I fought “the man” and “the man” won

I fought “the man” and “the man” won. Today for the first time in five years I started a job. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had jobs…just not a job job. You know the kind of job that has a human resource department, 401k pamphlets, and a security guard that stares at you as if to say “what the hell you lookin at…punk?” I got a badge with my name on a piece of tape…below the name it has the word temporary. I didn’t know if that represented the badge or me, oh the irony. I walked through the security door and saw the mass of people that seemed to fill the room like little worker bees. One guy sipping a cup of coffee. One girl listening to a story then ending it with fake laughter. One guy walking down the hall trying to avoid eye contact with me. This is a whole new world for me.

I make my way to the room filled with new employees. Everyone looks around and sizes each other up. It’s definitely a complete mix of personalities. There is the classic ass kisser, the know-it-all, the over achiever, the slacker, and the completely lost. The question is…which one am I. Probably a solid mixture of all of them. After an hour of new hire jargon they started into our training. Nothing too complicated, just a lot of information. I know this sounds strange but I just felt out of place. It’s like I stepped into the wrong class but didn’t have the courage to walk out and find the right one. The thing is, I’m confident I’ll be successful over the long haul. I won’t be the best but I’ll be better than average. I might even pull employee of the month or something on par. I’ll probably call Jill and be genuinely excited. Then I’ll say something like, “Jill let’s go to Olive Garden to celebrate. (pause) No no, they gave me a 25 dollar gift certificate. I know, it’s good to be the EoM.”

There is nothing wrong with success, nothing wrong with making money, nothing wrong with trying to be a great employee. But for me I found one major draw back. It came to me on my drive home. I was stuck in rush hour and the rain was pouring down. I was thinking about my day and trying to replay the information. I was trying to retain as much as I could. There were cars wall to wall and then it happened. I started to dream. Simple, perfect dreams. Stuff nobody else cares about, but I do. As I sat in my truck I started to get a lump in my throat because it leads to an obvious question. Wasn’t I meant for something more than this? Wasn’t I meant for more than pushing products and up-selling warranties? That is a hard question because maybe I ask with too much pride. Maybe I wasn’t…maybe this is it…that is what makes the lump in my throat so hard to swallow. I have passion but that doesn’t pay the bills. The problem with being a dreamer is that you always see the world the way that it should be and not the way that it is. And when the world tells you the way things are it doesn’t seem fair. I’m forced to be a realist in a dreamer’s body and it doesn’t feel good.

I feel like that girl in the movies. You know the one…it’s the girl that was born in a small town and only knew about country living. One day she caught an image of New York City and became obsessed with the desire to experience this magical way of living. She saw people every where, 24 hour restaurants, and unique fashions she wanted to try on. But you know the story, her parents were too poor and couldn’t afford to send her. In fact her whole community was so poor that nobody ever left that town. Everyone was born there, worked there, and died there. People around her were satisfied with continuing the cycle and didn’t see the need to rock the boat. But not this girl, she never let go of the image. Then one day while working for her parents she came to the conclusion, “I may have to work the fields today and I may have to work the fields tomorrow, but you mark my words, I’m getting the hell out of this town.” And she wasn’t satisfied until it happened. All she ever did was work and save…work and save. The day had finally come and she had all the money she needed. And in dramatic fashion she hops into a rusty beat up truck and starts driving east. The sunset hasn’t yet cleared the horizon but a tear streams down her face. That was the day that the realist became a dreamer. So here is my resolution, I may not have meaning today and I may not find it tomorrow, but someday I’m getting the hell out of this town. Someday my life will mean for something more than this.

Fantasy Camp

So every year for the last 5 years Israel and I have made our way to a major music festival to do the thing we love…listen to great music. These journeys have bought us to Coachella, Austin City Limits, and Lollapalooza. We have seen amazing acts like John Mayor, Coldplay, The Black Keys, Ben Harper, Muse, Oasis, Keane, Snow Patrol, Pearl Jam, Weezer, Cold War Kids, Buddy Guy, Franz Ferdinand, Tom Petty, Willie Nelson, Death Cab for Cutie, Kanye West, Lupe Fiasco, Radiohead, and Rage Against the Machine. I’m not even mentioning all the lesser known bands that are regulars on my play list. This year we went to Chicago to enjoy the sounds of Radiohead and Rage. I could go on and on about all the great music we heard but nobody wants to hear about that. It’s obvious that the music was going to be epic. People want to know what happened outside the festival.

Israel and I landed in Chicago at about midnight on Thursday. After we turned our phones on we both noticed that we were overwhelmed by text messages from Seth and Adam. It was apparent that they were at a place called Streeters Tavern and having a good time. A train ride, a cab ride, and an hour later Israel and I are standing toe to toe with this basement bar. With our luggage still in hand I look at Israel and say, “I think this is it.” We tip the bouncer 5 bucks to put our luggage in the office and our Chicago experience had officially begun. We didn’t make it home till 4am. I only mention the time because of all four nights that was the earliest time we got home. I’ll be honest and say that my body was not prepared for this kind of voyage. We ate breakfast at 3pm and dinner at 1am. We took showers at midnight preparing to go out and went to sleep when the sun was coming up. Water bottles were not used for drinking but rather as receptacles. One person forgot their credit card at a bar which turned out to be a good thing, one person took at nap at 12:30 am so he would be rested for our 1:30am departure, one person got tackled in the street and lost his phone, and one person woke up saying “guys seriously, tonight, can we turn it down a notch, just one click on the dial, my body can’t handle this.” Well that last guy was me. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. These experiences are what make life so colorful.

Coming home is sometimes hard to do. I love taking trips like these with the guys but the truth is…it’s not real life. It’s like a fantasy camp…a fantasy camp for people who love music, going out late, sharing a beer, and being spontaneous. I’ve paid this money not just for music but for the experience. Now that I’m older coming home means something different. Not only do I have an awesome wife waiting for me, I’ve got two kids. One hour after I set my bags down at home, I started to check all my emails. I was interrupted by this scene. My wife has her arms stretched out like wings slightly leaning to the left as she skips around the kitchen island. In a high pitched squeal she says, “No, don’t get me.” About three feet behind is my son wearing a red bandana holding a gray plastic sword. He is flailing it around wildly showing no mercy for the innocent. His animated voice yells out, “You are Peter Pan and I’m a pirate!” This pursuit continues on for another five minutes but in this story the pirate wins. As I watched this scene play out I stopped checking my email. I just sat on the couch with a smile from ear to ear. It was something I couldn’t turn away from. Then I thought to myself, “I left this for Chicago…?” Who needs fantasy camp when I’ve got a real life like this? Coming home is not so hard after all.