Summer, 2013 I know this is going to sound a bit silly, but I always hit a deep depression after concerts. The day after is an extreme come-down day, and I’ve been this way after every concert I’ve ever attended. Today is no different. Before I break into why, I need to backtrack and talk about what’s been going on the last couple of weeks. I’ve been in my comfort zone. I go to work, which is the best it’s ever been, come home and watch a movie, kill myself with freelance work, play with my dog and repeat. Doing this on top of school has been a challenge, but there’s only three weeks left of school and it keeps me distracted from my thoughts, which has been outstanding. I love my work. I could do it forever. That made this decision that much harder. And, with my country options being narrowed down (I’m finding most want you to interview face-to-face, which isn’t what I want to do) finding a job overseas in my No. 1 country choices was looking tougher than I thought. I was beginning to falter in my choice out of fear, that level of comfort and not wanting to give up a job that I really do love. And then last night happened. I’ve had the good fortune of going to some amazing concerts in my life, but this year alone has been a doozy. I’ve seen Passion Pit, Matt and Kim, Icona Pop, Limp Bizkit (talk about a downward spiral for days after that one), a bevy of bands at PointFest including Alice in Chains, and then last night I saw Greek Fire, Cage the Elephant, Silversun Pickups and Imagine Dragons. I was doing pretty well with my depressive state—until Radioactive. I can’t explain where I “go” during these shows. My friend Michelle even said my entire state changed after meeting Fred Durst. It wasn’t solely about meeting him; it was that I wanted to go with him, or any band/performing act I see. I want to be them. I don’t want to do random normal people things like go to the grocery store. That makes me one of the masses. Ordinary. Stifling. Mind-numbing out-of-my-body shivers go down my spine thinking that I’m that person. I’m normal, and am everything I said I’d never be. I was a singer all throughout my life, even tried my hand at Los Angeles and New York for a while. It’s not necessarily the fame—it’s the lifestyle. You are in one city one night and one city the next. You are doing what you love and seeing the world. You are anything but ordinary. And for some reason having this up and close in my face on concert days eats at my soul like you wouldn’t believe. I looked at my best friend of 22 years and said, “Wouldn’t that be the ideal, most amazing life you could possibly live?” And she said, “They are still regular people.” Are they? Most of them started out that way, but they all have something in common in the way their lives work. Either they took the chance to do something different and it worked out, or they got extremely lucky because due to circumstances (let’s be honest, the Cage the Elephant singer is never going to be able to have a “regular” life, he’s a rock star in the most stereotypical sense of the word). However you cut it, these people are nothing but ordinary. The idea of being on the road, living on a tour bus, flying overseas to record an album, participating in a record store signing … these things keep me up at night and resonate in my brain so much my body pulsates. In a word, needing this lifestyle or risk my soul’s death is, well, Radioactive. So, my choice is made. I can’t be an “ordinary” person. It’s eaten at me for 34 years, and I never truly did anything about it due to fear of the unknown. But, I’m waking up. I know it in my bones. Enough to make my systems blow. Welcome to the new age.