It was six years ago today that I was driving northeast on I-81 on my way
home from the time of my life at Bonnaroo Music & Arts Festival. My buddy Jack was in the passenger's seat. He had just returned from a year of teaching English in China, and had heard this song about hitchhiking called "Wagon Wheel." When he looked it up online, he found out the band, Old Crow Medicine Show, was playing at Bonnaroo, so he decided to go. Then he found out I was already going and needed some friends because my previous partners in Bonnaroo excellence lived on the west coast at the time. So as I raced on the highway under the stars in the warm summer night, Jack was passed out in the passenger seat, in an ironic attempt to make sure I didn't fall
asleep during the 20 hour journey. On the way down the previous Wednesday night I had also driven from sundown to sunrise, through a vicious lightning storm, driven by some intense intuition that what lay ahead would change my life for the better forever.
We were fresh off of four days living in tents, taking in dozens of the best bands the world had to offer, and expanding our minds with all sorts of variety offered by humankind. The first day of music I experienced the joy of Albert Hoffman's magic elixir for the first time, and oh how my soul did shine. It kicked in during The Black Keys, who were still a few years away from dominating the rock scene, but back then they were the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix to me. Then I listened to the greatest psychedelic Beatles playlist on my iPod (I wasn't sure if I would ever do such a thing again, and I wanted to do it right) and wandered over to a pyramid that appeared to glow in the evening summer sun. I was listening to Tomorrow Never Knows and Love You To. The pyramid was composed of recycled paint cans, and as I got closer I felt this immense energy and saw one that said "Forever Young". It reminded me of my sister's friend Billy, but somehow I knew he wasn't completely gone.
I looked in the sky and felt the spirit of my grandfather Michael Sullivan and my Aunt Mary Sullivan. The lyrics to "All You Need is Love" never made more sense to me than at that time. "There's nothing you can know that isn't known. There's nothing you can see that isn't shown. There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be, it's easy, all you need is love." I saw a future whose power and magic amazed me beyond words.
Jack met up with me from time to time, as he had already
experienced it once himself, but I was in such a great mood that there was really
nothing he needed to do other than to tell me to keep up the positive energy and wonder. It was hard to sleep that night, but the morning
was glorious, and we began the day by seeing Old Crow Medicine Show perform my
favorite song in the world, "Wagon Wheel".
That night I got to see the Flaming Lips ultimate rock circus show for the first time, which meant I finally got to see Yoshimi and Do You Realize?? performed live. They ended the show with “Moonlight Mile," which the front man Wayne said was the most beautiful song you could end a show with. I already recognized it as my sister's favorite Rolling Stones song. For some strange reason I got the premonition that someone I loved would die that weekend. It scared me, but the feeling left and I danced like a maniac during Galactic afterward.
The next day brought joy in the form of The Decemberists, Wilco, Ornette Coleman and The White Stripes. It was father's day, so even though I was flying high in the sky, I was able to call my dad and tell him that I loved him. I also told him to tell my sister I loved her during The White Stripes. I had Jack take a picture of me afterward when I told him how happy I was about life. Everything fit together: love, journeys, and a force beyond our understanding that might actually care and be aware of each individual's destiny. I told him that everything you needed to know about life were in the lyrics to "Love" by John Lennon and "Do You Realize??' by The Flaming Lips. He said that was great, but he had to get back to the tent because the dust was really bothering his eyes, and I wandered around the crowd some more and felt amazing at the magical mystery of it all.
The next day, after the party was packing up, we had a twenty hour drive back to my parents' farm in New York state.
I was ecstatic. The music, my new point of view, summertime, the freedom of the road and brilliance of my iPod playlist had me ready for embracing future possibilities I had never considered. The world made sense in a whole new magical way, and I felt braver than ever before. I had a great date set up for as soon as I got back to New York City, I had gotten the call offering me a new job in publishing on the ride down to Bonnaroo, and I was going to quit my banking paralegal job first thing on Wednesday morning. But first I had to make it home alive. I hadn't slept much all weekend, but the rush of energy and love and music kept me awake all night, although I was severely struggling by 8 am. Still, there was something about being behind the wheel of that Jetta Wagen and seeing the future stretched out before me.
