Food for thought: "Grand Central" by Billy Collins The city orbits around eight million centers of the universe and turns around the golden clock at the still point of this place. Lift up your eyes from the moving hive and you will see time circling under a vault of stars and know just when and where you are. Since 2006 I've been on the road at least as much or more than I've been home. Every choice we make has inherent sacrifice, and my choice to live this lifestyle has been no different. There is always a cost. Strained relations, weariness, and general discombobulation. But there are also benefits. Greater connectedness, greater appreciation for the now, and a broader perspective. I have an embarrassing memory from my first national tour. I played my way out of Texas via Lubbock, then I camped in Palo Duro Canyon, just outside of Amarillo. Next came New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, and up into the Midwest. Eventually I found myself sitting in a bar in Springfield, Illinois. I was there as the feature act of an open mic night. I played my set, then took in songs from the other performers. A tall, nice-looking guy named Micah took the stage and played Oasis' "Wonderwall," but in the style of Ryan Adams from Love Is Hell. Sure, it was a cover of a cover, but Micah delivered it well. He exhibited what I call "the vacuum effect," when all the air seems to be sucked from the room. It's an almost uncomfortable level of quiet, like outer space. This is when your hair stands up on end, when not just your hearing, but all senses seem to become heightened, like the fight-or-flight response. Micah finished the tune, and the small crowd erupted with woos, whistles, and clapping hands. I looked around at the cheering faces, the friends celebrating a magic moment orchestrated by their hometown hero, and I actually heard this thought going through my head: Man, these people are having a great time, and they're not even in Texas! I immediately caught the thought, and sort of mentally slapped myself on the wrist for thinking it, but it was too late. The damage was done. I was outed, at least to myself, as just some redneck bigot from Texas. It was troubling. I carried the shock of my revelation with me for the next several weeks as I made my way to the east coast and later down through the Deep South. How could I have believed this, even on a subconscious level? How could I have been so narrow-minded, so Tex-centric? I didn't have a great answer, and I still don't--other than I really needed to get out of town. I don't think it has so much to do with the fact that I grew up in Texas. Or even that I grew up in Austin. I think it had everything to do with the fact that I was the center of my own universe, just like in Billy Collins' poem above. For the remaining miles of the tour I mulled this over repeatedly in my head. And with each positive experience in another previously unknown town, my horizon grew, while I myself shrank. I felt increasingly smaller, part of a unimaginably vast world of people with stories as varied as the leaves on the trees zooming by my car window. I returned from that tour with a new worldview and a new addiction. I couldn't wait to travel again. To meet up with old friends and discover new ones. I kept the wheels turning solid for about six years, wearing out a Toyota 4-Runner (which, trust me, is no easy task) and racking up frequent flyer miles. I longed for my world to keep getting bigger. I longed to be rid of this kind of small thinking. During a time of doubt and insecurity leading up to my recent move up the east coast, I pleaded with God to give me more details of my journey. What was the purpose? What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to do it? I desperately wanted answers. What I got went something like this: You were made to do this. Even without Him explicitly explaining what "this" was, I felt like once I heard this promise I breathed a little easier. I'd reminisce over the last six or seven years of my life. The grand process that we can perhaps only see when looking in the rearview. Hundreds of thousands of miles in the car alone. Hundreds of nights where I stood by myself on a stage in a room filled with strangers. Austin. Abilene. Dallas. Hartsville. Germany. Falling in love and falling apart. Strangers who become close friends who become strangers again. It seems somewhat obvious to say, but everything up until now has led to this present moment. He has been making me all the while. Making me ready for "this." And I'm learning to love the process of discovering what "this" is. New York is a city full of centers of the universe, but it's not the only place like this. You see it everywhere, obsessive introspection devolving into navel-gazing. Self-centeredness. It's our default. I think part of what "You were made for this" means to me is that He's repeatedly shown me the absurdity of the "Me" cosmology. After all these miles, how could I possibly look at any one place in the world and say, "This is where it's all happening."? New York is not the center of the universe. Neither am I. Neither are you. And thank God for that. Here's to exploring this vast world. Here's to enjoying becoming increasingly smaller. Here's to wonder. Here's to awe. And here's to continuing to be made. This week's news: Since I missed a week, I'll include news from the past two weeks. There's a lot, so I'll be brief. 1) I rehearsed with Barefoot & Bankside, a Brooklyn based alt-country group. My longtime friend and collaborator Jeff Rogers was on drums. This was so much fun! We will play our first show together in June. More on that later. 2) I played at The Little Rock Folk Club in Little Rock, AR to a wonderful crowd of music lovers. I was treated extremely well the entire weekend by Len and Susan, my gracious hosts. I was praying that I would make enough at the gig to afford a sublet in Brooklyn for February. I didn't make enough. I made MORE than enough! Hallelujah! 3) Speaking of that, I moved into my first sublet in Brooklyn. I like my roommates, and it feels great to have a place of my own, even if for only a month. 4) Last but not least, I picked up a very interesting temp job as a runner for two UK photographers who are here for Fashion Week. Basically, I wait outside a show until they finish, they hand me their SD card, and I run it back to a hotel where another one of their team edits and uploads the images to a website so that media outlets can purchase them. Fancy! I just finished my first day of this work, and I'll be on the job until Tuesday. Then it's back to normal life: teaching at a rock and roll school, managing concert series in South Carolina, touring occasionally, and taking steps toward my Pyramids. Thanks for reading, Dylan
