I have made the decision: we will be traveling by car for the rest of this tour.
I feel that we gave the train/public transportation route a hearty try. We now know what it looks and feels like. But for the sake of convenience, my back, Gabe's knee, my bank account, and our stress levels, I've decided that the car is a better option for us, for our remaining 7 shows. (Of course, if we get in a car wreck, or kill an animal, this may prove to be a worse decision for our bodies, my bank account, or our stress levels.)
Do I see this decision as "unsustainable"? Yes. Driving a car is unsustainable for the planet, and it is also unsustainable for me, as a person. I don't think I can be happy living a life as a person who frequently drives a car, or as a touring musician who tours by car. But I am coming to realize that this touring experience as a whole is not sustainable for me either. Booking a tour, and embarking upon it as an independent musician is so much work, so little pay, and though it's soulfully satisfying in many ways, I'm not getting up in the morning thinking "This is it! This is my calling, and I will do this over and over again!" I've seen this tour as a meaningful experiment. And I think what I'm learning concretely is: yes, I want to make albums and play music for people forever. But no, I don't want to try to make a living as a touring musician.
Yesterday I had a profound experience. I was in my room (the room I grew up in, in Princeton New Jersey,) and I glanced out the window at the very moment that a fox was running through my front yard. I lived in this house for 16 years, I've visited frequently over the last 10 years, and I've never seen a sign of a fox on our property, let along in the neighborhood. It's been raining a lot here, so the grass is a vibrant green. The fox's fur was bright red/orange. The sight was majestic. I felt as though I was watching a fairytale unfold before me. He was enormous, much larger than I imagine a fox to be, and I could see the side of his face as he moved towards the woods, so beautifully, so gracefully. As soon as he was out of view from my upstairs window, I ran downstairs and tried to see him from my back porch. I stood silently, but I imagine that he sighted me, because all of a sudden he ran full speed back into the woods. This sight was both a deeply life-affirming and heartbreaking experience for me. Life-affirming to see such a beautiful creature existing in this world. Heartbreaking because I knew that he was running towards another house, another fence, another road. His habitat is shrinking, his life is being threatened by our civilization. We simply don't leave enough room for his kind to thrive. And in that moment I was shaken with just how valuable his life/his kind is to me.
In this era of thinking, and re-thinking my career path, my career options, I know that whatever I choose to do, I want to be on the side of the fox.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Learning
We are one third of the way through our northeast tour. So far we've met some amazing and generous people, heard many stories, shared our songs, and done a great deal of heavy lifting.
See, the goal for this tour was to travel using public transportation whenever possible. Thus far we've been very successful: the only car rides we've taken since arriving in the east from San Francisco have been to and from train and subway stations. (We are traveling with over 100 pounds of gear - guitar, drum, sound system, etc - so this has been no easy feat!) But it's been challenging, and many times we've commented: "we understand why no one tours this way!!" The infrastructure doesn't really exist at this point to accommodate people like us, traveling with so much stuff. It's possible, but it's far from smooth. And it takes a lot more time, more planning, more sweat, more strength and more smashed fingers/pulled back muscles than driving in a car.
Of course, we have also been very aware of how happy we are to not be driving in a car everyday. Once we lug our stuff and ourselves onto trains, we get to sit and relax rather than worry about hitting a person, an animal, a bicyclist, with our car, or being hit ourselves. Last month I read that the death toll is lower than it's been in years: 90 people die every day in this country on our roadways. That's still 90 people, every day. And this reality came very close to home recently: the day before we left on tour, Gabe and I were asked to sing for a family who just lost their 28 year old daughter in a car wreck. It was tragic. Then of course there is also the environmental toll of cars, and car infrastructure, which is enormous. (Trains take their toll on the environment as well, of course, but it's significantly less, and I think many would agree that the world would be better off if everyone gave up their cars and invested in public transportation. If we relied on it, it would get better/cheaper/more efficient.) Last year when we were on tour, the Gulf oil spill was in full effect. This year there is a heated debate over fracking for natural gas, which apparently is having a devastating impact on the environment as well as human health in the places where these operations are underway. The night we were in Cold Spring, NY, there was a rally taking place nearby to oppose fracking in the area. Walking through Brooklyn we were approached by activists spreading the word, circulating petitions, and after our show I met a man who's studying sustainability at Columbia University, and he shared with me many disturbing details about the repercussions of fracking. He suggested I watch Gasland, a documentary on the topic, which I plan to do once I get home from tour.