Luckily we pulled into the driveway safely at 9 am, and when I got out I asked my mom to take these flowers I had picked outside Roanoke, Virginia and Johnson City, Tennessee and put them in a vase until the next day. She asked me if I was in love, and I told her she had no idea what I’d just been through. It was such a beautiful summer morning on the farm. I went in to see my grandma sleeping in the extra room we had built for her and her husband a few years earlier when they had gotten too old to take care of themselves. Her husband had died in that same room two years earlier. Jack had gotten some shut eye during the journey, but I desperately needed a nap. After five hours of sleep my mom knocked on my door. I was very bleary eyed and confused, especially when I learned the news that my grandmother had just died while I was sleeping. I looked out the window and saw God in the green leaves of the trees and burst into tears of beyond joy. I was simply overwhelmed by all of it. I knew my grandmother hadn't just died, as crazy as that seems. Later my parents described her final night on Earth, which was definitely an exception to the rule. Having suffered from Alzheimer's for ten years, bed time was always a struggle and ordeal. But her final night she was a very happy camper. My dad described it as if she was strapping in to go on a ride.
Later that night there was a thunderstorm and we lost power, so we ate take-out by candle light. It was then that my mom remembered that it was her parents’ wedding anniversary that day.
It would be a few years more before I learned that my grandfather met my grandmother in Elmira, New York, not far from Ithaca where both of them separately attended Cornell. My grandfather was from way upstate eastern New York, near Lake Champlain, descended from Irish immigrants named Sullivan. They left Ireland in the 1850's to escape the potato famine. My grandmother’s family had been in America since the Tupper's arrived in the 1600’s in Massachusetts. Their patriarch lived to be 99. Her family was mostly descended from British and German settlers.
Michael was in Elmira because he was traveling on agricultural business. On top of that, he was hitchhiking that day. He hitched a ride with some people who were on their way to visit their friend in the hospital. Their friend was my grandmother, who had been in a car accident and was all bandaged up, bloody and bed ridden. Something about her struck Michael, because he kept coming back to visit her. Even though her favorite Protestant aunt threatened to disown her for marrying a Catholic, and then made good on her promise, Barbara married Michael and had three children, including my mother. At her funeral I learned that they were known as inseparable throughout their life, always mentioned as a pair. After fighting in World War II, Michael built a cabin on Lake Champlain at Barbara’s behest. When they retired they traveled together in New Zealand and China. Michael died during my 21st birthday party (a week after my actual birthday), the same night my sister met her husband. When my grandmother died, I thought that had something to do with the girl I was on my way to a date with. After all, our date was at this bluegrass bar that sometimes played Wagon Wheel live. They didn't that night though. I sincerely fell for the girl anyway, but it wasn’t meant to be. So instead of settling down at 23, I had to keep on working toward my real destiny and simply appreciate the poetry lived by my family. I had no idea how many more adventures lay ahead of me.
We were fresh off of four days living in tents, taking in dozens of the best bands the world had to offer, and expanding our minds with all sorts of variety offered by humankind. The first day of music I experienced the joy of Albert Hoffman's magic elixir for the first time, and oh how my soul did shine. It kicked in during The Black Keys, who were still a few years away from dominating the rock scene, but back then they were the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix to me. Then I listened to the greatest psychedelic Beatles playlist on my iPod (I wasn't sure if I would ever do such a thing again, and I wanted to do it right) and wandered over to a pyramid that appeared to glow in the evening summer sun. I was listening to Tomorrow Never Knows and Love You To. The pyramid was composed of recycled paint cans, and as I got closer I felt this immense energy and saw one that said "Forever Young". It reminded me of my sister's friend Billy, but somehow I knew he wasn't completely gone.
I looked in the sky and felt the spirit of my grandfather Michael Sullivan and my Aunt Mary Sullivan. The lyrics to "All You Need is Love" never made more sense to me than at that time. "There's nothing you can know that isn't known. There's nothing you can see that isn't shown. There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be, it's easy, all you need is love." I saw a future whose power and magic amazed me beyond words.
That night I got to see the Flaming Lips ultimate rock circus show for the first time, which meant I finally got to see Yoshimi and Do You Realize?? performed live. They ended the show with “Moonlight Mile," which the front man Wayne said was the most beautiful song you could end a show with. I already recognized it as my sister's favorite Rolling Stones song. For some strange reason I got the premonition that someone I loved would die that weekend. It scared me, but the feeling left and I danced like a maniac during Galactic afterward.
