In any event, I'm fine not really fitting. I used to worry too much about it. Damn, did I waste loads of hours from the ages of 12-30 worrying about fitting in. Somewhere lately I decided that query was about as useful as knowing if Brad and Angelina are having problems. Or watching the evening news. Useless time fillers. Thank you to all of you who have written that you hear that I'll fit in Nashville. I appreciate that. I'm not sure I get it, but I'll accept it. I think I'll fit fine in East Nashville. And I think its an interesting place to figure some shit out. At the very least, it will be a good adventure and I'm always up for adventure.
Last night I was hanging out on the Lower East Side on Ludlow Street. I got here to NYC in 1991. I remember hanging out at Max Fish and the Pink Pony back then when Ludlow Street was mostly a wasteland and certainly there was nothing on Rivington except for The Hat, the worst Mexican food, but open late and was always packed. I did "Shakespeare In The Parking Lot" for 2 years with a little off off theater company called Expanded Arts (wonder whatever happened to the Artistic Director Jennifer, who cast me for the National Shakespeare Company's national tour of 'Much Ado' and 'Richard III' and then invited me into the Expanded Arts family, which I loved...). We rehearsed down on Ludlow, past Delancey. We drank late into the wee hours mostly at Motor City. Did someone really stand on one of the tables there and publicly (drunkenly) proclaim his love for me right before I got married? Or was that a dream I had? Did Vinnie and I really close down that bar night after night after night? Did we run lines over pints in the afternoon, Ben the bartender an actor as well? Its still there. I parked my Jersey-plated van there last night on that street, now chock-full of hip clubs and expensive restaurants and chic boutiques noted in glossy, fancy-smelling magazines. I was there to hang and swap songs with my favorite crew--Abbie and Anthony and AJ and Pete and Phil...the NYC folk contingent, who I usually see at festivals, late night campfires, conferences, or Jack Hardy's Monday night hang. We did a "show" of sorts at Googie's Lounge, above The Living Room, Abbie's "Slide Sessions" turned into an urban campfire. Then we drank too-expensive wines and Peroni's at a joint down the block, trying to have meaningful conversations over the din of Thursday night shouting. I realized last night that might be my last real hang night on the LES while I can still claim a bed of my own nearby to crawl into.
Or maybe not. Maybe there's no place to fit in and that's the point. Maybe each place is just a fitting in for a time, to grow into the shoes or the guitar or the stage or the job or the relationship. And maybe you just outgrow it and leave and find someplace else that feels like a suit that's a few sizes too big and you sit in that suit until your skin expands, your heart expands, into it, until that suit fits comfy like a cashmere glove. I'm not sure any suits gonna fit me for good. I might just keep growing out of these things every few years. Who knows. Maybe Paris will fit better next year. Or The Appalachian Trail for a 6 month trial fitting. Or maybe I'll finally give Brooklyn another shot.
In any event, I would love to impart this to Lexie, my 9 year old niece, who is about to enter that stage of caring about fitting in. That someday you will look back and be not only glad you were awkward and standing on the outside sometimes, but you will be grateful for it. I'm certainly glad that in my worst year of not fitting in (7th grade), my mother encouraged me to sit at the piano with her and sing at the top of my lungs "I Made It Through The Rain" by Barry Mannilow and believe me, I'm admitting that with gusto now, as uncool as it was, my mother was brilliant and Barry was just the perfect thing for that scared 13 year old.
In fact, excuse me while I go put on some "Mandy"....