Fare Thee Well
June 12, 2003: I was sitting at a picnic table in Saratoga Springs, strumming my guitar and "singing." (I use quotes because I didn't know how to sing at the time). I was terrified and could barely keep my fingers from shaking as they attempted to form chords on the fret board. In between singing, I took deep breaths in feeble attempts to calm my nerves.
A few weeks previous to that evening, I passed through a set of "ragged, wooden double doors,"* walked the length of a cramped hallway, and ascended the steps of the legendary Caffe Lena for the first time.
I had read about the Caffe in a newspaper article that I probably should have missed. Typically, you see, we didn't get the Schenectady Gazette. For some reason, one was delivered to my dad's house, where I lived, and was sitting on the dining room table. One of the middle sections was slightly out of sync with the rest of the paper and part of the headline was visible: Open Mic.
Around that time, I had just started writing my first real song and I had every intention of seeking out a place to play it in front of people. I knew such places existed, but had never ever been to one before and I didn't know where too look for one. Caffe Lena seemed to find me.
The article described Caffe Lena's open mic as a place where seasoned performers tried out new songs and where new musicians came to play for a welcoming and appreciative audience. There was a picture of the brick wall behind the stage and a microphone stand set up under the spot lights. It seemed like the type of place that I was hoping to find.
Having never played for anyone other than close friends and family, I didn't know if I was passable as a musician. Having never been to an open mic, I didn't know if I would fit in. Would people dislike me because I don't know very much about music theory? Would I get laughed at because I'm not a very good singer? Is my song awful?
The biggest fear that I had, however, was that I just wasn't cool enough to hang out with musicians. And that's the truth.
I decided not to bring my guitar to Caffe Lena the first time I went. I figured that I would be nervous enough going to a new place with lots of new people and I needed to scope it out before I played. You see, I have a little bit of a social anxiety thing going on that was much worse back then and I was terrified of meeting new people.
I remember walking past the Caffe more than once before I finally built up the courage to go in.
As I slowly walked up the darkened staircase, I saw a man sitting at a little table right at the top of the stairs. I'll never forget that moment. He had curly, jet black hair and wore a black beret. His wire-rimmed glasses, goatee, and black clothing rounded out the beatnik look. He smiled a gentle smile and gave me the peace sign. And I thought, "Okay. This place is gonna be cool."
I stayed to the end, watching a variety of performers play original music, old songs, and new songs. Poets read spoken word. Some performers were incredible, with crystal clear voices and practiced playing. Some made mistakes and joked about it. Others were awkward. One guy played a song that mentioned Gloversville, where my girlfriend at the time lived. The song was about where his pants were made. It was hilarious, but made an excellent point about America and how many things are no longer made in this country.
When the lights came on at the end of the night, the man who sang about his pants came around with a plate of cookies and offered one to anyone who had stayed all the way to the end. I took one and started to leave. The doorman, who had also played that night, struck up a conversation with me, asking if I played. He said he could tell that I probably had some songs to play. I told him that I did and explained that my guitar happened to be the exact same model of the one he had played that night. It was an instrumental (Ha! See what I did there?) moment in getting me to where I am today. With the social anxiety, I really struggled in social situations, not ever really knowing what to say. Since we had the same guitar, which happened to be a somewhat unique model, I had something to talk about that we both related to. A bond formed and I felt that I could bring my guitar and play my songs and people would appreciate that.
The doorman told me he was looking forward to hearing me play next week. I didn't go the next week. Or the week after. I just didn't feel like I was ready. On June 12, I was ready... ish...
There's a video somewhere of my first performance ever. I played "Crayons," which is the first real song that I wrote and an early version of "Saving the World," which is the second real song that I wrote. I was so nervous that I played them faster than they are supposed to be played. The following week, I played the same two songs, except that I switched the order and played them at the right tempos.
Over the following 11 years, I developed as a songwriter, guitar player, and performer. More importantly, however, is that I developed as a person/human/thing. I became very comfortable being in social situations, which -- if you had asked me back then -- didn't seem like something that was going to be possible. I sort of discovered,if you will, myself -- and myself turned out to be a songwriter. I became "cool" in the eyes of some, but more importantly, I became comfortable with being "not cool" in my own eyes. Without those 11 years of open mics at Caffe Lena, I don't know who I would be today.
I attended most of the Thursday open mics at Caffe Lena over the years. I got to know the different hosts very well and when one of them needed to relinquish their hosting duties, I was asked to fill in.
I was the "substitute" host for a period of time before being asked to become a full-time host. It was quite an honor and a privilege to be asked and I took great pride in being one of the main faces of Caffe Lena's open mic. As host, I was the center of attention, which further boosted my confidence being around people.
