my brother-in-law’s wedding in 2012 and possibly that one time with the margaritas two years ago during spring break, but otherwise I am totally not in old school rock star mode.)
I experienced incredible moments with incredible friends and incredible musicians. I’d previously written that
For this week I choose abandon. I choose driving too far and friends and love and Toronto and songs and lyrics that sing my stories and guitars and hugs and dancing and staying up too late.
I chose well. The last was a weekend that allowed me to take stock and recognize the gifts of friendship and kindness and abandon. My friends! My band! And though I verbally vomit to the whole of the universe via this blog, there are some deeply moving and meaningful moments not meant for broadcast. My heart sings, and to those who moved me this weekend–I hope you know who you are, and that you know just how important your words are deeds were to me. Thank you for them, and I love you for them. And I don’t just throw out the l-word capriciously-no, genuine love. You made me feel like a rock star. Words will fail me here, but I felt like this statement captured the awe and love I felt at that very moment. Seriously, how did I get there?
I can picture the view from my hotel room, the scuttle down on the streets below me, the BLUE of the sky that morning. . . magic. I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. Even though I was missed (thanks, Jane!) at where I would otherwise have been last weekend, I was exactly where I was meant to be. I suck at Twitter, but I thought this one was pretty good too.
News of the terrorist attacks in Paris broke as we were having dinner before the show. What the fuck, world? I will never understand evil. I’ll never understand hate. Never. On our long way back home, we discussed many things including social media and “the difference” an individual can make. Should we be geeking out posting pictures of ourselves from after the show? Is it insensitive or inappropriate to do so? I went with no, no, it’s not untoward to celebrate something good. The best way I know to overcome evil and ignorance is to keep putting good out there. Maybe good will inspire hope, and I can do that within my four walls of the world. Not in the it’s all about me, I went to this awesome concert way, but in the I’m going to keep pushing an agenda of happy. Nothing pisses evil off like being ignored. This is not to say I’ve ignored what evil did there in Paris that evening, or to diminish that loss in any possible way. NO. Do not misunderstand me. Peace to Paris, to us all.
I got home Sunday afternoon and the maybe third thing I notice is that my big kid has a giant red welt on his face. (In case you were wondering, the first thing I noticed was the kids’ basketball hoop had been bundled up for winter and the second was that the house smelled like boys, and not in the too-much-Axe kind of way, no, no.) My older son has this awesome contusion across his face begging the musical question, “What the hell happened to your face?” The boys had gone disc golfing earlier in the day, and my big kid’s disc took a little detour. This happens. Somehow my child walked, with a sufficient degree of force so as to abrade and bruise the shit out of his face, smack straight up into a tree while retrieving his disc. And I was instantly transported home. This is my life. And his. And ours. And even though my #Ladiesladies, my accomplices and my alibis, and the real rock stars made me feel like a rock star this weekend, it felt good to be home with my boys. Messy, farty, I walk into trees boys–exactly where I am meant to be.