Just Be A Musician

We’re officially halfway through this 48 show extravaganza and celebrating in what’s easily the most luxurious green room on this tour - hot tub, dry sauna, pool table AND ping pong AND an indoor basketball court AND a Labradoodle named Kermit. NorVA in Norfolk VA, you’ve outdone yourself, and indeed every other comparably sized venue in the country. I’m writing this nicely schvitzed with a suitcase filled with clean underpants. Tour bliss.

I received a message from a young fan recently, and the exchange made me happy:

Young fan: I want to be a musician when I grow up. Is that crazy?

Me: Yes. Growing up is highly overrated. Just be a musician.

And the latter phrase has become a mantra of sorts. Fearing imminent rejection? Just be a musician. Money trouble? Just be a musician. A foreboding and nebulous future? Just be a musician. Precious little has made or currently makes sense in my life, but I’m grateful for the omnipresent fulcrum of my judgment slowing everything down and helping me appreciate the absurdity of worrying so goddamn much.

Being a musician’s what I’m best at, what I love, and it’s taken me on a beautifully disorienting ride.