So, I love music. I always have. But, in the last few years I’ve noticed that I just don’t go to shows like I used to anymore. When I read Melissa’s recent blog about being blown away by a live show I got to thinking. What changed? In an effort to truly NOT accept the fact that I’m getting older and maybe can’t keep up like I used to, I had this thought; my ticket collection. My collection was kept in a big yellow box that had been tape reinforced through the years. On the back of each ticket I would write a few lines—something to jog my memory about that particular show. I had grand visions for the collection. Maybe framing them up or placing them in a glass cover for a coffee table or something. Notice I am using the past tense…
I had just moved back to Atlanta in 2004. My stuff was still in boxes, never unpacked from when I moved away in 2001. But I knew where my ticket stubs were. I placed all of my boxes, full of life stuffs—memories, letters from old friends, and my tickets in the little house in our backyard. We had no history with our new abode, having just moved in, so who could have anticipated The Great Flood of ’04. The rains came pounding down, overtaking our little stream, the lower level of the yard, the middle level and…the little house. Water raged knee deep while we stood on our deck wondering how high it would go. That was it. Knee deep. That’s all it took.
When things dried out and we went through our destroyed belongings I thought, “Oh well, who needs papers from college anyway?” I felt kind of new age about it, almost relieved that I no longer had to carry around all this stuff. It felt cleansing, to just let go. It took some time before I realized with a gasp, “MY TICKETS!” Just like that—gone. My custom mail order Grateful Dead ticket from New Year’s Eve 1990—gone. My 1988 Jane’s Addiction at T.T. the Bear’s in Cambridge—gone. My first Red Sox game with my Dad. You get the picture. As it slowly sunk in, I tried fighting the dread.I tried freeing myself of the urge for possessions.
I couldn’t do it. It hurt too much. My whole musical landscape, my music history was no longer there for me to recall. I figure I had been to at least a couple hundred shows at that point. I saw the Dead 32 times alone. So, as I set out mourning my loss, I stopped going to shows. I just stopped without even realizing it. I’ve been trying to get back on the train, but it just hasn’t happened yet. I keep waiting. Waiting for the live show motivation to come back. I mean I still love going when I do actually go.
As I ponder this invisible hurdle, I can only ask, who has gotten back in the saddle (any saddle) and how?
-Carla
PS – No updates coming tomorrow or Friday. Happy Thanksgiving!