originally posted September 9, 2016
I live in a bubble. I like my bubble. I live in the woods, I keep company with folkies and do-gooders, and intellectuals. It’s a happy place filled with positive, supportive people. Interesting folks – musicians, patrons of the arts, teachers, librarians, readers, hikers. People like you. I love the people in my bubble.
Apparently, I am not really a fan of people outside my bubble. I knew it had to happen. As the tour neared the two week mark we took some down days to write, take care of business, do laundry. And there they were. People. Just like that. From bliss to burst bubble.
People who smoke and throw their cigarette butts on my campsite; people who holler endlessly at their kids who are not listening; people who make a big campfire and leave it unattended are surrounding me. They are talking to me, these strangers, about their ailments and their disappointing relationships. They have not cleaned the lint filter in the dryer.
We sat at a picnic table to review some song ideas and play a few things we’d been neglecting. People came by. That’s okay, music attracts people. “Do you know any -insert name of current pop/country star here-?” People. They never believe me when I say no. “Sure you do, it like this.” People.
Lest you think I am simply dismayed at my own species, the geese outside the bubble are 7am honking geese.
Tomorrow we head into Topeka to perform at the Kansas State Book Festival. I look forward to being back in the bubble.