It is after three AM and I am exhausted after spending nearly 7 hours in the recording studio with my band. Tonight was very fruitful, after discovering that my favorite singer/songwriter/person-I-dont-know lead a writing workshop at a conference in Sanibel Island last year. It would have been a dream to go, but since I didn’t know it went on, couldnt afford to go to Florida, and probably had work or school, I decided to be productive.
Really though, the thought of John Samson hearing my songs, and reading my writing, makes me want to keel over and faint. He is a genius, and I hope that by the time I turn 40 like he is, I can be even a fraction as talented, but I swear if i keep experiencing and learning and being open, I’ll just know more.
It’s strange for me to admire someone so much that I dont know, especially a rock star, but he lives the life I always wanted — running a publishing house and playing with his band. I read interviews, and our creative processes are similar. It’s just nice to know someone can be successful and write the same way, but on a different scale. If only I could figure out how to achieve those things in my own life.
There’s something about his stories and his music that make them not even on the same level as anything else. It’s like they’ve perfectly captured the human experience, at least what I have learned of it in my 21 years. It’s like all the things that I always noticed that no one mentioned are there and important and gigantic, even if they are only a whisper or a piece of moldy linoleum on the kitchen floor. It’s cheesey to say but his songs really changed my perspective on the life I lead and the art that I make.
I wish there was just a way to let him know, but how do you let a stranger know that the things they’ve written mean so much? You don’t. Whenever someone makes something that means that much to me, I feel this strong undying urge to tell them, because if someone said that to me, it would mean more than the world. I mean, that’s really all we have as people here, all in it together; the meaningful things a stranger says but never knows, the way that person looks at you when you pass them on the subway, the last thoughts you have before you fall asleep.
Not too long ago I stood 5 feet away from him and hung on every single word like it was an outstretched hand, just wishing and praying that my adult life panned out into something as meaningful for someone else.