In the eleven years that I was a part of Caffe Lena's open mic, my personal life took some twists and turns. I finished college with a masters degree. I failed to find fulfillment in my work field. I took a few different jobs that I didn't love, but would allow me the time I needed outside of work to continue to be a songwriter. I got married. I bought a house. I got divorced. I sold the house.
People at the open mic came and went. Familiar faces attended less and less. New folks came along and some stuck around. Things change. We know that.
This past year was a rather difficult one. I got very sick with a stomach issue, for lack of a better term, and the treatment involved cutting back on three major things in my life: Pain killers, alcohol, and stress. Two of the three were a direct result of that last one.
In order to cut back on stress, I desperately needed to leave my job. It was literally killing me.
I started my new job, which shall remain unnamed for confidentiality purposes, two weeks ago. So far, things are much less stressful. Even though, I'm learning new things, the new things aren't nearly as confrontational as the every day things in my previous job. Tasks are less ambiguous. Supervisors are less intense. This is just what I needed.
The shift, however, that I was hired for is unfortunate. Once training is completed, and I start my regular shift, I'll be working Thursday nights, which means I will not be able to attend Caffe Lena's open mic.
A week ago I sent an email to the other hosts, letting them know that I will be resigning my post as host... (host post?) before my next scheduled night. It was not an easy email to write, much like this blog is not an easy blog to write.
There is no telling when I'll be back. I suppose I can take a Thursday night off, once I pass probation, and stop in to say "hi" and play some songs. There's also a chance that I can switch to a different shift, but there is no guarantee as to when that option will become available.
It's really hard to say "good-bye." It's also really hard to end a blog post or an email that is about saying "good-bye."
I hope to attend a few more open mic nights at Caffe Lena before I start my night shift. I'm certain that the last one will be emotional and I'll probably end up in the back room bawling my eyes out. The truth is, I don't wanna leave.
I did some research to see if there are any other open mics that fall on my nights off. There are. I'm somewhat interested in checking them out. Sometimes, a change in scenery is good. It's a bittersweet sort of thing. I'm sure I'll meet new people and make new friends. Perhaps, I'll even find some new inspiration.
*Gary Moon, an incredible local song-writer, penned the description of Caffe Lena's doors in a song about the Caffe Lena. "A Thousand Dreams Call it Home" is available on his album Orion via this link: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/garymoon
A few weeks previous to that evening, I passed through a set of "ragged, wooden double doors,"* walked the length of a cramped hallway, and ascended the steps of the legendary Caffe Lena for the first time.
I had read about the Caffe in a newspaper article that I probably should have missed. Typically, you see, we didn't get the Schenectady Gazette. For some reason, one was delivered to my dad's house, where I lived, and was sitting on the dining room table. One of the middle sections was slightly out of sync with the rest of the paper and part of the headline was visible: Open Mic.
Around that time, I had just started writing my first real song and I had every intention of seeking out a place to play it in front of people. I knew such places existed, but had never ever been to one before and I didn't know where too look for one. Caffe Lena seemed to find me.
The article described Caffe Lena's open mic as a place where seasoned performers tried out new songs and where new musicians came to play for a welcoming and appreciative audience. There was a picture of the brick wall behind the stage and a microphone stand set up under the spot lights. It seemed like the type of place that I was hoping to find.
Having never played for anyone other than close friends and family, I didn't know if I was passable as a musician. Having never been to an open mic, I didn't know if I would fit in. Would people dislike me because I don't know very much about music theory? Would I get laughed at because I'm not a very good singer? Is my song awful?
The biggest fear that I had, however, was that I just wasn't cool enough to hang out with musicians. And that's the truth.
I decided not to bring my guitar to Caffe Lena the first time I went. I figured that I would be nervous enough going to a new place with lots of new people and I needed to scope it out before I played. You see, I have a little bit of a social anxiety thing going on that was much worse back then and I was terrified of meeting new people.
I remember walking past the Caffe more than once before I finally built up the courage to go in.
As I slowly walked up the darkened staircase, I saw a man sitting at a little table right at the top of the stairs. I'll never forget that moment. He had curly, jet black hair and wore a black beret. His wire-rimmed glasses, goatee, and black clothing rounded out the beatnik look. He smiled a gentle smile and gave me the peace sign. And I thought, "Okay. This place is gonna be cool."
