I went to see Brad Paisley on Friday. I typically hate country music, but something about that show--seeing all of those hookers in jorts and boots and cowboy hats--- made me feel connected and alive. All of a sudden my Ipod is loaded with this stuff. I can't get enough. I remember being a little kid and my dad forcing us to listen to Hank Williams and Tammy Wynette on every road trip and family gathering imaginable (he used country in disciplinary form and so I have always associated it with punishment) and I hated it then, but since I've gotten older, I've associated it with simpler times and good memories. There's something nostalgic about that twangy, whiny crap, and sometimes, it makes me cry a little. In a good way.
I've always been dichtomous. I've probably talked about this before. Extroverted but having a few hermit tendencies. Adventurous but cautious. Country but hood. It's weird how that works. For some reason, I've always preferred the "hood" to the "country," but after this show on Friday, I discovered that I'm equal parts of both. Brad paisley opened with a mic stand that looked exactly like the boxes that are put around the mic stands at the Grand Ole Opry, and all of a sudden, I felt grounded. It felt like home.
I get homesick for this imaginary place a lot. I'm burned out on writing about it, so I won't, but I've only recently learned that you have to create your own sense of home to get that feeling of wholeness. For me, that means listening to some good blues and Tupac and calling a relative or friend with a southern drawl once a week.
The only down side to Paisley is that I haven't been able to FREAKING HEAR since Mardi Gras. Not sure if it was the weather or the fact that everyone was sick or the fact that I slept with a cat every night, but my ears have been stopped up for a week, and I haven't been able to hear very well since then. So, I essentially YELL IN EVERYONE'S FACE every time I attempt to respond to a question, which I'm sure is obnoxious, but it is what it is.
Mardi Gras 2010. Oh man. Best Mardi Gras OF MY LIFE. All 3 Haley sisters were together, which doesn't happen much these days, and despite our very different lifestyles, we all pulled it off and had fun. I saw my aunt denise, who I partially aspire to be- and i had all of those wonderful, safe, kid feelings when i laughed with her and we talked about what a smart ass kid i was once i developed some autonomy.
We somehow scored a balcony on Bourbon where we got to throw beads to the peasants. I felt empowered and excited. I rarely get those excited feelings of Christmas, but I've learned that they can be recreated when I'm around people I love and I'm doing something fun- like when my friend and I got on a 4-wheeler and chased horses around his lake during Thanksgiving. That. was. awesome!
I lost track of who I was for a while there, between the world's worst job, overwhelming bills that I could never seem to pay, running my own household, weeding through superficial relationships and trying to make my way through school. I forgot my roots and my sense of soul and my purpose. I got so lost in stress and anxiety and depression that I forgot how rich my life has been- how I've had amazing experiences and the privilege of growing up among great people.
At the concert the other night, Paisley kept showing images of lakes and people tubing and drinking beer and sitting on porches that looked like they came straight from Collierville Town Square, and it's like I really remembered where I came from. I remember being on R.T.'s boat with all of his hooligan friends and listening to Lil Wayne and being so sunburned that I couldn't sleep and all of us flying those toy helicopters around his lake house. I remembered going to the rodeo with Uncle Petey and Aunt Vera and my sisters and Hugh and Mark riding horses with us when we were kids. I remembered eating a stick of sugar cane and eating caramel apples in the fall. It's weird how certain things trigger memories. It's funny how that music triggered my history. There's this certain type of deoderant--- Teen Spirit, I think? That always makes me think of summer camp. Ha. weird!
Back to Mardi Gras- between the shrimp poboys and beignets and cigars and beads and haunted feeling of New Orleans and jazz and being with a huge group of sisters and cousins and dear friends, I felt so solid, and so alive, and I felt happy and complete, like if my life had ended right there, it all would've been awesome. I think that's what it's going to take to be sure of myself. It's remembering who I am and where I've come from- who my people are and where my passion is.
Brad Paisley got up to the mic the other night and welcomed the staple center with saying, "Hello Los Angeles, you bunch of spoiled brats!" and I was relieved to know he "got" it. I even got a little bit excited when he said he lived in Tennessee. There's a sense of simplicity about life in the South that is both charming and frustrating- something you never want to lose touch with but something that reminds you to keep the fire under you butt so you can accomplish something in life. People out here let the fame and glory and glitz of money get to them, and for a while, I felt really caught up in this cyclone of privilege. It took a little bit of country and a trip to Louisiana to bring me back home. I'm at home because I'm me.
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