...And Phish Will Be There, Too!
It all started with a form letter. I had opened it quite gingerly, somewhat fearful of what was to be found inside. It was addressed to me in messy blue ink, and it looked strangely rushed. Yet, the return address bearing my college's name in bold block letters induced a chill that I think has yet to go away.

'Dear Soon-to-be Graduate,' the letter inside read. I breathed a sigh of some relief. This was quite a wonderful change from the last two form letters I received from the school this month: one regarding financial aid for the school year 2000-2001, the other being a form to fill out for soon-to-be-seniors, if you will. I had stared at those documents in complete horror, crying out to anyone who would listen shouts of, "I already am a senior! I've been one for two years already!" As a member of the unofficial five year plan club, it has been my goal as of late to just get out. Finally, it seemed, the school agreed with me that it is time for that to happen.

As any soon-to-be-graduate can tell you, the most important (and annoying) question asked during this highly transitional time is the one much like the one my advisor asked me last week: "What are you going to do when you go into the real world?"

The real world. I have come to seemingly avoid this question, as I am having my own troubles dealing with the possible fact that all I have been doing has not counted for much; I have been living in a not-so-real world up until this very point. Somehow, I cannot find the truth in that. Yet, I could not avoid my advisor's question. I grinned up at her and said, "Well, I'm going on Phish tour this summer."

I went on to explain that as a graduation present from my family, I would be seeing Phish for an entire month, traveling to places like Antioch, Tennessee and East Troy, Wisconsin. She gave the occasional nod as I rattled off some cities I would be visiting and whatnot. An awkward pause followed.

"Why?" she finally asked, looking positively confused.

My first inclination was to give her the same smile I give other people who are not into the same music 'scene' I am a part of, then explain all about why I see a band over a hundred times and still not find it to be enough for me. I was about to delve in to a discussion about improvised music when she got dreadfully specific.

"Why tour?"

I suppose it was just then that it all became real to me. I was, on paper, going to be seeing eighteen shows. I was to be traveling to different cities every other night or so. I'd even be visiting another country. All for the love of improvised music. However, my strong desire to tour this summer, especially at this particular time of my life, reaches much deeper than just a desire to hear good music nightly for a month. I've got to make some changes in myself.

A professor of mine spoke of reasons why one goes into exile. Of course, there are those who are simply uprooted; given no choice in the matter as they are removed from their homeland and taken elsewhere. There are those who have committed acts of crime or injustice and become exiles in that manner. Some are forced into exile in a mysterious and dreadful combination of the two; Sophocles' Oedipus was exiled from Thebes after it was found that he had killed his father and seduced his mother. Sure, Oedipus had no knowledge of what crimes he was committing (as it was all written in an oracle beforehand), but needless to say, Oedipus found himself wandering blindly into Athens after years of restless travel. Then, there are those who take it upon themselves to become an exile. For whatever the reason, they just go. And they keep going and going. Maybe they find their niche on the way, through their travels. That, in reality, is solely up to them. However, the one thing that all exiles, self-inflicted or not, have in common is the fact that they have traveled or are traveling away from what they have known as their homes.

I have found myself leading a very constricted life. When I travel anywhere, I have been known to be the one to bring the bags full of, well, everything. I could fit my whole life into bags if I really tried hard enough to. People have laughed at me as we've traveled to four show runs and I fill the trunk with two big backpacks, a toiletries case big enough to fit a DAT deck and about ten DATs (and might I remind the general public that I do not even tape; I really do bring that many toiletries), books, assorted music that would take about a year to listen to, and other 'absolutely necessary items.' Suddenly, the idea of minimizing my baggage --my life-- became wondrous. I could do this.

The idea of being amongst people who love the same kind of music as me for a month also appealed to me heavily. For the past twenty-two years, I have found that I have been somewhat of a loner. It has become obvious to me that my greatest comfort stems from situations like seeing live music. I cannot help but notice that among my dearest friends, the majority share the same passion for music as I do. It is not that I have limited myself. It is that, in a twisted way, this is my world. Sure, it is just a small corner as compared to anything else. Yet, to me, it is beautifully grandiose.

The reasons pile up as the days get longer. Interestingly enough, my parents have completely supported my ideas, telling me that traveling for a month would be good for my character. Nevertheless, it is more than that. The facts are, I have no idea what I will uncover this summer by going on the entire tour. I really like that. In many ways, I am becoming an exile. Inasmuch as this is my choice, the reasons that have driven me to make this choice were not all things I could control. I have chosen a way of life that looks positively strange to the uninformed onlooker. I am traveling in effort to simplify, to become more open, and to experience life at its most beautiful points. When tour is over, I will not be returning to what I have known as my home for my whole life thus far.

With all these plans and schemes in mind, I turned on 10/28/95 on the way to class today. As the opening bars to "AC/DC Bag" pulsed through my little Saturn's radio, I remembered something that I had forgotten to reiterate to my advisor:

I'm going to see Phish!