As I sit here recovering from our Black Friday gig, I can’t help recalling the immortal words of the inventor of ex-lax when he said, “I’m getting too old for this shit”.
Don’t get me wrong. I love to perform, I love to entertain, and I cherish the friendships in our band. I think this particular group of people is very special in that, when it comes to rock n roll, we are children who never grew up and never became jaded with regard to the joy of music and performing. Every new song that we learn is a rebirth of that feeling. Every gig is a new adventure that further bonds five good friends. Every trip to the diner at 2:00 AM when the gig is done is an unspoken celebration of “Hey! We pulled it off! Again…!”
My body doesn’t share that love. Lugging and loading all my equipment and playing mega sets leaves me feeling the way Jamal Charles must feel the day after a 200-yard game. Only I’m sure Jamal springs back in a fraction of the time I do.
I’m closing in on 60 years of age, and my desire is that someday my daughters will say, “My Dad was still playing in a rock band when he was sixty!” Me personally? I would like that too, but in a few years I doubt that I’ll remember what the hell I did when I was sixty, haha!
My daughter and wife asked me the other day, what I would do if I retired from performing. With a deadpan expression I replied, “Oh, I’ll probably wander off into the woods and die”. (They both laughed, btw.)
I feel I’m winding down a long string of major experiences in my life that have run the spectrum from debilitating tragedy to extreme exhilaration and sense of achievement. I don’t feel a need to keep that going anymore. I don’t feel a need to try and top the previous adventure. For me, the next plateau is finding a peaceful place in my own skin to curl up in a ball like a cat in a comfy bed; a place to savor the moments and not worry about the years. Peace, love, dove homies.