This is all to say that these energy issues feel very real, very pertinent, and I like the idea that in some small way we are doing our part to change and challenge our car-centric culture. That said, we are just three people with limited strength and budget. Trains are so expensive! I am worried about my back from all of the lifting. I'm worried about our morale since everything is taking us more than twice as long as it otherwise would (for example, it took us 4.5 hours to get from Brooklyn to Cold Spring, when it should have taken us more like 2.) In sum, I am undecided as to how we will proceed from here, for the last 2/3rds of our tour. We may give in and take my mom's old Volvo down to DC, and up to Boston. It feels sad to say it (it sounds so "business",) but the fact is that it will save us time, money, and effort if we drive. I don't want to give up because it's hard, and because no one else is doing it. But I don't know. (I'll let you know when I decide.)
One of the aspects of performing my songs, which are deeply personal, that I have always enjoyed is that it seems to open doors. In the course of my set, I pour out a good deal of my story, my pain, my struggle in losing my mother to cancer. And often times, afterwards, people tell me their stories, their pain, and their struggles, in a way that isn't standard in our culture (at least not between strangers.) I feel thankful for this. Thankful to have a window into other people's lives and experiences. I admire their courage, and their trust in me. It's a beautiful exchange, and one that I find to be therapeutic for me. I hope it is for them too.
Just last night a man in his late 60s came up to me after the show, and shared with me about the recent loss in his life. He'd lost his mother, his cat, and his nephew, all in the course of a year. His nephew had committed suicide, which was very painful for his family. He also shared that he and his wife didn't have any children. They'd tried, but she had three miscarriages, and they just couldn't try any more after that. The night before, a woman in her late 20s shared with me that she'd had a horrible relationship with her mother ever since she was a child. She and her mother had been estranged for years; they weren't even on speaking terms when we came through New York last year on tour. But hearing my songs about my mother opened her up to looking at her relationship with her mom in a new way. "I felt like such a jerk" she said, "hearing how much you loved and cherished your mother. And you lost her. And mine is still here." It encouraged her to face her mother's mortality, and it encouraged her to try harder, and to start to repair the damage between them. "It's been baby steps since then," she said, "and it's continuing to grow and get better." Hearing this warmed my heart so sincerely!
Last night was our show at "Charlotte's Place," the new community center affiliated with Trinity Church. It's a wonderful new space with a welcoming, "open to everyone" policy. We shared the evening with writer and theologian Lucinda Mosher. I was deeply moved by her readings from her book Faith in the Neighborhood: Loss, which explores how different cultures and faiths deal with death, grief, and memorializing. I feel that I have so much to learn about how to deal with and move through grief. Not only in my personal life, but in the world at large, and in the lives of those around me. I want to be of service; I want to help myself, and I want to help others. To do this, I feel I need to understand more about the way that other people deal with loss in their lives. I see this tour as an opportunity to learn.
Tonight is going to be a very special show. Liz Cutler will be sharing some words on the topic of loss, Matt Trowbridge will be sharing his songs. I hope to see another english teacher of mine from highschool who is now working with hospice patients. I'm looking forward to what I may learn.
See, the goal for this tour was to travel using public transportation whenever possible. Thus far we've been very successful: the only car rides we've taken since arriving in the east from San Francisco have been to and from train and subway stations. (We are traveling with over 100 pounds of gear - guitar, drum, sound system, etc - so this has been no easy feat!) But it's been challenging, and many times we've commented: "we understand why no one tours this way!!" The infrastructure doesn't really exist at this point to accommodate people like us, traveling with so much stuff. It's possible, but it's far from smooth. And it takes a lot more time, more planning, more sweat, more strength and more smashed fingers/pulled back muscles than driving in a car.
