A week ago I drove home from the States (as we Alaskans call “the others”). It was the first time I made the 2500-mile trek alone, and it provided some much-needed introvert time after a summer of people. Wonderful memories, wonderful places, and wonderful people, but people nonetheless.
As I passed through Beaver Creek (the last “town” in Canada) and approached the Alaskan border, I had a flashback to two summers previous when I was driving up with my childhood friend, Casey. He had joined me for the Seattle-Palmer, AK portion of the move I was making from Boston. We called ourselves “two hobbits on an open road,” and we were in fine form, embracing our delirium after 30 hours on the highway by singing old songs with the accompaniment of a travel guitar my mom gave me in high school.
Eventually I started sharing with Casey some new songs I had written, and we began discussing the possibility of an album made of these tunes. Little did I know a year later I would be holding that project, On the Edge of the In Between, in my hands. (Although if you want to get technical, it was in post-production at the year mark.) Which brings me back to my drive last week and that same point on the road where Casey and I had been talking over this dream.
I thought about how quickly I lose sight of the amazing fulfillment of a dream once it is indeed fulfilled. I forget the pain and the vulnerability and the waiting that preceded the actualization of that desire, and I’m onto “bigger and better” things. Marisa, Lincoln (our son), and I are currently making final preparations for a move to Beirut, Lebanon, a dream that has been in the works for over a decade. I wonder how long we will be settled into our new life there before I forget how long we ached for it to happen.
My thought via the road last week: I want to do a better job of remembering. Of not rushing past the breakthrough and onto the next thing, but of actually sucking the marrow out of life (Thoreau-style), starting with the places where longings have already been fulfilled. So for the next two weeks, I’ll be breaking down the songs from that album, now almost a year old. Maybe you’ll enjoy hearing my take on a song you particularly like. Maybe you’ll add my thoughts to your own and it will keep the creative process multiplying, which would be grand. Most likely I will be writing, like most blogs, for my mom and myself (although my mom might have a difficult time navigating to this page on a daily basis (love you mom), leaving me to reflect in solitude on my own words). Whatever the case, I figure I will gain a few pounds of philosophical weight in the process, which is reason enough for my to do some remembering.
So here they come: song stories from the edge.
I mean, they’re coming tomorrow and so on…
Right after I show you this video I took on the road last week in between my incredibly pensive moods.