The next day brought joy in the form of The Decemberists, Wilco, Ornette Coleman and The White Stripes. It was father's day, so even though I was flying high in the sky, I was able to call my dad and tell him that I loved him. I also told him to tell my sister I loved her during The White Stripes. I had Jack take a picture of me afterward when I told him how happy I was about life. Everything fit together: love, journeys, and a force beyond our understanding that might actually care and be aware of each individual's destiny. I told him that everything you needed to know about life were in the lyrics to "Love" by John Lennon and "Do You Realize??' by The Flaming Lips. He said that was great, but he had to get back to the tent because the dust was really bothering his eyes, and I wandered around the crowd some more and felt amazing at the magical mystery of it all.
The next day, after the party was packing up, we had a twenty hour drive back to my parents' farm in New York state.
I was ecstatic. The music, my new point of view, summertime, the freedom of the road and brilliance of my iPod playlist had me ready for embracing future possibilities I had never considered. The world made sense in a whole new magical way, and I felt braver than ever before. I had a great date set up for as soon as I got back to New York City, I had gotten the call offering me a new job in publishing on the ride down to Bonnaroo, and I was going to quit my banking paralegal job first thing on Wednesday morning. But first I had to make it home alive. I hadn't slept much all weekend, but the rush of energy and love and music kept me awake all night, although I was severely struggling by 8 am. Still, there was something about being behind the wheel of that Jetta Wagen and seeing the future stretched out before me.
Luckily we pulled into the driveway safely at 9 am, and when I got out I asked my mom to take these flowers I had picked outside Roanoke, Virginia and Johnson City, Tennessee and put them in a vase until the next day. She asked me if I was in love, and I told her she had no idea what I’d just been through. It was such a beautiful summer morning on the farm. I went in to see my grandma sleeping in the extra room we had built for her and her husband a few years earlier when they had gotten too old to take care of themselves. Her husband had died in that same room two years earlier. Jack had gotten some shut eye during the journey, but I desperately needed a nap. After five hours of sleep my mom knocked on my door. I was very bleary eyed and confused, especially when I learned the news that my grandmother had just died while I was sleeping. I looked out the window and saw God in the green leaves of the trees and burst into tears of beyond joy. I was simply overwhelmed by all of it. I knew my grandmother hadn't just died, as crazy as that seems. Later my parents described her final night on Earth, which was definitely an exception to the rule. Having suffered from Alzheimer's for ten years, bed time was always a struggle and ordeal. But her final night she was a very happy camper. My dad described it as if she was strapping in to go on a ride.
Later that night there was a thunderstorm and we lost power, so we ate take-out by candle light. It was then that my mom remembered that it was her parents’ wedding anniversary that day.
It would be a few years more before I learned that my grandfather met my grandmother in Elmira, New York, not far from Ithaca where both of them separately attended Cornell. My grandfather was from way upstate eastern New York, near Lake Champlain, descended from Irish immigrants named Sullivan. They left Ireland in the 1850's to escape the potato famine. My grandmother’s family had been in America since the Tupper's arrived in the 1600’s in Massachusetts. Their patriarch lived to be 99. Her family was mostly descended from British and German settlers.
Michael was in Elmira because he was traveling on agricultural business. On top of that, he was hitchhiking that day. He hitched a ride with some people who were on their way to visit their friend in the hospital. Their friend was my grandmother, who had been in a car accident and was all bandaged up, bloody and bed ridden. Something about her struck Michael, because he kept coming back to visit her. Even though her favorite Protestant aunt threatened to disown her for marrying a Catholic, and then made good on her promise, Barbara married Michael and had three children, including my mother. At her funeral I learned that they were known as inseparable throughout their life, always mentioned as a pair. After fighting in World War II, Michael built a cabin on Lake Champlain at Barbara’s behest. When they retired they traveled together in New Zealand and China. Michael died during my 21st birthday party (a week after my actual birthday), the same night my sister met her husband. When my grandmother died, I thought that had something to do with the girl I was on my way to a date with. After all, our date was at this bluegrass bar that sometimes played Wagon Wheel live. They didn't that night though. I sincerely fell for the girl anyway, but it wasn’t meant to be. So instead of settling down at 23, I had to keep on working toward my real destiny and simply appreciate the poetry lived by my family. I had no idea how many more adventures lay ahead of me.
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