God Damn It's Great to Be Alive

“And who’d have thought that after all something as simple as rock n roll would save us all?” Frank Turner

Once upon a time, in a former life, I used to drive to exotic cities like Lawrence, KS or Columbia, MO to see bands that my ex-girlfriend and I liked. Yesterday marked my re-entry into that life. I drove to Des Moines by myself to see Frank Turner. And it might have ended up being my favorite concert experience ever.

Frank created a line-up of other fuck ups who use music as their outlet to deal with all of life’s bull shit. First up was a dude who is called “The Homeless Gospel Choir”. He talked of wanting to kill himself most days, but uses music, both as a listener and a performer, to get him through. The next band “Two Cow Garage” was great too. Both acts talked a lot about the real in between songs and the Two Cow Garage line that got me was the lead singer talking about all the times he’s felt alone in a crowded room. He was talking about not being happy with himself or comfortable with who he is, but I related to it in the sense that I was literally the only person at the show by himself.

The thing is though…those opening bands made me not feel alone. They’re my people. The fucked up, but trying to deal with it. The heartbroken. The damaged. The less thans. The outcasts. I was so fucking happy that I came for the openers, because they set the tone for what the night really was…a church service for the fucked up.

Frank Turner came out and just fucking kept it going. He gave a little speech about inclusion. Wherever we were in life, whatever our preferences…sexually, religiously, whatever…we were there to come together as a group and fucking party. No judgement. No rich. No poor. No denominations. Or political parties.

And then Frank proceeded to turn me into the guy in the back of the room by himself dancing like a crazy person. Are you going to go to a Frank Turner show and feel judged by people criticizing your dancing skills? Fuck no. Most likely, everyone else is dancing too. I was singing along to every song. Lifting my glass at my favorite lines. Somehow I got a waitress to keep bringing me drinks even though I think she was only supposed to be serving the fancy, reserved tables.

Frank had us all sit on the floor at one point. He crowd surfed. He threw another guy from one of the other bands into the crowd too and made him do a lap around the room. We all bounced during one song in honor of Bob Dylan’s birthday. Seriously man…it was just pure joy. And when you’ve lived through shit, like Frank and the other bands and I have…to get a night out where you can just let it all go…there’s something beautiful, something healing, in that experience.

Usually it’s Frank’s lyrics that get me, last night one in particular brought me to tears. “And on the worst days, when it feels like life weighs 10,000 tons.” The thought that I had was, “isn’t that every day?” Life is fucking heavy. Just the other day I was letting it actually sink in the damage that’s been done to me over the course of my life. It’s too much. It’s hard to carry that shit around.

And that’s why I decided to get back to the blog. Just like all 3 bands from last night have their outlet with music, I have mine with writing. And it was dumb of me to shut down the blog. There’s shit I just need to let out. But, also it’s my way of finding my people. I get inboxed when people relate. Everyone carries around more than they can handle and I fucking love to get to talk about the real with other broken people. And if you and i can get together and in so doing, make it feel like life weighs a tiny bit less than 10,000 tons...it's a good day.

So, bitches…I’m back. Deal with it. Unfriend me. Or best friend me. I can’t live this filtered life where I don’t write. Writing makes me feel like me. And it’s been “a difficult winter…it’s been a rough few months” as Frank sings. But, “rejoice, rebuild the storm has passed.”

I’ll probably sift through the blog and delete some posts, especially as they relate to the ex-girlfriend. Last fall, I found myself in a shitty spot where I didn’t feel like I could write much publicly about what happened. But, I’ve never had more stuff that needed to be let out. It’s shitty, because essentially that’s protecting the one who hurt me. I had to mostly keep quiet in order to keep her from looking bad, but I got out a lot of that pain in my daily journal writings and in conversation with good friends. Frank has a line that sums up me and Sarita, “I wish that she had either cared for me or let me be, but she chased me from my mind and from my home.” The hurt is unlikely to go away. It was salt in my pre-existing wounds.

But, man…I can’t sit at home anymore. I’ve spent a lot of the last six months at home. Working. Dieting. Focusing on the kids. I lost 40 pounds. And I’ve slowly gotten back to the point where I like being out, even if it’s alone. And I’ve got a new strategy every night I go out. Cookies. So, that way if I don’t bring home a beautiful butterfly from the bar, it’s still a win. Who doesn’t want to come home to cookies? Only ass holes and skinny people.

And I’m neither of those things. That was the other thing I loved about last night. I was very unusually non-social, but the people I did talk to were bartenders and servers and Uber drivers. And I made some of their nights. The guy and girl working the Pizza place/bar at 2am. They were both way too sweet to me and I made a point to make sure they knew how great that was of them to be pleasant to drunk people when they were sober themselves. My uber driver was arguably sober too, but that didn't stop her from cracking up as we talked about her shitty marriage. The front desk clerk was blushing when I told her she had my drunken vote for employee of the month.

See…I realized that’s me. And I teared up when I got it. Ah fuck. Yeah. Maybe I don’t get a happily ever after in this life. My childhood and my relationships were difficult. But, one of the fucking things I adore about myself is that I care about making other people’s lives better with...A chat. A smile. A laugh. A heart to heart. I love it when church for the fucked up breaks out unexpectedly...at a Frank Turner show. Or at a dive bar.

And that's why, when I got back to my room last night, even though my bed only held me and my Twix bar, it was such a satisfying night. I went to a show that meant something to me. I provided laughs for the people working hard serving drinks. And after the show, my mind wasn’t fucked over some relationship issue. It feels so fucking great to acknowledge that the best might be yet to come for me. “At this truth we have arrived…God damn it’s great to be alive.” Amen.