It’s been six and a half months since I set out on a journey that carried me across four continents, 29 countries and literally around the entire globe. 96 shows later, the All Things Bright and Beautiful tour, the most recent chapter in the Owl City story, has come to a close.
And now here I sit alone in my living room, exactly the way I left it, like a veteran home from the war. The bus is gone, the gear is in storage, I don’t have to ask my tour manager where the green room is or what time soundcheck is or whether I’m going to get a shower tonight or not. I don’t have to search the corners of the room for outlets, I don’t have to live out of a suitcase anymore.
For the moment, I’m not sure what to do with myself. There’s always a transitional handful of days that inevitably follow the end of a long journey, and when it clocks in at over half a year, it’s a big change of gears. It’s like a tall glass of jet lag with a slice of bittersweet lemon.
It’s the end of an era.
But soon I find myself sitting around a table in a noisy restaurant with friends and family who ask me how the tour went, what I did, what I saw, how I felt, and what the whole thing was like. I watch the anticipation/expectation spread across their faces and it’s then that I feel a little disappointing because the life of a tourist is rarely as glamorous as it seems, which means life on tour doesn’t really make for five-star storytelling. So I usually just sigh and smile and order another lemonade and say, “Oh, it was a lot of time driving and waiting in airports.”
Life on tour is not the kind of thing one can really talk about because you really have to be there. It’s a difficult thing to describe and few people understand it themselves, let alone possess the patience or resolve to be understanding of it. I’ve learned this the hard way.
The thing I think I miss the most when I return home after a long journey is the soothing lull and rumble of bus tires on asphalt directly underneath me. I miss the muffled hum of the generator and the way the engine sometimes coughs as it caries me hundreds upon hundreds of miles through the night. I’ll have to figure out how to sleep in a bedroom again.
I miss the frivolous banter and the familiar voices in the green room or on the other end of my in-ears. I miss the way the backstage rooms shudder and shake and things rattle and move while Jackson is EQing bass tracks in the house. I miss not knowing where we are or where we’re going or where the next show is, but loving the ride because in so many ways, life is about the journey and not the destination. I miss the new faces and the energy in the audience and the spirit in the room so thick you could cut it with a knife. I miss the sparkle and shimmer and the dull roar of the opening band playing downstairs and the thunderous applause after each song. I miss the butterflies, the dull ache of nervousness before the intro. I miss the camaraderie and the companionship and the mutual support, the jokes, the chatter and the lightheartedness. I miss knowing there’s a job to be done and taking it seriously, viewing the appointed task as something you get to do rather than something you have to do.
Life on the road is a whirlwind, a wild roller coaster with all kinds of unexpected twists and turns and tunnels and sudden drops, but it’s such a magical, extraordinary thing to experience that, given the chance, I wouldn’t choose anything else.
Endless love and thanks to my incredible band and crew for the past six months of memories I will cherish forever. I’d be nowhere without them.
And infinite acknowledgment and appreciation to each individual person who bought a ticket, came to a show, fought traffic to find the venue, listened to me sing for 95 minutes, applauded before the encore, bought a record, handed me a letter, brought cookies for the crew, waited outside the bus, asked for photos, and a million other gracious acts that made my heart melt over the past six months around the globe.
Silent gratitude is no use to anyone so I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Two years ago, if you told me, “Adam, you can quit your lackluster job, you can stop going to school for nothing and focus 100% of your time and energy on your true passion in life, you can drop everything and start writing songs, recording albums, playing shows, making friends, and ultimately devote yourself to the ONE thing in this world you’ve ever been good at…”
I would’ve never believed you, but here I am, and I don’t deserve an ounce of the grace I’ve been given.
And so for giving an undeserving shy boy from nowhere a shot at reaching out and taking hold of the dream he never thought was reachable, I thank you. Thank you with every fiber of my being.
Glory to God.
It feels good to be home.
This entry was posted on Monday, November 21st, 2011 at 4:36
Huaaaa.. love his post.
Really really love.
Love every word in this post.
That was so incredible to hear his thanks not only to his friends, family and crew. But also to his fans! (ya iyalah pastinya).
Kurang humble apa coba ini orang.
Shy boy from nowhere....
And he still shy until now. Kyaaaaaa....
Taun depan mesti nonton pokonya.
Harus! harus! harus!
It's a must!
See you next year in Indonesia, Adam! :)
