Happier

When I told my parents I was moving to San Francisco, they weren't happy. I believe my mother did a laugh/cry and told me she had to go. She hung up the phone and then called her mother and cried. Or so I hear. My father, on the other hand, borderline enraged, repeated the same sentence eight or nine times: "I wish you would have discussed this with me first..."

Honestly, I didn't see the point in discussing my decision to move to the other side of the country with my parents. I knew what their response would be: "California is too far away." And it is. For them. For me, it's an annoying flight, but it's a hell of a lot closer to their house than Australia. And I was 25. I had been living in my very own apartment for two years. I had been successfully paying my own bills. And I had paid back my "start-up" loan from Dad a couple of years ago. I was independent, and dare I say it, grown-up.

I just wasn't entirely happy. And I wanted to do something about it. My efforts at describing this feeling to my parents were inadequate. I HAD to get out of DC. I just couldn't BE there anymore. The place was driving me crazy. Instead of allaying their concerns, my rationale only spurred extensive questioning. Why are you doing this? This doesn't sound like you. Is everything OK? What aren't you telling me? I thought you loved DC? Are you depressed? Are you in some sort of trouble?

I wasn't in trouble in the traditional sense. I just knew that tomorrow I was going to wake up, be 45, live in DC, consult for the government, and hate my life. And THAT was troubling. Growing up, I never saw myself living in Philadelphia, or DC, or even New York after graduating from high school. Before I ever even considered the consequences of adulthood, I wanted "to go really far away." Whatever that meant. I remember sitting in the car with Mom and telling her that one day. I must have been seven. Oh, my poor mother.

So really, the fault of the arguments was mine. How could I reason with either of my parents using the simplistic logic of needing "to go really far away"? My parents have both spent their entire lives in the Philadelphia area. When they got married they moved three miles from the houses in which they grew up. And after I was born, they moved 30 miles ALL THE WAY to the OTHER SIDE of Philly. They have always read the Philadelphia Inquirer. They have always been able to purchase soft pretzels on the corner. They have never gone a summer without water-ice. Or a New Year's Day without The Mummers. Not to mention scrapple for breakfast on Sundays. No one gives them funny looks when they say, "I'll have a glaaaass of wooder," or "Yeah, my crazy doorder lives in California." (Well, they do often get a crazy look from the latter. But it has nothing to do with the pronunciation of the word, "daughter.")

Where am I going with all of this?

Right. So tonight I went to see Guster at The Fillmore. They played on the very same stage that launched the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane. Where Bob Dylan and Santana and Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Otis Redding, and I could go on but you really just gotta go and look at all of the posters on the wall played. All the time. Amazing, really. Of course, Mom and Dad will tell me that American Bandstand was taped in Philadelphia, San Francisco isn't the only place with music history. And that's great and all, Go Bandstand, Go Philly. But, seriously - The Fillmore. The Fillmore!!!! It was awesome to just be there. To smell and hear history and the future. To feel excitement.

As for Guster, I love love love that band. Especially live. In fact, I don't think I loved them until I saw them live. I love how simple some of their songs are. And yet how poignant. One of my favorites is Happier, and I'm so glad they played it last night. Because today I was kind of lonely. A little tired and "really far away" and wondering what to do with myself all afternoon. I went to the gym, and to yoga, but I was kind of going through the motions more than actively enjoying my activities. It took a night of live music and the magic of The Fillmore to remind me that I really am Happier in San Francisco. Even on a less than perfect day, I am Happier to no longer waste every moment of my Saturdays and my Sundays. To no longer be wasted from the boredom. To have torn it apart. To have started again.

I don't know if Mom and Dad will ever truly get why I did it. But at least they are a little Happier about it now, too. (Will you guys PLEASE book your tickets already?)

"So go on If this will make you happier It got you this far Do what you have to..."