Reason(s) To Believe

Listen, if you read my previous post and think I’m moping around feeling sorry for myself, let me set the record straight. Yes, I’ve been sunnier. But I’m fine. I’m well. There are a million reasons to believe.

Here’s one: I have a show on Friday night. I came home from work, stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, and rehearsed. (Nice visual, huh?) I’m ready. How lucky am I that music comes out of me like it does? And helps me figure these things out? And how lucky am I that folks wanna’ come see me perform my songs? My songs about love and loss and heartbreak. And hope. (Pretty lucky.)

Here’s another: I have a job. Yes, it’s challenging at the moment. Rediculously so. But it’s fun. I dig the people I work with. And every day I learn something new. And they pay me. And every once and a while, something really crazy happens. Like the other day when Kurt (Loder!) asked me, “What do you want me to do with this Tim Burton interview?” The Master asks The Student!

My family. Duh. Have you seen this kid? (That’s rhetorical.) His parents aren’t so bad either. And his grandparents. All of whom either live a few blocks away, or seem like they do.

My apartment. Every morning I wake up to the sun. Every night I go to sleep under the stars.

My couch! It’s coming next weekend: my first piece of adult furniture. It’s moder, and charcoal gray, and over six feet long. Dinner parties can’t be far behind …

Spring! I ran through Central Park this morning and everything, is in bloom. The trees are waking up. Greens and yellows and blues are exploding everywhere. It’s enough to make a guy hopeful.

And this. I got this in an email last week:

The thing I love most about your music is your lyrics. They’re honest. You put yourself out there. Writing songs is a very private and personal thing, and I’m happy that you trust us enough to share that with us. I respect you for that. It tells a lot about the person you are.

And many a day I look at all those pictures you take — my favorite being the close up ones of plants and flowers, of the sand — and I get lost in them. You make a blade of grass look beautiful, when most people would overlook it. To see that kind of beauty is truly a gift.

And I got this one today:

I just listened to “Dry Your Eyes” from your Morning Mix. And I like it so much that I felt compelled to write and tell ya. It was very soothing. Perhaps it’s because I’m about to go to bed, but it kinda felt like a lullaby. And I loved the guitar solo in the middle. And the lyrics, too … simple, but made me feel meditative, contemplative, reflective.

I have ProTools, DVDs, and my iPod. I have ice cream, gummy bears, Jamba Juice, shrimp shumi, Lean Cuisine frozen dinners, Starbuck’s grande milds, and mini pretzels.

And you. I have you, out there in the ether, pulling for me. And I appreciate it.

So listen, I know well enough to go inside when I need to. And I know well enough to be grateful when I need to be. And hopeful. And I am. All of the above.

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