For a couple of years I have been unhappy. It's a combination of things at the root of it. But one of my main reasons for discontent is the feeling that I am working hard writing songs but not writing much that I really love. This is magnified by the fact that I have gone through a tough divorce, cancer, falling in love like a kid and a big heartbreak. Seems like my world should have been fertile ground for some songs that were important to me but I just haven't been able to sift through it all like I need to.
I think from the moment I left the laidback way of making music in Muscle Shoals and tried to integrate into the "you write from 10-4 everyday" world of songwriting on Music Row 7 years ago I have struggled a bit. It has made for a disingenuous kind of song for me. I am so jealous of writers who just turn it on and off and don't seem to wallow in the uncertainty of what we do.
A month ago, after two years on the market, I finally sold my house. It is too big and I have never felt at home in it. Living in it was supposed to be quick and temporary after my divorce but we were victims of the economy and the housing downturn. I have felt like I was a guest in someone else's place all this time.
And so: the next issue. My parents are now 86 and 81 and in poor health. They still live in the Shoals. The simplest tasks are too difficult for them now and they anguish until I or someone can get by to help them. My first thought was that I would buy a new place somewhere between Nashville and Muscle Shoals and commute both places. I found places I liked in Spring Hill, Tn. and it's less than an hour and a half back home from there. I could drive down and back in an evening after work if they needed me.
But the reality of living 35 miles from my job and making a 70 mile a day roundtrip commute began to sound pretty awful. Traffic, gas prices, wasted hours of my life....
Out of the clear blue I was contacted by my friend Dr. Bob Garfrerick who heads the Entertainment Industry department at the University of North Alabama back home to see if I might consider a 1 year position teaching audio and midi classes with them. It suddenly sounded interesting. I saw an opportunity to get back to a more casual environment for my songwriting and a chance to be there for my aging folks. I'd still be just 2 hours away from Nashville so I could drive up a couple of days a week just like I did for 25 years when I was writing songs I liked a little better. It might be a great little break from the grind and the right decision for the next year of my life. I must say, I miss that river there, too. I have a little boat I still keep down there and I have wished I could be on it a whole lot more.
I imagined myself in a little bungalow that was old but cool- a place a writer should live. I thought it should be quirky and have lots of stories milling around in it and my kooky art and music things should look just right in it. It's nice to know all about a town so you know things like where those houses might be.
Two friends sent me a picture of the same little stone cottage that was for sale when they heard I was moving back. The realtor I had contacted had already sent me pictures of the same place. When I went on my first house shopping trip it was my first stop.
I really liked it but it was the first place I looked at and I was not ready to make an offer without seeing a few houses. It sold 3 days after I looked at it.
Two weeks later I heard the contract had fallen through and I arranged to go back for a 2nd viewing. By now I had kind of imagined myself living there. It had a big back yard with a garden but I have wanted some blueberry bushes since we had some years ago and I got spoiled with fresh blueberries. I imagined in my mind exactly where the bushes would go and how I would arrange everything to suit me inside and outside the place.
When I got there for the 2nd viewing the owners had planted two blueberry bushes in the part of the yard I had imagined mine would be. I hadn't said anything to anyone.
There are times when the universe whispers to you. And there are time when it grabs you by the hand and points to where you are supposed to be. I'm really looking forward to a big adventure for the next year writing soul songs in Muscle Shoals, looking in often on my folks, teaching college students what 35 years of real world experience has taught me, bobbing around on the Tennessee River now and then and eating blueberries. Who knows how long a year might last?
