Heard my son listening to Stu Larsen’s music tonight in his room. Showing it to a friend.
I got to thinking about Stu’s life. It’s amazing. I’m jealous of him 100%. He did what he wanted. He went for it. He took off and fucking went. He puts, Where should I head off tomorrow? on social media. Because he doesn’t know where he’s going next!
I was supposed to have that life.
Ever since I was a late teen, I realized I wanted a gypsy life. I didn’t want the American Dream. That suffocates me! And it’s been for 26 years.
I married an alcoholic who had nothing compatible with me. Not even music. He made me feel guilty for liking ANYTHING I liked too much. Like the movie “Into The Wild”.
I went crazy after watching that movie years ago. I smiled all the way through it. (Except the end) I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I could’t get it out of my mind. And my husband hated me for that.
I sat and stayed sober for him all these years. I was the driver. Automatically. Every time. I wasn’t allowed to party. I wasn’t allowed to live. If I was having too much fun, he wanted to leave. And me, afraid of losing the only man I could get with my aesthetically handicapped looks, I did everything he said. For 26 years. (24 married)
Now we’re on the brink of divorce. He goes out on dates. I sit here. Because I’m ugly and no one wants me. No one ever did. Including my husband, who told me in so many ways over the years that I was ugly. Even on our wedding day.
So I thought of Stu’s life and I thought of my own. I sit here everyday, lifting my phone for something to occupy myself with because depression took all the stupid stuff I used to entertain my mundane, monotonous American Dream days with all these years. Except music. But almost. My Martin sits here unplayed now. My callouses gone, my nails grown out.
I call this my couch of doom. It’s where I spend all my time. Wasting day after day, year after year on this couch while everyone else lives their lives.
I’m shy. I’m awkward. I’m ugly. No one wants to know me. Not even me anymore.
I had hopes to fulfill those dreams somehow.
My “Big Nothing” is starting, as predicted years ago. (Consisting of me being divorced, him moving on, kids moving out, me sitting alone in a tiny slum apartment, every day and year, waiting for the kids to visit, till one day I die and the apartment next door smells something......)
It’s here and all I want is to be out in the world. But not by myself. I want a companion. (Not a boyfriend, I know no one wants me.) I want someone to point to the sunsets with. Someone to talk deep shit with. Someone to travel quietly with, easily, not caring where we end up next.
Stu Larsen, he did it. And he overcame shyness and made friends all over the world. That’s amazing. He’s seen it all. I’ve seen all but 16 states of America. And a tiny bit of Canada.
I’ve chased sunsets whenever possible. Watched them alone. Tears of aching loneliness reflecting tiny suns in them on my face. I’ve stared at the stars alone so many nights. I’ve wasted over half of my life with a man who was selfish and drunk.
I still have travel in me. I still want it. But I make $800 a month at work. I don’t even know how I’m going to live when I’m divorced. I’d live in my car if I could. I don’t mind. I like the gypsy life. I like shitty motels on the way. I like driving all day.
But my time is running out. It’s almost over for me. This one life of mine...I’ve done close to nothing. Entire days go by...weeks, even...that I don’t set foot outside. My neighborhood block destroys my happiness. There’s no trees. No nature. Just cars, houses, blacktop.
It’s almost over, yet I feel like I’m 22. I feel so many dreams inside of me...so many places I wanna see yet. So many lonely roads I wanna travel. I’ll just never get to do it.
I’ll be sitting here. On my couch of doom. In my big nothing. For the rest of my life. And honestly, because I have nothing until I die, I hope daily, that the rest of my life is short.
A life wasted. That’s mine. It’s a terrible tragedy but it is what it is. Nothing I can do about it.
If I could sex my way across the country, I’d do it. But men don’t want me. So I’m here. Forever.
Stu Larsen, if you want to use my life for a song...maybe I’ll be immortal in that way...I give you permission. Or Passenger. He turns people’s stories into songs...whoever.
I always thought I was going to be part of music somehow. Whether I played a triangle in a bar band or what...I wanted to be around music.
So if my wasted life gives you an idea for a song, let me know. I’ll give you more details.
I met you once before. You signed my guitar. You were the first signature on it. And Natsuki was second. Thank you both. It killed me to leave the World Cafe Live that night because for one brief few minutes, I was a part of the music. I was a part of your life as you lived it. The ultimate gyspy guy was right there. And all I wanted to say was please...take me with you. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good. Just take me along. For a little bit.
I cried myself to sleep that night, picturing you driving away to your next gig, while I wasted yet another night next to the man I wanted to leave.
When something eats at your very soul, for that long, that intensely...it’s all a person can do not to scream outloud and run away. I guess that’s called sanity. Even though I’ve lost it, it’s still there.
You make me happy, Stu Larsen. Knowing you are living the ultimate life. It’s not even a dream to you. It’s your life. Because you were able to make to make it that way.
I love seeing the places you’ve been and the things you’ve seen. I love listening to your music when I’m on a highway even for a few minutes. I pretend I’m going somewhere and not coming back anytime soon.
You have a great life Stu. Live it for those who never could. Live it till the last second you can. I know you will. :)
You are one inspiring guy.
