"Last night me and Kate, we laid in bed, talkin' about getting out
Packing up our bags, maybe heading south.'"
-- Bruce Springsteen, My Hometown
A Childhood Memory
The heavy rain that had caused games to be canceled earlier in the week was gone, but it had left a mess behind at the elementary school where we played our Little League games. Since the baseball fields were still in poor condition, the league set up baselines in the part of the large yard that drained a little better. The weather had prevented the school's workers from mowing the fields, so the grass we played in was tall.
As I stepped up to the plate, I carried the weight of not being very good at batting. But somehow my bat connected with the ball, and I took off toward first base. I should have been out, but the ball sailed over the first baseman and into the overgrown field.
Watching the first base coach wave me on to second was an unfamiliar sight. I rounded the base and set my sights on the next bag, and ran as fast as I could. A smile settled on my face as I reached my target.
The only problem was that my feet were not planted on the pitcher's mound. I had gotten lost in the weeds and headed toward the wrong white target. Instead of watching the next batter from second base, I headed towards the bench, called out for straying off the baseline.
The blow to my ego was slightly softened by the fact that, in the confusion, the runner ahead of me had scored. It probably was not credited that way in the scorebook, but in my mind, I had an RBI.
Go West, Young ManIt was a cold January afternoon when my girlfriend and I left my mother's house in the New York City suburbs. With nothing more than hope and my rock"'and"'roll dreams, we headed west toward Hollywood, California. It was not long before we realized that we did not have the map we had dutifully ordered from AAA. Once we made it to our first stop, we called my mother and confirmed that the map had been left behind during our emotional goodbye.
Navigating without the map was a sign from the universe that the path in front of me was not as clear as it seemed at the time. Like the field where I played baseball at my elementary school, it could become obscured, and sometimes my destination was not my intended target.
If I had seen things more clearly, I would have paid attention to the warning signs that presented themselves during that trip. It should have been evident that there were serious structural flaws in our relationship, as problems that first appeared would later reverberate throughout our marriage. The issues that eventually led to divorce were foreshadowed on that adventure.
But in many ways, I am better off for not having seen the path that lay in front of me. While the pain and anger of divorce can cast everything in a kind of reverse rose"'colored"'glasses haze, there were a lot of happy memories created during those years. And above all else, the marriage paid the dividend of two children. They alone are an impressive return on investment.
Failing UpSince this is not written as part of a rock star's memoir, it does not give up the ending to point out that the path through Los Angeles did not end up exactly where it was originally envisioned. While as a night shift supervisor I do stay up to all hours of the night, my work is not done in front of thousands of screaming fans. I am lucky if I get the appreciation of my manager.
Even if the rock star dreams did not come true, it was the right path to take. Living in Los Angeles provided me with the opportunity to hone my craft, and I earned a vocational certificate from the Musicians' Institute. I created songs with other musicians, many of whom had been drawn to Los Angeles chasing their own dreams. I learned humility from being "booed" during a lackluster set on Gazzarri's infamous stage, and the pride of holding the crowd in the palm of my hand at the Coconut Teazer.
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