It’s all over for now, baby blue…

6.30am in Baton Rouge. 6 hours behind London, still jet lagged, 2 mornings into a 14 long morning holiday with a stomach grumbling and groaning that it’s not used to so much good, rich seafood.  Awoken by a phone call, unknown caller, only I know who it is and deep down I know what they are going to say… and it’s not going to be good.

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Let me get you up to speed…  About 3 years ago, I’d just turned 26, on the surface happy and carefree, underneath a barely holding it together mess.  Poorly pursuing a career as a musician, without a Born To Run to my credit yet and unfortunately no sign of one on the horizon.  Things are starting to go well, I’ve finally found myself a girl that I think could be the one and I’ve just finished my first album. This is the album that’s going to break me, the key to the kingdom, the piece of the puzzle that will allow me to finally get that contract, that safety net, that palpable slice of reality that I can hold in my head, that says someone believes in me as a writer and that maybe I’m going to be alright at this.  The hook that I can hang all my hopes and dreams on.  I release the album, it’s certainly good but by no means great.  I feel the potential is certainly there though and if I ever get the chance to record a proper album with proper resources, the best of these songs and the rest that I have written since university will make for something great, something that takes a good shot at the stars.  But I’m proud of it still, and know that I’ve given myself a fighting chance, if I get it to the right people, of climbing the proverbial ladder/getting a foot in the door.

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For some unknown reason I just stop working…

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I get the album to my friends, they all love it or are kind enough not to give their opinions.  I revel in the attention but realize that they are my friends for a reason and shouldn’t get carried away.  I initially send the album out to a handful of reviewers, wait a few weeks, hear nothing, wait a few more weeks before finally receiving my first review.  I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk...  I eagerly open the website, scan down the page to the reviews section… It’s absolutely scathing, my gut aches, my heart sinks, I read the rest of the guy’s reviews.  His whole section is littered with cutting witticisms and snide comments, even the stuff he likes he slags off… I’m shocked and suddenly lethargic, I retreat into my shell.

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Now I’d be lieing if I said this was the reason I stopped doing any work with my music, stopped sending it out to people, stopped gigging properly, stopped telling every other person I met to buy my album but this would be a gross untruth and one that I kid myself about way too much for comfort.

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The truth is, I’m lazy, I’m complacent, I’m proud, I’m REALLY lazy and as stupid as it sounds, I’m scared… basically I’m a giant fool.  It’s not that I don’t think I’m good enough, I really do think that I am.  It’s just I don’t want anybody to think that I know that I am… as stupid as that sounds.  Modesty is a great quality to have but there are some occasions where it becomes a giant crutch that can stop you from fighting for things that are really worth fighting for.  Pride too, sometimes I think to want it enough is to look desperate, but really, who gives a shit!  The people who matter wont care and the others, well…  The things you want very often walk hand in hand with sacrifice, real sacrifice, yet I indulge myself in all the comforts that my fortunate life on earth has gifted me.

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So I stopped working.  A few empty gestures at gigs here or there, a few emails that never got followed up, but basically I stopped pursuing what I thought I wanted to do, the dream, the holy grail, the hope…

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As the year flew by, I found myself wasting days with carefree exuberance.  Even more quickly a horrible ache at the pit of my stomach started to set in.  The rot that reveals the truth, that maybe your not doing enough and that things are not quite right even though it’s easy to trick yourself into thinking they are.  That final moment before sleep, the moment you lie back, head on pillow, facing up to God in the ceiling, finally alone with yourself and the choices you made during the day.  The consequences of your actions finally catching up to you, the foolishness, the worthlessness.  That half hit moment of clarity where reality bears its crushing weight upon you, that moment before the release of sleep and dreams of how things could be.  You awaken to all the possiblities of the day, the promises you made to yourself before bed… today will be the day, to prove yourself, to be all you can be, to finally achieve something of worth.  All this before the day sweeps you along and provides reasons for you to delay making good on these promises… pretty soon you’re fighting against the tide, unable to resist the pull of the waves that carry you back to the safety of dry land and away from the endless possibilities of the sea.

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Slowly this rot got the better of me and I decided it was time to change, to stir things up a little.  Actually, that’s not completely true, it’s not so much change that was sought, but instead a pursuit of hope, the basic human need to dream or to believe that something good or better is waiting for us out there in the future.  For me, it was the need to know that I not yet wasted a life.  I know it seems silly, I was 27 for crying out loud!  To me though, it seemed like I was running out of time, like this pursuit of greatness that had promised so much had in fact yielded, well, next to nothing.  Like the train was about to leave the station and I was still at home wondering which shoes to wear…

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This fear, coupled with a slowly formed self-realisation, led me to explore other avenues I felt I could achieve something of substance down, in other words, I decided to hedge my bets.

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With somewhat reckless abandon, I quickly decided upon pursuing a career in one of the most difficult professions I could, one that was so far out of left field that I couldn’t possibly achieve it unless the stars aligned and the universe shifted.  Despite having shown little interest in the field before now (except being an avid ER watcher, before Clooney left), I decided the thing I most wanted to be was a doctor!  What the hell… no science background, no decent qualifications, no work experience, no chance.  (Why not just try becoming an astronaut and get it over with?)

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As months went by and the sheer size of this task dawned on me, the worthlessness finally got too much and I finally applied to become an officer in the Met Police.  This was the career I had kind of set out for myself when I first left school at 18,  long before I laid my head in the clouds and fancied a shot (albeit a piss poor one) at immortality.  Now I’m not saying that becoming police is a bad thing or was something that I was adverse to doing.  It’s just that at that moment I applied I knew I’d accepted my fate, I’d finally stepped in line, put away childish things and decided to do the right thing and grow up.  The police, the one place I knew would take me, that I could build a decent career in yet hopefully provide me with a sense of worth that I’d always been seeking.  To cut an already long story short, I successfully passed my interview and fitness test and patiently awaited my start date.  Finally, I could start earning a decent wage, move in with the girlfriend and start to settle down a little, free from the weight of expectation I had naively placed on myself to achieve something of note, something great.

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Back to the present. It’s now over a year since I passed my interview and fitness test for the police.  The country’s taken a beating, recessions hit hard and the new people in power leave us under no illusion about how bad it could all become. No-one is leaving their jobs, I’ve received a letter from the police saying how they have recruited too many new officers and there has been less staff turnover than usual.  They tell me it could be a while before a start but assure me that they are working on solutions to the problem.  I get on with my life, happy in the knowledge that at least I have this job waiting for me.  Soon it turns from being a safety net into a crutch, a hook I can hang all my worries and troubles on.  “Don’t worry, it will all be sorted out/made better when I join the police…”

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6.30am in Baton Rouge. Phone rings and I have a gut feeling it’s someone from the police with news. (They had promised to be in touch around this time.)  Something inside me knows that the news is not good, otherwise why would they call?  A woman at the end of the line, gentle London accent, with a weight on her voice says ‘sorry’.  There’s nothing they can do, they couldn’t come up with a solution, my name (along with 2000 other people’s) has been crossed off the list and I’d do best to try again in 3 years time…  It’s all over for now, baby blue…

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I try and think of ways of prolonging the inevitable, to at least put up a fight, I’ve been waiting nearly a year and a half!  But nothing comes to mind, just a reluctant acceptance of my fate.  I put the phone down, lie back in bed and stare up at God in the ceiling.  Suddenly my gut starts to ache and I try and reason with it.  But I can’t.

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I’m back at home, double knotting my shoe laces as the train doors start to beep at the station…