Heyday

I officially have a new job. I had been temping for about two months and was recently asked if I wanted to come on board. Since it looks like we're going to be in the city for at least the six months, I said sure. The pay is decent, the job is low-stress and can be left at the office, and the 10-hour days go by fairly fast. Which is good and bad. Given that we're going to be here for a while, and that my salary allows me to keep my head comfortably above water, we've been doing a little more - seeing more theater, going to Boston to catch a Sox/Yanks game and a Frames concert (as well as two Frames concerts here, including a free fans-only gig at a small lower East side venue), planning a return to Ireland in September and just trying to do more since we have some time, a little money and inclination. It's a little troubling, though. The job is a long one. I feel my creative spark has been lost and I'm not looking for it at the moment. When I get home I don't exactly tear into personal projects. I do practice my guitar, but that's still just trying to fret chords. I haven't read a book in almost six weeks. We don't even really watch TV - but baseball season has started so we will be watching games.

One of the reasons we began to look north was because we started to come alive with ideas once we talked about projects outside the city. They flowed, flowered, multiplied, instead of withering and turning to dust in the stifling atmosphere we feel here. We were excited by the number of things we felt we could attempt upstate. But we also discovered it's not as easy to leave New York City as we thought, or hoped. It's taking time. And now we're both comfortable financially so the urgency to leave seems to have faded. Yes, we can afford to do more but we've also discovered the cost. I've talked about getting back into acting here. I've looked into new headshots, thought about contacting some groups to see about getting involved with readings, maybe try to find my way into short films. There is a huge roadblock - me - and I don't know what's holding me back. I'm sure there's the list of usual suspects: fear, insecurity, complacency, age, self-righteous idealism and laziness. But I don't, can't, just exist as a 7:30-5:30 office manager with a little money to burn in his pocket. I wanted something more when I came here however many years ago and lost sight of it. I don't want to end up the bitter guy who never made an effort and complained ever after about the system that held me back and done me wrong.

Mic Christopher (on the right up there, with one of his best mates, ol' what's-his-name) left school when he was teenager to be a busker, wanting to play guitar on the streets of Dublin because that's what he loved doing. He eventually ended up in a band that was becoming popular in Ireland but was unhappy with the uphill battle the band was going through, struggling to make their way and trying to stay afloat in the rough waters of attempting to make a living pursuing their dream. He decided to disband. Soon after, he was on the slippery side of 30, making a living as a courier and none too happy. Then he was involved in a motorcycle accident that left him with a broken neck and in traction for several months, unable to do much of anything at all. Realizing how lucky he was, he gradually made it back with a refreshed outlook at how great it was to be alive (not something you often hear from an Irishman), writing a number of songs celebrating this gift, including a song proposing that, no matter what, every day can be your best day, "Heyday":

And this is our heyday, baby
And we're not gonna be afraid to shout
'Cause we can make our heyday last forever
And ain't that what it's all about

Mic released an EP and was working toward releasing an album. He was touring on his own, just playing to play, finding peace in going around to whatever place would let him on, happy to be doing what he loved. One night, after a gig where he sold more CD's than ever before, he slipped on some stairs, fell, hit his head hard and went into a coma. He died ten days later, surrounded by family and friends, when doctors turned off his life support. He was 32.

Now, I know this sounds awful, and it is. It's tragic. But. There is a beautiful ray of light in all of this. I saw a grainy biography last night that tells his story, with his parents, sister and friends talking about his life, his love of music and the heartbreaking account of his final days. The documentary ends with a sold out evening in a Dublin music hall. His friends had banded together to finish Mic's CD and Skylarkin was released one year after his death. His friends and family put the gig together to celebrate Mic's life and music, and it ended with everyone onstage, along with the entire audience, riotously and rapturously singing "Heyday." It was such an amazing moment and left me with tears streaming down my face. His music was reaching and connecting with more fans than he might have ever thought possible.

Mic found hope, peace and purpose in choosing another path. He celebrated living no matter what his station in life was, and he did what he loved. I'm trying to take a page from that, to try and make every day a heyday, try to enjoy whatever time I have been given while continuing the search for my path, peace and purpose, and to not simply wait with folded arms for my life to change.

Go download that song right now. It's only available on iTunes. Everytime I hear it, it lifts my spirit, makes the sky a little bluer, the sun a little warmer and life a little brighter.

And ain't that what it's all about?