I peaked at sixteen. 

Okay that’s a lie. But looking back, something about being that age was magical. 

Driving solo with the windows down. Blasting mix CDs of sparkling pop songs while the sun set around me. Street lamps glowing like halos over dark suburban streets. Music never felt bigger and I never felt smaller. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long. 

I was chasing infinity and catching up. I wanted the whole world at once and I almost had it. My friends talked about their plans to take over the world. As soon as we were old enough, we would move to the big, bad, bohemian city to find the creative community we always dreamed about. 

We had each other, but we were too young to know what that meant, so we dreamed of bigger and better things. Glittering dreams backed up by a teenage overconfidence that life hadn’t beat out of us yet. Everything was possible. We were idealistic about art and the world. Politically radical, artistically open, and ready, not only to suck the marrow out of life, but to rebuild life in our own image. 

And wouldn't it be nice to live together?  In the kind of world where we belong? 

Love was new.  We said forever and meant it. To lovers. To friends. To family. We didn’t know how little time we had with each other. So we rushed to the next thing. The next gig. The next phase. We planned our futures in vivid detail. We’d daydream about having our own apartments where we could throw parties, talk, and create. Or even just be able to have a romantic evening without any fun-sucking “adult supervision.” 

You know it's gonna make it that much better. When we can say goodnight and stay together 

Art and love were all that mattered. My feelings were never so big or so uncontainable. I chased each one down with youthful recklessness. Each kiss sent a surge of electricity from my lips to my toes and back up again. I was falling in love with my high school sweetheart and music at the same time and there was no clear difference. We tried to create our lives from the fairy dust that jumped out of our iPod earbuds. Life seemed like it would always be a series of lazy summer days and sleepless summer nights. 

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new? 

And after having spent the day together, hold each other close the whole night through 

Happy times together we've been spending. I wish that every kiss was never ending 

 

Wouldn’t that have been nice. But time keeps marching on. People moved away. Relationships ended and hearts were broken. We fell out of touch. Mostly we just grew up. Some of us stuck with music, going deeper down the dedicated path of the “lifer” musician. We paid our dues and accumulated hard earned battle scars. If you are reading this blog you already know how bittersweet a life in music can be. It can take a toll, but is it worth it? To me...yes. Resoundingly. A million times over. I knew it then, and I still know it now. 

Looking back I realize that my sixteen year old self, in all his sentimental glory, couldn’t see past his big Italian nose. I wish I could tell him to live in the moment and not be too impatient with his artistic journey. Life is a constant process of becoming, and it’s beautiful to enjoy exactly where you are in every moment. But I’m not here to write about what I have to teach my younger self. I'm not even here to wax nostalgic about my past. I’m here to write about something that my younger self has to teach me. Something I may have lost somewhere during my long process of becoming. 

In all my “experience” and years of being a pro musician I have become world weary. I’ve had times when I’ve completely burnt out. But now when I burn out, there is a feeling that I return to. A feeling that brings me back into my gratitude and reconnects me to the joys of the creative process. It’s the feeling I have been chasing since I felt it for the very first time while driving my dad’s car on cool summer nights with the Beatles blaring. 

When I’m lost I always go back to the source. Why do I love music in the first place? Why do I stay in music when there are more linear career paths that offer more stability? The answer is simple. When I am on stage or in the studio and everything is going right, I feel like I’m flying. In its best, most connected moments, playing music turns me back into the sixteen year old kid who sped down the highway feeling bulletproof. The kid who only needed a new mix cd to get carried off into the clouds. Those moments were sublime. Playing music still takes me there. I will never give up that part of me. While my teenage years were transitional, painful, and awkward, they were also beautiful, profound, and foundational. I’m glad I’m not who I was then, but I can still learn from that part of me if I start acting too grown up or closed off. What I felt in that car as a carefree teen was just short of infinity. Now that I’m a little bit older, I realize exactly what that means to me as an artistic person. Even though I'll never get there, I can never stop chasing my infinity.