My brother, my former guitar player and partner in crime, moved back to New York today. He fell in love with a girl and followed his heart all the way back to Long Island. I've been moody and mopey about it for a week now, and after dropping him off LAX this morning, I felt as though my heart was torn to shreds and my brain steamrollered. Dramatic, I know, but it's how I felt.
I let the force guide me as I slowly rolled out of the airport and back into this sprawling suburb of a city. Onwards we drove, past Temescal Canyon with Breaker blaring, towards the Pacific Ocean. "Right on PCH", a voice whispered. I obeyed. And with the change of scenery, a change of music was necessary. Red Hot Chili Peppers always do me right, and the Mars disc of "Stadium Arcadium" was the perfect accompaniment for a ride through the beautiful beach front town of Malibu.
The going was good so I kept on going. A little Steve Miller Band for Oxnard, and then David Bowie for my Oceanside moment of reflection. I sat there and took in the surf, the salt air, wondering if it was time to call it quits. "Keep going", the voice urged. I criss-crossed the canyons. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers for Kanan Rd., where I scoped out my dream house, a gem hidden among the hilltops of the Santa Monica Mountains. Through Malibu Canyon with the Smashing Pumpkins; Topanga Canyon with John Frusciante; and on home through Laurel Canyon with the Harry Potter score.
Half a tank of gas later, here I am. Feeling at peace with what has transpired. Knowing that the only way out is through, so I've got to keep moving. Keep moving.
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