#thesearchforeverything

We pick up on a Sunday afternoon, stomach burning, swallowing back waves of dread and anxiety, knowing Monday is around the corner. The rain is falling outside and I wish it was heavier, so crushing and isolating that it would bury the roads and stop the world in its tracks.

I’ve gotten really heavily into John Mayer recently. I always was a fan and bought his albums but I have fallen deeper down the rabbit hole lately. I am analysing lyrics and playing my guitar more. I’m even semi-chasing the romantic ideal of seclusion from the world, owning a house in the sticks and carving out a slice of Americana somewhere in the Mournes. So far this has manifested in me buying a denim jacket and dreaming of driving a flatbed but I know i’m at least searching for something, whether that is something more or something less is a matter of perspective.

10 days ago I went on a trip with my sister and two of my cousins to London to see a John Mayer concert. We are all super-fans with creative blood in our veins. We write, we draw, we paint or make music and here we were together, making a pilgrimage to celebrate a connecting thread, a tunnel to the heart of what matters to us on an artistic level. 

There was a slightly nervous energy, natural anxieties tempered with anticipation and we  found ourselves bonding further. We see each other every week and have grown up together but even I was surprised at how much deeper the well was to draw from. The concert itself was spectacular and the set list was a playbook of memories and emotions. I looked over at my cousin towards the end and she was in tears. This was bucket-list territory.

That night we talked over drinks at the hotel bar and got nerdy over lyrics and themes and I was happy. I was me. I was with my family and in my element, bursting to express emotions and truths and create art. It brought me out of my worry for a couple of days and I could breathe again.

So yeah naturally I went out and bought a denim jacket. It’s how I cope. I wanted something tangible, some part of the dream made real. When I listen to “Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey” I  identify with the lyrics, the feeling of being lost and the pressure and strain of trying to break free. Right now stress is crippling my ability to enjoy life, and as a painful by-product, I am creatively hampered by my inability to focus on anything else except my nerves.  I tried to write this post the night I got home. I’ve only just been able to finish it. My stomach is in knots and I am anxious as I write all this but I have to believe some day things will work out. Hope is in the blood. The tree will someday bear fruit. My search for everything continues.

Thanks John.