Being in the Right Place at the Right Time

I almost stayed home last night. A historic music venue in the city I live in, is scheduled to cease operations at the end of this year. The band that both of my brothers are in was taking the stage at 9:00pm sharp. This was my last opportunity to see them play that stage together. I almost didn’t make it to stand beside my sister and play the supportive sibling role that has been our custom for many years. I came very close to letting a grudge get in the way of being where I belonged.

I started writing this blog several weeks ago. I have been posting an eclectic mix of musings, personal narratives, and poems. I have felt a need to prove to myself that I can do something outside of my job. That I can do it well and stick with it. While the blog has not consistently followed a theme or format, I wanted it to convey two things. The first being honesty. I feel that, as a whole, we do not express ourselves honestly to each other or even to ourselves. The second purpose was to honor people who have inspired me. In the past, I have only expressed this sort of sentiment after someone close to me dies. So, I want those who have made an impact on my life to know it now because none of us know when our time is up.

But sometimes we fall short of our intentions. I wrote a post that I felt was honest. But in my zeal to increase readership (a self-serving goal), I had neglected the more important purpose of this blog. I had not honored those who have inspired me. Instead, I thought of myself first and risked dishonoring the shared memories of my friends and family. And in fact, the particular post was not completely honest because it focused on negative aspects in our lives in a way that was out of balance with the overwhelming positive that had been our shared experience.

Before I had a chance to post it, one of my brothers read the draft. I think he said that it was great, but pointed out that I needed to be aware of the fact that when I am publicly sharing my experience that, by default, I am sharing the experience of friends and family members who may not want to be as public as me. But my ego heard him saying that I need to stop writing the blog. My ego heard him say that I was getting too much attention and he was jealous and I reacted as if that was what he really said. My reaction was about me and my self-doubt, not about the truth in his statement. And then I almost made it worse by holding a grudge.

But at 8:45pm last night, I let go of any resentment. My sister was already there at the side of the stage ready to cheer her brothers on. I had fifteen minutes to make the first song. I dropped what I was doing, raced around to clean myself up (not really a necessity at the this particular night club) and hopped in the car. I turned down the main road that heads to the joint only to see the flashing lights of the train gates mark the arrival of what is always the world's slowest locomotive. I quickly made a turn that goes a fair distance out of the way but is usually faster than waiting for the endless line of box cars to pass.

When I arrived there were no parking spaces remaining. I almost went home, but I was no longer under the influence of an injured ego so I knew that this moment was important. I remembered the metered spaces that were close by. Found one. I did a quick parallel park and then race walked to my destination. As I approached I could hear the steady beat of my oldest brother’s drumming. I could hear my other brother’s vocals. Singing. The same vocal chords that he had used to provide honest criticism, were now melodically ringing out through the walls of the dilapidated, but worthy building. He was singing in a voice that I know like it’s my own, but could never replicate. A voice that is familiar. A voice calling me to join him where I belong on a night like this: with my family.