Of course, we have also been very aware of how happy we are to not be driving in a car everyday. Once we lug our stuff and ourselves onto trains, we get to sit and relax rather than worry about hitting a person, an animal, a bicyclist, with our car, or being hit ourselves. Last month I read that the death toll is lower than it's been in years: 90 people die every day in this country on our roadways. That's still 90 people, every day. And this reality came very close to home recently: the day before we left on tour, Gabe and I were asked to sing for a family who just lost their 28 year old daughter in a car wreck. It was tragic. Then of course there is also the environmental toll of cars, and car infrastructure, which is enormous. (Trains take their toll on the environment as well, of course, but it's significantly less, and I think many would agree that the world would be better off if everyone gave up their cars and invested in public transportation. If we relied on it, it would get better/cheaper/more efficient.) Last year when we were on tour, the Gulf oil spill was in full effect. This year there is a heated debate over fracking for natural gas, which apparently is having a devastating impact on the environment as well as human health in the places where these operations are underway. The night we were in Cold Spring, NY, there was a rally taking place nearby to oppose fracking in the area. Walking through Brooklyn we were approached by activists spreading the word, circulating petitions, and after our show I met a man who's studying sustainability at Columbia University, and he shared with me many disturbing details about the repercussions of fracking. He suggested I watch Gasland, a documentary on the topic, which I plan to do once I get home from tour.
This is all to say that these energy issues feel very real, very pertinent, and I like the idea that in some small way we are doing our part to change and challenge our car-centric culture. That said, we are just three people with limited strength and budget. Trains are so expensive! I am worried about my back from all of the lifting. I'm worried about our morale since everything is taking us more than twice as long as it otherwise would (for example, it took us 4.5 hours to get from Brooklyn to Cold Spring, when it should have taken us more like 2.) In sum, I am undecided as to how we will proceed from here, for the last 2/3rds of our tour. We may give in and take my mom's old Volvo down to DC, and up to Boston. It feels sad to say it (it sounds so "business",) but the fact is that it will save us time, money, and effort if we drive. I don't want to give up because it's hard, and because no one else is doing it. But I don't know. (I'll let you know when I decide.)
One of the aspects of performing my songs, which are deeply personal, that I have always enjoyed is that it seems to open doors. In the course of my set, I pour out a good deal of my story, my pain, my struggle in losing my mother to cancer. And often times, afterwards, people tell me their stories, their pain, and their struggles, in a way that isn't standard in our culture (at least not between strangers.) I feel thankful for this. Thankful to have a window into other people's lives and experiences. I admire their courage, and their trust in me. It's a beautiful exchange, and one that I find to be therapeutic for me. I hope it is for them too.
Just last night a man in his late 60s came up to me after the show, and shared with me about the recent loss in his life. He'd lost his mother, his cat, and his nephew, all in the course of a year. His nephew had committed suicide, which was very painful for his family. He also shared that he and his wife didn't have any children. They'd tried, but she had three miscarriages, and they just couldn't try any more after that. The night before, a woman in her late 20s shared with me that she'd had a horrible relationship with her mother ever since she was a child. She and her mother had been estranged for years; they weren't even on speaking terms when we came through New York last year on tour. But hearing my songs about my mother opened her up to looking at her relationship with her mom in a new way. "I felt like such a jerk" she said, "hearing how much you loved and cherished your mother. And you lost her. And mine is still here." It encouraged her to face her mother's mortality, and it encouraged her to try harder, and to start to repair the damage between them. "It's been baby steps since then," she said, "and it's continuing to grow and get better." Hearing this warmed my heart so sincerely!
Last night was our show at "Charlotte's Place," the new community center affiliated with Trinity Church. It's a wonderful new space with a welcoming, "open to everyone" policy. We shared the evening with writer and theologian Lucinda Mosher. I was deeply moved by her readings from her book Faith in the Neighborhood: Loss, which explores how different cultures and faiths deal with death, grief, and memorializing. I feel that I have so much to learn about how to deal with and move through grief. Not only in my personal life, but in the world at large, and in the lives of those around me. I want to be of service; I want to help myself, and I want to help others. To do this, I feel I need to understand more about the way that other people deal with loss in their lives. I see this tour as an opportunity to learn.
Tonight is going to be a very special show. Liz Cutler will be sharing some words on the topic of loss, Matt Trowbridge will be sharing his songs. I hope to see another english teacher of mine from highschool who is now working with hospice patients. I'm looking forward to what I may learn.
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