flashback a few years ago - I wanna say 2002 give or take - my first great relationship burned out, my job was tanking, and I was somewhere between despondent and drunk most of the time -
and my buddy Jerry gives me a call and asks me to meet him at a local bar where he spills the beans - he's moving to Nashville -
and somewhere in the hangover, or maybe just wishful projection, I'm pretty sure the offer was extended - "come to Nashville with us, and live in a spare bedroom till you get a good job, etc, etc"
and I'm sure I pleaded insecurity, or maybe the choice of not making a choice was enough, or maybe I was afraid to put myself out there (or maybe I was afraid of dying an alcoholic in their spare room) but I said no -
lately, I've been busy - gotten engaged - did my own album, and been successful at the work grind, but driving home at 4am this morning, from a losing poker session, it just started to hit me really hard -
I'm old now - old and settled - (not OLD, but old for the music scene) - and when the shot came, I should have gone to Nashville with them - I should have swung and struck out in the big leagues instead of trying to scrape an existence in the minors - I say this realizing had I done so, I wouldn't have met the current fiance, and other choices like the songs I wrote and the sound I got and the point I quit drinking could all be different or non-existent
but I regret not going - I regret staying behind and watching my hair go grey and start to fall out while my friends released 2 or 3 albums and hobnobbed with my peers - I regret not being challenged by better musicians, songwriters, and those in it to win it, and not to just dream it.
Tonight, at 4am on a cold Minneapolis night, I regret not moving to Nashville when I had no reason and no attachments not to