On Being Old. And Controlling Your Environment.

Hey y'all -

Last Friday, your dad and I went to see Martin Sexton play at the Top Hat. I'd bought tickets months in advance, because I've always liked Martin Sexton - I have a soft spot for any singer/songwriter who will write a snappy ditty about a diner. The night of the show rolled around and I convinced myself that I WASN'T tired, that I COULD put on my jeans and I WOULD enjoy a live music show just as much as I had when I was in my 20s.

Lies. All lies.

___

A dozen years ago, living in Los Angeles, I had a good friend from Texas named Levi. Levi's favorite thing to do was to sit in his parked car (like, in his own driveway) and drink beer and listen to the car stereo with the temperature exactly how he liked it. I'd sit in the passenger seat and have a drink and listen to music for a little while, then I'd always suggest, "Why don't we go somewhere?" And Levi would say, "Because I don't want to leave my controlled environment."

At the time, I thought he was quirky and antisocial and probably had a few mental wrinkles that needed to be ironed out.

Turns out, the man was a genius ahead of his time.

___

Your dad and I stood in front of the stage in the midst of a growing crowd and listened to the opening act sing six slow, moody dirge-like songs about how crappy it is to live in Vermont, which is exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night, seeing as how - for a living - I talk to people who want to build a cabin to escape their crappy house in Vermont.

Martin took the stage and the crowd in front of the stage got bigger, and grad students in front of me started sharing their vapor cigarettes and every man in Montana over 7 feet tall came and stood right in front of me, and your dad couldn't hear anything I tried to tell him, and I thought back to Levi in Los Angeles and had an epiphany...

Would I be happier right now, sitting in my passenger seat, listening to this song as it plays on my car stereo? Yes. And would I also like a taco? Turns out: yes.

So I made the universal sign for "Let's get the hell out of here," to your dad, and off we went to the taco truck on the corner where we got some tacos and then ate them in the warm cocoon of our little controlled environment.

There's a point to all this, I'm sure, and I'm thinking it's this:

As we were walking out of the Top Hat and into the night, I thought, "I hope my kids learn faster than I did that sometimes there's a great freedom in just leaving. It took me nigh on 37 years to learn: if you're not having fun, it's okay to go. You don't have to pretend to love stuff that irritates you. If you want, you can avoid New Age reggae, libertarian rallies, concerts where you have to camp outside for three days and water is $6 a bottle, interpretive dance shows, bad community theatre*, hipster bars where martinis are $16**, football games, sorority rush, etc.

Have fun. If that doesn't work, do your best to make it fun. If that doesn't work, leave. Life's too short to stand around and be miserable.

Apologies to Martin Sexton, but your CD sure does sound nice playing in the Subaru.

Love,
Mom

* Unless you have a friend in the show, in which case you have to go. And clap.
** Unless by leaving, you'll be abandoning a friend. Safety first.