Vol. 79 - Papa is a Rolling Stone

On loving where you are

I’ve always been unsatisfied with where I’ve been in life.

Geographically speaking, to be clear.

Growing up on the Jersey Shore, I desperately wanted to be in a big city. Living in a big city in college, I desperately wanted to be in New York City. Living in Brooklyn, I desperately wanted to be in Manhattan. And after spending some amazing years in Manhattan with Emily, I desperately wanted to move to someplace quieter and kinder (and cheaper) so we could start a family.

Throw in a few decades of touring with rock bands (some years light, some years heavy, some years insane), and much of my life has been defined by movement to the next place.

And now, as much as I love living in Chapel Hill and as much as I love raising my kids here, I’m almost always thinking of where we’re going next. But we can’t go anywhere next. At least not for about a decade-and-a-half. We moved here to have and raise kids here and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. More than my “need” to always be moving, my kids need stability. And the contract I signed the minute my first child was born stated that their needs would, at least for the first two decades or so, supersede my own. I don’t resent my kids for this. Rather, one of the great joys I’ve found fatherhood is a selflessness I never knew I was capable of.

Of course, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t always thinking about where we’re headed next. Back to New York or somewhere abroad or some other big city or a different bustling college town or back to the beach where I grew up (but never the suburbs, sorry). Perhaps it’s not so much that I’m forever unsatisfied with where I am as much as I love being somewhere new. Freedom of movement is written onto my DNA just like my light hair and fair skin.

But this week’s newsletter isn’t just about place. It’s about time. Because for however unsatisfied I am with where I am on the map, I’m equally satisfied where where I am in my life.

Recently, at the playground with my kids, I saw a man wearing a shirt that simply said “Love Where You Are.”

I don’t know what the shirt was meant to mean or if was intentionally nebulous for people to interpret as they saw fit. Because as soon as I read that shirt, I looked at my kids and recognized how much I love where I am in my life. And I immediately recognized how that’s always been the case.

When I was a kid, I never yearned to be an adult. When I was a young adult and completely broke (in one of the world’s most expensive cities), I never imagined my life as a middle-aged, financially stable man. Now that I’m a middle-aged, financially stable adult, I never wish I was back in my twenties.

Those were those times. These are these times. And what’s coming down the line will be their own times. All have their own challenges, all have their own joys. Tomorrow doesn’t exist, just as yesterday doesn’t exist.

To quote the brilliant British philosopher Austin Powers, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

To quote the brilliant New Jersey philosopher Anthony Soprano, “Remember when is the lowest form of conversation.” Though, I must admit, I do love the occasional Remember When session.

Embracing time has never been difficult for me. And it’s something I hope to imbue in my children. Embracing place, that’s a different story and it’s not one I’m sure I’ll know how to navigate in my role as a father.

Maybe it’s something I don’t have to. Maybe there’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanderlust, so long as you’re capable of putting on the backburner for a decade or two in order to give your kids stability.

Part of me wishes I could be one of those people who loves where they are on the map, that I could be totally content here in Chapel Hill. But I don’t think I ever will be. Because as soon as I move someplace else, whenever that may be, I know my mind will wander to the map, to the next place.

Part of me hopes I raise kids who are exactly the same. Because, so long as it doesn’t come at the cost of your child’s sense of stability, there’s nothing wrong with exploring the world. It’s big and amazing. But I do hope that, like me, they are able to find the joy of exactly where they are in the timeline of their lives at any given moment, to see that, like the brilliant Oklahoma City philosopher Wayne Coyne said, “All we have is now.”