Last Moments Revisited and All Things Reconsidered...

I'm sitting on my mother's bed right now; my legs are crossed Indian-style, sort of like the way I probably used to sit when I was four years old and sitting this way was a weird kindergarten rule. Two little kids live right next door, and they are taking ultimate advantage of the first real summery day in a few weeks now; playing some catch and other assorted nonsense. Their little baseball keeps hitting the side of my house, causing this horrid banging sound to occur every so often, and making me jump up in surprise. One would think I'd get used to this, especially by the hundredth time it happened. However, my theory lies with the all-too-optimistic thought that maybe the kids will learn how to catch sometime soon, thus eliminating the side of my house as the interim catcher.

Upon my return from Phish tour, many of my days have been just like this one: on the borderline of peaceful and quiet, yet terribly confusing... I've been surrounded by love, family, and as much music as I could possibly dig up (and all this is incredibly interchangable), yet it continually dawns on me that despite what seems to be a straight path that I am following towards this oddball concept of the future, I am running as crookedly as possible with speed I'd never even knew existed. I'm nowhere, but I'm everywhere all at once. I'm laughing and I'm falling apart. It's the me nobody knows... yet you've seen it all along.

I kept two journals this summer while on tour: Erica Lynn On Tour, the online nod towards the unstoppable, and a handwritten one -- old school diary-style -- that sits by my bedside (no matter where the actual bed may be) and contains antecdotes (among other things) such as the concept of singular motion as it applies to a magical night in Raleigh, a sticker stating the obvious (Fishman Hit On Me, given to me by none other than the caped wonder himself, David Steinberg), and other assorted goodies. Keeping these journals allowed me to keep my memories in check; disassociation was not permitted by any means... a scribbled word or three here and there seemed to make the most sense in the world no matter where I was heading or where I had just come from.

Because of my online journal, I was sent a flurry of emails from time to time; some would comment on a particular review I had made of a song or show, while others would constantly ask how I was getting about, handling such a different lifestyle than I'd ever been used to, and one email went into detail about how I may not return [to my life in New York] the same. At first, that particular email almost scared me. Of course I had toyed generously with the notion that 'tour could change my life' but never before did I think that it was such an obvious measure. In other words, I had chosen to go follow a band for a month. Was I consciously alerting myself that I was ready to change? Was I sinking my teeth into something I perhaps was not even ready for at all? Or was I taking everything -- including myself -- too seriously?

I wrote her back, with fear in my fingers and a jumpstart to my soul. I told her I would write to her after tour, when I've come up with some sort of answer for myself. She has probably forgotten all about me, as it's been over a month now since she'd first written me; almost a month since tour concluded... and an email about ten emailed pages long is still sitting in my drafts folder, addressed to her. A letter detailing my adventures. A letter talking endlessly about my new loves. A letter describing my subtle fears and lifelong dreams... and how they've suddenly intertwined themselves in a startling wish I have... A letter, yet still unsent.

I suppose it is because I did not think I had really found the answer -- the clear cut one -- that I so desperately thought I'd have at some make-believe 'deadline' that I'd set out for myself. Perhaps it was also a slight fear that what I'd concluded was not what was even understandable or comprehensible. Yet, there I was yesterday afternoon, looking through my tour pictures for the fifth time that day... my finger perched on the send button, ready to delve in and question reality. Then, almost as if I had been caught in a reckless wave, all these memories rushed back to me at once.

On June 18th, Jesse arrived at my house and I began putting all my bags and whatnot in his car. As we were loading up, my dad stood in the doorway with this huge grin on his face. He called me over to him and hugged me close. "Get me the cheesiest possible gift you can find when you're in Graceland," he had said. I'll be damned, I thought, I'm going to Memphis.. I think at that very moment, things became very real for me. It was not just a dream anymore, or a simple plan. This was it.

In Antioch, Tennessee, we were in the very last row possible in the pavillion. In fact, we were literally outside -- there was no roof covering us. The only difference was that we had seats. Some friends of mine from New York who had made the decision to tour as well were scrambling about on the pavement right behind my seat. The show proceeded to be nothing less than intense. I found myself in tears throughout the entire second set; the music was capturing me into this wild rollercoaster ride... lifting me up to heights I had never imagined I'd be able to see so clearly. The surprise guests and the encore left me trembling... and for the first time at the end of a show, I was unable to even write. I think it was that very day that I opened up my heart again. I was finally ready to just let go.

On the first night of PNC, I remember constantly looking around me, unable to sit still and certainly unable to pay close attention to what Phish was doing. On the second night, I found who I was looking for all that time... and suddenly all was peaceful and perfect. I recall putting Phish on the pedistal that they deserved during their rendition of the Meatstick in Japanese. I was starting to notice, though, how tour was breaking up into sections; the southern run felt completely different from the northeast... and the most important thing was comfort. I learned very quickly to just do my own thing, surround myself with whatever felt right, and forget life for awhile.

July fourth. Rift. I ran out of the pavillion, looking for Rob... I knew he would somehow understand why tears were running down my cheeks, why I was laughing uncontrollably at the same time, and why this was what I was waiting for the entire tour. My thoughts went back to my experiences at Antioch. I believed in magic.

By the time Star Lake rolled around, I was uncharacteristically mellow. I found that I was taking things at a slow, steady, calming pace... and loving the fact that although I had set places to go (shows at certain times, people's houses to stay at, long drives ahead of me...) the fact that getting to a show was the ultimate goal was incredible. I wondered if this could possibly continue on a more permanent basis.

I believe it was at that point where I really started thinking of ways to make music (writing about it, following bands, making some of my own) my life. I had always had music in my life -- a large part at that -- but I never truly believed that it was at all possible to do what I wanted to do. At Alpine, I sat with my pen and paper the entire time, writing from musical inspiration... I haven't turned back since.

Of course, there was the time where I returned home... attempting to explain a month of adventures to my mom over some Italian food. She stood there with a confused grin on her face, listening to my every word, trying to comprehend why I was missing eight hour car rides and watching the same band every night. She could not believe that people I had just met in random cities throughout the country were people I'd truly hold dear to me for life. And she certainly did not quite understand why it was so important for me to see four more festivals in the next upcoming month.

Did I come back the same? The answer is simple, now that the memories are on the table. There was no possible way that I could. It was not just seeing Phish that changed my life, though. It was each and every experience, allowing me to take myself to new levels... some things better off forgotten but most being learning experiences. It was when I let music be the inspiration and the soundtrack when I was able to know myself in every aspect. I may look, act, and dance the same now... but my goals and my loves have changed drastically. And I cannot wait to do this again.