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it’s not thatI’m old…
Sometimes I forget I’m in my 30s. In a lot of ways, and despite the past rollercoaster decade of life, I don’t feel any older than 22.
Sure, I just had to renew my US Passport. You know, from the year 2000 when we thought for about five minutes that all the computers were going to crash on New Year’s Day.
And yeah, I think about how long it’s been since Sandra and I started dating (6 years) got married (3 years) and met (8 years). And I sometimes read back on the blog and realize that man I sounded young in some of the earliest entries from 2003. Which probably means that I’m now a bit older.
Even Cooper’s getting older. I feel like I just brought him home, all 20 stinky pounds of puppy fat. And now he’s 3 and a half. Was it really 3 years ago?
But tonight, biking home from work and making a very sensible stop at the grocery store in Little Italy, I passed a gaggle of 100 emo/goth/steampunk kids, all dressed up in shades of black and pink and lime green, waiting for some concert to start. I thought, for a brief moment, about asking who the band was that night. And then I realized, I probably wouldn’t have heard of them anyway. I realized I’d be the dorky adult just getting in the way.
I realized that, despite all efforts and appearance to the contrary, I am not a kid anymore.
I was never part of that particular scene growing up. But I had my own fan-girl life, going to as many Indigo Girls concerts as possible. I planned trips around concert dates in other cities. I waited in line for hours before General Admission shows, in hopes of being right up against the stage (on Amy Ray’s side, of course). The original purpose of indigirl.com was actually to post and share photos and setlists from various concerts.
Those line-ups pre-show have a particularly warm spot in my heart. I’m a shy person. I don’t tend to make conversation with people I don’t know, certainly not easily. But those lines had an instant scent of community. We all had a lot in common, more than just the band. Many of us were just coming out. Many were thinking about coming out. Many of us were more than a little lonely in life, and lived from show to show on the warm feeling of just belonging somewhere.
We dressed up too. Not in black and pink and stripes and tutus, but in our little baby dyke armors of boy jeans and concert tees, of plaid shirts before they were popular again, of slicked-back hair, a tough piercing and doc martens.
It was about the music, but it was also a way to define our young lives. We sought meaning in lyrics and melodies, to help interpret and define our heartaches. We found inspiration in the band; just two very ordinary women who made a difference – through music- in so many little interior worlds.
I grew up over those five years of shows. I grew up on the road, driving to Oregon for one night for a concert. I grew up by realizing that sometimes you can’t stand and dance the entire night without pissing off everyone behind you. I grew up when friends I’d met got together, split up, and got together again. And I grew up the first time I couldn’t afford to go to a concert, without putting it on credit, and stayed home.
In a very big way, I get those kids outside the Mod Club last night, waiting for D’espairsRay (ooh, they’re Japanese?). It may have took me a minute, but I remembered full force the feeling of fulfillment and belonging right before a show, during a show, and for days after.
This is where I belong, I would think. These are my people.
Now, I’m a whole lot older. And I still love the Indigo Girls and jump at any chance to see them perform live. I know all the songs by heart, and certain lyrics bookmark my memories. I hear a particular phrase and I’m right back at the Calgary Folk Festival 2005. Or the Stag tour in 2001. Or the top of my bunk bed in college, listening to The Wood Song and trying to figure it all out.
But, in a way, I’ve grown away from the music community as my only safe place in life. I have places, and I have people, and I don’t need that uniform, that experience of going to a live show, to feel safe.
It kind of amazes me that I’m not in that place anymore. This seems to be what happens. Life moves on, you move on, and suddenly you’re somewhere quite different.
So now I’m in Toronto. Firmly in my 30s. More or less content with the way things are shaping up in life.
And I’m still waiting for the Indigo Girls to come to town, so I can go see another show, spend a few hours singing along, and for awhile, really remember what it felt like to grow up on the road.
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August 12th, 2010 at 11:04 am
wow.
this whole entry makes me emotional. it’s amazing to read about your experience with this stuff. particularly interesting because I feel like i’m in that process now, only barely twenty and wondering how long i’ll be able to follow my two favourite bands around, to let their music provide meaning in my life the way the Indigo Girls have done for you. actually, now that I think of it, they’re both indie bands based in toronto. i’ve even been to a show at the Mod Club! Not dressed in black and lime green (the dress is more lazy-casual for me), but I guess in a similar situation… though I was struck by the number of people younger than me.
I have trouble staying in the present, so my mind often drifts to the future, and I think of how I will look back on this time. Will it be with fond memories and acceptance like you’ve done? I hope so.
thank you for sharing this with us!
August 17th, 2010 at 10:59 am
*hugs* I’m old enough to be your Mom, and I so relate to this post. It only gets better, honest.
I’ve never commented before, but I’ve been reading your blog – and loving it – for several months now.
August 18th, 2010 at 2:19 am
this hits home so much in all the ways i’m sure you know it must. reading this was an emotional journey in itself milt. wow. gosh, we have changed in the last 10 years, huh? not that we’ve become different people. i still think we’re who we were 9 years ago – just maybe more “us.” the older, slightly wiser versions. but i also have moments where i can’t believe i’m not 21 anymore. odd.
thanks for sharing this. thanks for saying hi and listening when i shared my big life…and for all the things that followed: noodles, guitar playing, mix cds, IMs, emails, sharing a brain. if we grew up on the road, we grew up on it together. and it’s shaped me in so many ways. love you milt. xo