Los Angeles, CA – “Portrait of a Day” – Santa Monica Pier, CA – October 16, 1999

Drive, Drive, Drive.
Eat, Eat, Eat.
Sleep, Sleep. Play, Play.
Drive, Drive, Drive.

Once you get south of San Francisco, California truly transforms into a desert. The land no longer flows or sways; instead, it crumbles and stammers into the sea which devours it with smashing, white, ravenous teeth. We drive down the falling coastline, singing along to Bob Marley. We belt the words we know, and the rest turns into joyful gargles:

“One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright…
Lehmenpassalltheredirty remarks, One Love…”

It’s another sunny day spent inside the van. I feel like a mouse stuck in its hole. It’s broiling hot, so the AC goes on. Then it’s glacially cold, so the AC goes off. With hardly any traffic, we make it to Santa Monica well ahead of time. Brian grabs his rollerblades, Kenny heads out for sushi, and the Chrises and I take a stroll down the infamous Santa Monica pier.

We weave through crowds of tourists — in and out of pockets of bubbles, and busker’s music. They strum barely recognizable covers of Jimmy Buffett and Tom Petty on old rusty strings and litter their yawning cases with spare change to entice similar company. We stop to watch an impressive balancing act—a small, muscular Asian man doing a handstand on his equally muscular girlfriend’s shoulders. They’ve got an old-school ghetto blaster that’s playing 80’s jazzercise music. They end each pose with a theatrical flourish and avian flapping. Toward the end of the pier, young men are fishing. Their pants sit low to reveal the tops of their underwear and their flat-brimmed baseball hats perch well above their brows as if floating by some magic.

Tonight, I’m opening solo for Venice. Kevin Nealon, the actor/comedian, is here and reminds me he was at my first solo gig in Telluride for the ’96 Bluegrass Festival. I recall that night, how I’d sat on a wobbly stool and played my little half-baked tunes with a voice that came from the most frightened part of my body. Kevin remembered it as great, which I tell him is kind of him to say.

Tonight when I take the stage, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open my mouth. What comes out is a voice that is wiser, bigger, and taller than the one I had back in 1996’s Telluride. It’s the first time I’ve recognized how much the road has grown me. It has broken me, built me back up, and made me stronger than I thought I ever could be.

I am grateful I am willing to do hard things. I am grateful for the road.