Montana, 90s Chic Rock, and Serotonin Bumps

I was lying in my bunk, looking at the Wyoming landscape, on our way to Montana, when I had a moment of clarity. The world suddenly felt brand new and beautiful. The hillsides were a vast bare landscape covered in a thin layer of snow. The trees that littered the earth were stripped of their leaves. They protruded from the ground like clusters of stick-figure families. And despite the existence of life and color, my world suddenly felt alive. 

Nate was mixing a show at the one-person table. Rob, Wes, Eli, and Jaws were watching The Sandlot. Chuck and Noma were also tucked away in their bunks. Mazzy Star’s “Fade into You” trickled from my AirPods.  Perhaps the song’s ethereal tone opened my senses. But in a moment of release, all the feelings bottled up and blocked by the antidepressant I had been taking flowed from the deep well where they had been trapped, and tears streamed down my cheeks. In my awakening, I understood that my life is incredible. 

I’m crying a lot these days. Not a bad thing. Tears are my response to a plethora of emotions beyond sadness. The rush of emotional sensation felt strange but welcomed. My doctor and I were treating anxiety with Trintellix, and while spending the last five months not feeling like a nervous Chihuahua was a unique perspective, I suffered from an extreme lack of joy in my life. Things that should have brought me so much pleasure (music, work, sex, food, life) have all existed in a vacuum of aggressive mediocrity. And that lack of emotional connectivity felt like a death sentence. My cancer moon could no longer be stifled. I stopped taking the medication (under a doctor’s supervision) at the start of this tour. 

The combination of sun, hot springs’ mineral absorption, and professional fulfillment have sent me full tilt into joy. The latter is something I haven’t touched on, but the importance of my work-related enjoyment should not go understated.  Every day of the tour, the band and crew appreciate my contribution. I would be remiss if I omitted that the verbal reassurance provides me with a blissful serotonin bump. And on occasion, I even receive the proverbial high-five from a fan or two. In Bozeman, a kind soul walked by the merch table, offered me a fist pound” and exclaimed, “You’re the real MVP.” I thought, “girl, you don’t even know.  I cleaned the toilet on the bus today.” 

Through therapy, I’ve determined that I exist in mainly codependent personal and professional relationships.  I need to be needed.  I’ve also learned that there are ways to engage in healthy codependency. And through my work with musical artists, I find that these relationships are integral to my professional happiness as long as I can navigate the waters properly and prevent toxic behavior from churning up a storm. A post-COVID Quarantine skill that, at present, appears to be serving me well. 

If you’re looking for more tour bus gossip, on the drive to Bozeman on Monday, Rob was left at a gas station somewhere in Colorado. Due to a wicked case of motion sickness, he viewed the incident as a welcome break from the bouncing capsule. He was out of the bus to wash puke out of his hair. He wasn’t hungover; the road was obnoxiously bumpy, and the wind was fiercely windy. Somehow our driver missed that we were “not a bus.” Rob retold the story during the intro of “Picture in Picture” to close out the second set in Bozeman. It was a moment of intense honesty as the band made their first impression in the market. The crowd cheered in support— a shining example of art as therapy. 

Oddly enough, this is the second time I’ve witnessed a band member stranded at a gas station. The same thing occurred during a run with Aqueous in 2018 when Dave snuck out of the van at 5:00 AM and didn’t tell anyone. Thinking he was still asleep in the backseat, the van left without him. When we arrived back to scoop him nearly an hour and a half later, he wasn’t mad, mainly because the Sheetz employees gave him free coffee. But that incident taught me something important! Never go anywhere on tour without your phone, especially on travel days. 

Three years ago, I navigated nearly identical tour routes with Aqueous; Colorado to the Pacific Northwest and through California, sans shows in Montana and Idaho.  Somehow, I missed the beauty of the voyage. For reasons unknown, that experience failed to impact me at the same level as this trip. 

I’ve spent most of the drive to Missoula with my nose pressed to the window. I hadn’t even noticed the scenery at first. An Impossible teriyaki chicken bowl consumed my attention until Neal nodded at me to take in the view. I’ve been lost in daydreams and Tori Amos ever since. 

We’re about 30 minutes from Missoula. Today is a shortened load-in and set-up time than usual. I’m having dinner with an old friend from high school and his family tonight. This tour has been great for some long-overdue reconnections. 

When we arrive in town, my priority is cleaning the fridge and removing the trash. Chuck opened the door earlier to grab food, and we all noticed a strange smell. When something inside the fridge smells like sweaty balls, something has gone amiss. Probably old lunch meat or someone’s leftovers. But it will be my job to figure it out. Not because that’s what is expected, but rather because codependency, not me, is the ultimate tour bitch. 

There goes another serotonin bump.