Reputation is developed in a day; Character is built over a lifetime.

We only get one run at this thing called life. If I were to attach a one word status to the life I am living, I would say…learning.  Life does not allow us to physically go back in time, we are only capable of returning mentally. So why do we consider the past when approaching the future? Life’s blueprints reveal the secrets.  Were cavemen mentally more satisfied and ultimately, for lack of a better term, “happier”, than we currently are as a race? I am not positive…I’m not friends with any cavemen.  However, there is certainly part of me that believes this to be true.  Let me explain.

The first cavemen were constantly learning. They were provided no teachers, guidebooks, or past experiences to recall. They were one hundred percent on their own…the realest trailblazers ever. The mind exists to learn.  For example, think about how good it feels to finish reading a book.  Your mind finds peace in growth.  When your mind sits idle, or dwells in the past, it convinces your soul and your life to do the same.

The first cavemen were constantly experiencing.  Everything was new, exciting, and  challenging. They made instinctual decisions based on what nature presented. There is no better feeling than conquering a challenge, especially when it is yourself that is the competitor. For example, I once took a shy girl with me to a karaoke night at a local bar.  She had never done karaoke before and actually said, “I could never, in a million years, step out on a stage and sing. It would be terrifying.  I wasn’t born with courage to do something like that!” Well, long story short we had a few drinks and I finally convinced her to sing a song with me on stage. Her knuckles turned white and her face fell flush as she grabbed the microphone, nearly dropping it.  She eased her way into the song, speaking the first few lines nervously.  But by the end of the song she was working the stage like Diana Ross, clapping her hands and smiling while she swayed back and forth in perfect time.  Once the song had ended and the crowd clapped, she turned to me with a big smile and said, “Can you get off the stage, I want to do one by myself now.”  I laughed and returned to my barstool.  I called her the next day and she described the night as the  “best time” she had ever had.  Is that because she loved the physical act of karaoke or was it because she conquered her fear? Will she ever do karaoke again? I am not sure. However, I know that she learned something about herself that night.  She learned that she is capable of conquering, and for that she is stronger.  My Mother always used to say, “You have to go out on a limb, because that is where the fruit is.”

Nowadays, when a problem presents itself, it seems as though there are a million considerations that alter the choice.  For the cavemen, it was black and white.  For us, it seems to be random shades of gray.  They focused more on becoming a wiser race, rather than smarter one.  Life used to be based on survival, not success.

I believe that we should only allow our minds to reverse when it is necessary in solving or preventing a current problem. If you release what you have in tow you will notice a big change in your gas mileage.

We were built to push, not pull.

I have spent the past four nights at The Heritage Campground in Carthage, NC.  It is a small campground situated on a nice sized lake and consists of mostly large pine trees.  I have developed a bit of a routine over the past week that goes something like; fishing in the morning, coffee around ten, and then dinner over the campfire.

I have found that it is quite difficult to find a solid Internet connection out here in the wide open.  Luckily, I have found a great “home base” less than a mile away from my tent where I can get a great cup of coffee and a stable connection to the web. I stumbled upon the New Matthews Market Company nestled on the corner of Vass Carthage Road and Niagra Carthage Road.  As I walked into the store and passed the bundles of firewood, bins of fresh produce, and homemade wreaths, I knew right away that I loved the grass roots vibe that it radiated.  I was greeted instantly by the stores owner, his name is Doug.  Doug is a well traveled, and friendly man, that I describes his shop as a general store in its infancy.  It felt full grown to me.  It has candy, a great wine selection, beer, fresh sandwiches, great coffee (the flavor of the day today is Fireside Chat), a checkers board, books for sale, and of course the elusive WiFi.

Doug was raised in Georgetown and has spent the earlier portion of his life traveling the world, in fact, he says his two favorite cities are, “New York and Hong Kong.”  He previously made his home in the mountains of North Carolina where he worked just about every job he could to try and make ends meet; bartending, river guide, ski instructor, etc… He misses the mountains for sure, I can see it in his face, but he has created a common place for the people in this small town and I feel like the store will soon become a staple.  It seems like a fun job, rewarding and fun to watch grow.

I could tell right away that Doug is the kind of guy that respects the arts.  He told me that whenever he travels somewhere, he never gets a traditional souvineer, he always differs to a piece of local art which he feels is much more meaningful than a conventional, and almost cliché, bumper sticker or tee shirt.  We have sat and talked music and life over the past four days, trading ideas and stories from the road, and he even has declared today a “Dylan Day”.  He is only playing Dylan music all day long because most of time it has just been him and I in the shop, and of course, I am not going to complain.