I stayed to the end, watching a variety of performers play original music, old songs, and new songs. Poets read spoken word. Some performers were incredible, with crystal clear voices and practiced playing. Some made mistakes and joked about it. Others were awkward. One guy played a song that mentioned Gloversville, where my girlfriend at the time lived. The song was about where his pants were made. It was hilarious, but made an excellent point about America and how many things are no longer made in this country.
When the lights came on at the end of the night, the man who sang about his pants came around with a plate of cookies and offered one to anyone who had stayed all the way to the end. I took one and started to leave. The doorman, who had also played that night, struck up a conversation with me, asking if I played. He said he could tell that I probably had some songs to play. I told him that I did and explained that my guitar happened to be the exact same model of the one he had played that night. It was an instrumental (Ha! See what I did there?) moment in getting me to where I am today. With the social anxiety, I really struggled in social situations, not ever really knowing what to say. Since we had the same guitar, which happened to be a somewhat unique model, I had something to talk about that we both related to. A bond formed and I felt that I could bring my guitar and play my songs and people would appreciate that.
The doorman told me he was looking forward to hearing me play next week. I didn't go the next week. Or the week after. I just didn't feel like I was ready. On June 12, I was ready... ish...
There's a video somewhere of my first performance ever. I played "Crayons," which is the first real song that I wrote and an early version of "Saving the World," which is the second real song that I wrote. I was so nervous that I played them faster than they are supposed to be played. The following week, I played the same two songs, except that I switched the order and played them at the right tempos.
Over the following 11 years, I developed as a songwriter, guitar player, and performer. More importantly, however, is that I developed as a person/human/thing. I became very comfortable being in social situations, which -- if you had asked me back then -- didn't seem like something that was going to be possible. I sort of discovered,if you will, myself -- and myself turned out to be a songwriter. I became "cool" in the eyes of some, but more importantly, I became comfortable with being "not cool" in my own eyes. Without those 11 years of open mics at Caffe Lena, I don't know who I would be today.
I attended most of the Thursday open mics at Caffe Lena over the years. I got to know the different hosts very well and when one of them needed to relinquish their hosting duties, I was asked to fill in.
I was the "substitute" host for a period of time before being asked to become a full-time host. It was quite an honor and a privilege to be asked and I took great pride in being one of the main faces of Caffe Lena's open mic. As host, I was the center of attention, which further boosted my confidence being around people.
In the eleven years that I was a part of Caffe Lena's open mic, my personal life took some twists and turns. I finished college with a masters degree. I failed to find fulfillment in my work field. I took a few different jobs that I didn't love, but would allow me the time I needed outside of work to continue to be a songwriter. I got married. I bought a house. I got divorced. I sold the house.
People at the open mic came and went. Familiar faces attended less and less. New folks came along and some stuck around. Things change. We know that.
This past year was a rather difficult one. I got very sick with a stomach issue, for lack of a better term, and the treatment involved cutting back on three major things in my life: Pain killers, alcohol, and stress. Two of the three were a direct result of that last one.
In order to cut back on stress, I desperately needed to leave my job. It was literally killing me.
I started my new job, which shall remain unnamed for confidentiality purposes, two weeks ago. So far, things are much less stressful. Even though, I'm learning new things, the new things aren't nearly as confrontational as the every day things in my previous job. Tasks are less ambiguous. Supervisors are less intense. This is just what I needed.
The shift, however, that I was hired for is unfortunate. Once training is completed, and I start my regular shift, I'll be working Thursday nights, which means I will not be able to attend Caffe Lena's open mic.
A week ago I sent an email to the other hosts, letting them know that I will be resigning my post as host... (host post?) before my next scheduled night. It was not an easy email to write, much like this blog is not an easy blog to write.
There is no telling when I'll be back. I suppose I can take a Thursday night off, once I pass probation, and stop in to say "hi" and play some songs. There's also a chance that I can switch to a different shift, but there is no guarantee as to when that option will become available.
It's really hard to say "good-bye." It's also really hard to end a blog post or an email that is about saying "good-bye."
I hope to attend a few more open mic nights at Caffe Lena before I start my night shift. I'm certain that the last one will be emotional and I'll probably end up in the back room bawling my eyes out. The truth is, I don't wanna leave.
I did some research to see if there are any other open mics that fall on my nights off. There are. I'm somewhat interested in checking them out. Sometimes, a change in scenery is good. It's a bittersweet sort of thing. I'm sure I'll meet new people and make new friends. Perhaps, I'll even find some new inspiration.
*Gary Moon, an incredible local song-writer, penned the description of Caffe Lena's doors in a song about the Caffe Lena. "A Thousand Dreams Call it Home" is available on his album Orion via this link: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/garymoon