On January 1st I watched the annual Tournament of Roses Parade from Pasadena, California (I no longer have TV but I get live stream).
The gorgeous, balmy Southern California sunshine evoked a surge of incredibly satisfying memories of the place where I was raised and lived for thirty years. I can't recall a New Year's Day that wasn't mild and perfect.
I sat here sipping hot tea and shivering in my frigid mountaintop Tennessee shack, knowing that my warm California memories linger in the unattainable realms of the distant past. But it's reassuring to know that New Year's Day in California still looks the same as I always remembered it.
The first week of 2018 here in the Tennessee wilderness has been way below freezing. Last night was minus two (below zero). The wind chill was minus ten. At least.
I layered myself in a ridiculous cocoon of defense against the cold: a t shirt, a henley, two sweat shirts, and a quilted shirt jacket (or whatever they're called). two pairs of pants. Two pairs of socks. I'm still wearing them. I have more layers than a Viennese torte.
This isn't the first time I lived where winters are frigid. When I lived in the Missouri Ozarks there were days when the temp didn't get above zero. The windows and doors would freeze shut and I had to thaw them out with a hairdryer.
But I digress.
Did I ever mention that this is the dampest, coldest house I ever lived in? And my bedroom is the coldest room in the house. I had to close off the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom because it's coated in frost. I could store ice cream in there.
And as I laid in bed under five smothering blankets and two annoying cats, I reflected on the long journey that brought me from the paradise of California to the hellholes of everywhere else.
As my memory peeled back the layers of years, I realized that all the moves in my life were motivated by the common desperation of escape. Escape from bad situations. Escape from rotten climates. Most probably escape from myself.
My years in California were the golden ones - best of my life. Satisfyingly rich, fulfilling, rewarding......but also (later) wild, intensely destructive, and dangerous. There was a time when I thrived on danger and adventure.
My music career was soaring. I hobnobbed with the elite, met famous people, had a fantastic social life, and an even better love life (I'm not bragging, just saying...).
Yet - despite the golden surface - I had a lot of dark layers:
hidden demons, profound insecurities, enormous self-loathing. I masked it all with booze, occasional drugs, rampant promiscuity.
I was (and probably still am) my own worst enemy.
I was at ebb tide, the brink of oblivion, when I left California. For many reasons, I decided it was time to leave, to shed my wild past.....
.....but the brutal truth is, you can never really escape yourself....or your problems.
There's nothing more annoying than a long, self-serving blog post - and that's what this is turning out to be. I'm mostly talking to myself. And remembering. Thinking.
So, what exactly were my many "escapes"? Where did I go after I left California?
How the hell did I get from the excitement of Hollywood and to a frigid shack in the Tennessee wilderness?
Some might wonder. Others don't care.
I might continue this in my next post.
Okay, it's a stupid header photo - but it's not easy to come up with anything "layered"
Me, in Hollywood, age early 20's.
