What It Feels Like

My second blog post ever, written on November 21, 2000, began thusly: “Just ate an entire Entenmann’s Sweet Potato Pie. Happy Thanksgiving!”

In fact, that post was part of what I called my “Studio Journal” during the making of my 2001 CD, “Crash Site.” I didn’t begin the Daily Journal in earnest until February 7, 2002. Since then, I posted some 1,319 entries. 1,320 with this one.

I know all this because I’ve spent a fair dose of my weekend pouring over back issues of the Daily Journal as I prepare to relaunch this hand-tagged HTML site as a WordPress blog.

My primary objective in all of this is to have a site that is more useable and discoverable for you, and more manageable for me. But that’s not my point here.

My point here is that I’ve spend a fair dose of my weekend re-reading and then titling posts beginning in February 7, 2002 and running through August 1, 2004 when — mysteriously — I began headlining my posts with song titles. The first one? “Grace.” (“The city isn’t asleep,” I wrote, “But it sure is groggy.”)

While a tedious excercise to be sure, re-reading everything I wrote during my thirty-first, second and third years of life is — if nothing else — an interesting excercise in reading comprehension. Moreover, knowing what I know as a Digital Media Executive about the value of discreet, singular posts and a good headline to snagging usership from search engines and, well, it makes for interesting post titles.

Like, “Waiting For The Codeine To Kick In” (February 19, 2002).

Or, “What Would Frank Black Do?” (May 8, 2002).

Or, “Wasted & Crazy” (December 4, 2002).

Or, “On Hold With Wayne Newton” (April 7, 2003).

And I still have sixteen months left to re-read and title.

It makes for an odd retrospective. I mean, I remember those days (mostly). And I remember the person who wrote it all down here. But (beware rapidly approaching cliche), so much has changed.

There are months upon months of woe-is-me music business whining. There are days and days of “I’m working on this new thing” followed by “That thing didn’t do so well but wait ’til you hear about this new thing.” So far I’ve re-read (and titled) posts on the making of “Crash Site, the “Summer’s Gone” EP, its subsequent tour, and the demos the came to constitute “Almost Home.” And I still have a few years of making peace with the fact that I’m not Michael Stipe or Bono or even Michael Penn left to re-read (and title).

Meanwhile, I seem to be moving ahead fairly steadily — though much of the progress at work, or with my music, sports, or (still burgeoning) filmmaking career — appear as background or subtext. Mostly, the narrative arc is about not becoming who you thought you’d be. Nowadays, I’d call it becoming who you are. And who I am is way more than I’d ever have imagined I could be.

Looking back from the wise old age of thirty-six, though, it strikes me that the outcome never really mattered. That is, nothing would have been good enough. As I apparently said to myself — or, more succinctly, recorded on my own voice mail — on tour in Charlottesville, Virginia, one night in 2003, “This is what it feels like.”

So, if nothing else, I’m glad I’ve taken the time to scribble down these 1,320 Daily Journal posts. If all else fails, at least I’ll remember what it felt like.

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