I have really enjoyed my time here in North Carolina, but it is my memories from within the walls of the New Matthews Market Company that I will take home with me.  If you are ever passing through, make a pit stop, and grab an ice cream cone and a bottle of red.  Thanks for everything Doug, and from one rolling stone to another…I’ll see you down the path.

I would like to take this time to introduce to you one of my closest friends.  Readers, I would like you all to meet my acoustic guitar, his name is Marty. You can see him in just about every picture that has me playing a guitar. I know that it may come across as being “corny” that I named my musical instrument, but if you were to spend the same amount of time as I have with Marty, you would get it.  Whenever I have an idea or I need one, I reach for Marty.

When I was a junior in college, my Brother Ryan came and picked me up from my tiny on-campus apartment.  He arrived with a big smile and said quickly, even before hello, “c’mon, lets go get you a guitar.”  I was not quite sure what triggered this impulse within my Brother, but based on the intensity of his grin, I knew his joy could be traced back to somewhere around the Turning Stone Casino.  I didn’t ask, I just threw a shirt on and, lightly, jogged out the door and into his Jeep.  He lived in Manlius, NY at the time, so he brought me to a small guitar shop by his condo called Beatstreet Music.  Just before we pulled open the shop door, Ryan turned to me and announced five words that made me let out a high-pitched noise I had never made before, nor did I ever think was capable.  I giggled, devilishly, and tapped my fingertips together like a scheming evil scientist. The noise I made may best be described as a leprechaun on acid and blowing a dog whistle.  He said confidently, “GET ANY GUITAR YOU WANT!”  Wow, what a powerful statement. After two full minutes of happy laughter, I regained my composure and walked into the store to get my guitar.  I recall adding one quick fist pump before entering.

There he was, I saw him right away, a used Martin 00016.  I had always dreamed of one day owning a Martin guitar, so I picked it from the shelf and played a few bars from one of my earliest songs, “In My Mind”.  It sounded great in my ears and it felt comfortable in my hands.  So, Ryan paid the man and I strummed my way out of the store.  As soon as we got back in the car, I gave my Brother a big hug over the center console and thanked him a thousand times.  Ryan didn’t say a single word on the car ride back to my apartment.  When we finally stopped in front of my place he turned to me and said, with a serious look on his face, “I bet you are going to write a whole bunch of songs with that thing.” My Brother is the man.  My family has always stressed the importance of generosity, and Ryan simply demonstrated it.  A gift is never forgotten.

Since then, Marty has been with me through 48 states and 4 countries. He was the first thing I packed for this trip, and he rests in the tent by my side each night.  I know that it may not be the appropriate conditions for the guitar in terms of its construction, or its destruction, but I want him to experience everything that I do.  I will never get him refinished or repair any of his cracks…I consider the cracks his scars.  If I met a man without scars, I wouldn’t believe a word he says.

I named him after a radio personality. There was a DJ on a local radio show when I was a kid that was paid to travel to all of the biggest summer parties, basically Van Wilder before Van Wilder….a true big party emperor.  Well anyway, when he was on-air, his call name was “Marty the One Man Party”.

Thank you once again Ryan.

At 7:00am this morning I awoke to the longing cries of the North Carolina sky.  The valve in charge of holding the water from falling had been bent wide open.  Raindrops crashed into the canvas of my shelter like angry hornets fighting for their queen. The crash of thunder echoed throughout the pine forest rattling my insides.  It wasn’t the intensity of the deafening initial boom that I was concerned with, it was the lingering, almost endless, rumbling of the clatter.  It was like the storm had a stadium reverb effect twisted to the max position.  The best way for me to describe the lightning would be to say that it was strobe-like.  If you can picture a thousand paparazzi surrounding you, firing flash photography, you can get a good idea of what I am talking about.

After watching the edges of my tent lift from the ground I decided to put my shoes on and take care of a few things outside, like re-staking the tent and unplugging the extension cord from the site’s circuit box.  As soon as I unzipped my tent, I realized that either it had been raining longer or harder than I expected.  There was a river of rain water, at least six inches deep, running off of a nearby hill and straight under my tent. When I stepped on the floor of my tent it felt like I was walking on a waterbed.  I thought for sure that the river of rain water would eventually rise and begin to penetrate my living area.  Luckily, at around 8:30am the storm began to reside.

I walked in the rain down the trail and had a cup of coffee with Amy and Robert, the campground owners.  They are great people with amazing coffee.  We sat and talked about bluegrass music for a couple of hours until I headed back to check on my site.  As soon I returned and realized that everything was dry and stable, I picked my guitar from its case and started to write.

The only thing better than talking about music is playing it.  The only thing that wakes me up, better than coffee, is a severe thunderstorm. But when I wake up in a severe thunderstorm, have a cup of coffee, talk about bluegrass, and write a song….well, now that’s rapture.