I check my email frequently. I think partly because I hold out hope that I'll get a message which will completely change my life. Keith used to calls these things, "magic emails."  Out of the blue, an opening. All of a sudden, you're led into a new chapter... My heart races as the phone downloads another batch of mail into my inbox as I sip on my warm caramel coopertino from the local bean water shoppe. 


Usually it's just a bunch of groupons for things I did not yet know I didn't need. You don't accumulate 43,791 unread emails without signing up for a significant amount of spam. I guess it makes me feel less lonely, or maybe I like the attention.  

A few days ago, the usual incessant refreshing of my inbox actually unveiled a message of significance. Our landlord Aaron had applied for a permit to demolish our house. While this doesn't exactly qualify as a "magic email," it does suddenly lead me into a new chapter...  

My brother Michael has lived in what they'd named "Destructor" for something like 9 years. The detached garage in the back, "self-destructor" has functioned as a studio for so much music throughout its history.  I've spent years and years in the garage cultivating my creative muscles and commiserating with the cosmos. 

It's not going to sink in until it's gone. We don't know when that will be. We're month to month, and I doubt we'll get too much notice. I went through a similar process with an East Side house in the summer. When you don't have a lease you don't have long.

As much of a loss as it is, there is some sort of relief provided by its release. The place has housed some of my darkest experiences and most short sighted actions. My earliest explorations with alcohol and drugs. Incomplete associations with substances and satiation, confusing expression with escape.  

Although this house had been in my life for close to ten years, I didn't move in until August. I'd had opportunities before. I just wasn't ready. 

In some ways, my moving in was an attempt to prove to myself how far I'd come. To see if I could handle it. I suppose I've done well. If one were to peak past the walls of Destructor now, they'd see four decent men living somewhat upstanding lives as they continue to contemplate their place in an increasingly vast world. (All three of my roommates are impressive, compassionate young men)

A far cry from the Destructor I remember visiting in years past. A college house, clinging to youthful naivete, has finally grown up. And now it's already time to move on.

What sort of message am I being sent. Large structures in my life, letting go at a record pace.

I was looking around for new places yesterday and I laughed at how much prices had risen, even over the few months since I'd last been on the hunt. 

Now I'm not sure this isn't a sign. I talk all the time about taking myself seriously and putting myself out there. Does that mean living on the road? Maybe for a moment.

I'm still scared of leaving. Austin is so comfortable. Even with the rising prices, I could make it work. I could continue my neurotic Wheatsville impulses. I could stay close to my family. I can be partially recognized as that local guy who always wears that same dirty jacket and has some sort of sound blog thing called "Day Improvement Show." 

But at the same time, I've gotta follow my path. 

I need to think about this. If not now, when? 


On a related note, I'd like to implore you all to do your best to make it to Cheer Up Charlie's this Wednesday. Destructorians, Michael, Peter, Erik, and Alan will be playing as Solid State Dream Suite in the last new project to come out of Destructor before it fulfills its destiny. I hope you can make it. Event link is available here: