Sometimes when I dance I imagine jumping rope. It makes me feel good about only being able to express my body through jumping. I’m not a good dancer, but I commit to putting on the show that is going on inside me. I look around sometimes and realize people have cleared my space.
Then I trip on my dance rope. I lose the Rhythm at the Sanctuary. I become aware of myself in relation to others. And I have to choose to pick the rope up and try again.
I do it because I remind myself no one is watching me. I’m not the show. I’m just the guy who will extend himself to be the person other people feel less foolish around.
“Man, that guy really tries to dance. Good for him. Be yourself.”
And I’m disgusted hearing that voice. So then I imagine that maybe they keep their distance because they do want to watch me. Maybe my unique dance makes them smile?
Sometimes Becky smiles at me when we dance and I get embarrassed. I’m afraid I’m ridiculous. Just a fun character. Goofy. But I’m okay with that. I love that smile.
I’m going to the Neoma concert tomorrow. William is coming and I’m hoping my dancing won’t embarrass him much. This concert has some significance for me.
When I first heard Neoma on indie 102.3 I was still in the highlight of my former drinking days. Which meant I spent time at a dive bar trying to write my 5th novel and promote it. I had a following on twitter and developed relationships with other writers to help coach them on what I knew. I read other writer’s books and took time to support them.
Then my book came out and I had a book signing at La Cour on South Broadway. I threw the book signing for myself. I felt like the most pathetic wannabe who ever lived. So I gave up on art and took a management position at my former company.
I listened to “Real” on repeat for hours while drinking myself to sleep. I was broken. I was in love with her voice and the depth of longing in the song. It made me brush up on my Spanish.
I loved the song so much because I always thought,
“Man, if someone felt that way about me, then I’d know I was something. Maybe my life wouldn’t be such a failure.”
I had to know about the artist. Becky was taking a music of the world course at MSU and needed to interview a musician for a paper. So I jumped at the opportunity to contact Neoma with a purpose.
I have a degree in Journalism. I get to write things about people. Our interview with Neoma was so much fun. She’s a real person. Vulnerable and capable of connecting with an audience. Becky got an A on her paper. She did the writing. I just acted as an advisor. I was very proud of Becky.
And I thought to myself back then, God I hope Neoma gets huge. Then I could say I was a fan well before everyone else hopped on the bandwagon. That would at least prove that I knew talent.
Today I’m working as a band manager for a group of guys I believe are star caliber. Maybe not superstars…but well known and appreciated by a large loyal audience.
Then there’s my son. I think he has a great chance of achieving that goal, but I think he also has a shot at the biggest stage. No matter what, I’m proud. He’s an amazing young man and keeps me trying hard.
So when I go to the Neoma concert I hope it’s such a sellout there’s no way she'll see my old ass dancing like a fool.
But if it’s not a sellout I’ll dance my hardest. It’s the least the audience can give to someone who bleeds for them on stage for them.
My new favorite song of her’s: Don’t Call Me Again:
It’s a sort of theme song.
Buy the book I wrote listening to Neoma on repeat, here:
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