I think it’s a combination of the economic meltdown (my 401k lost 25% this year) and my general stress level. Whatever it is, it’s making me take stock of my life and attempt to blow away the chaff.

The guys I play music with (we’re called Foxhole) are some of the most important people in my life, and I truly love — and even long for — the communion and the art and the raw passion of it. I’m not your typical band guy… performing is generally my least favorite part: I often find myself wandering around the venue, depressed at the lack of intellect I perceive, the lack of success that I feel, the lack of all the things I thought music was about when I first got into it about a decade ago. I love the organic process of writing music (a process at which we’re very slow and inefficient), and even enjoy the stressful “do it again” atmosphere of recording. Performing… well, I always get jazzed up ahead of time, but once it happens it feels like a big waste. But I digress…

I’m selling my amplifier, which I honestly love and have never had any complaints with, in order to get one that’s somewhat smaller and more portable; despite the fact that I rarely “play out” anymore, for some reason the downsizing feels like an urgent need, the task a heavy weight on my shoulders that simply has to be lifted. On reflection, it makes very little sense… the new amp (an Orange Tiny Terror Combo, whose size belies its eardrum-busting loudness) is going to sound great, but lacks a lot of the features I’m used to in an amp and adds literally nothing, save the portability. Oh, and it’s 37 pounds, so it’s not THAT portable. 

It’s just an outward sign, I think, of the inward struggle of Justin right now. If I didn’t have to deal with the shop, I would argue hard for me, my wife and two little boys to move into my parents’ basement in Louisville — saving money and having built-in free babysitting all at once! I walk through our tiny house and have this burning impulse to throw away (or, if possible, sell on eBay) half the things I see. I dream of making a large chunk of money at once, if not to free up my schedule than at least to secure a bit of sanity for a month or two or ten. 

And of course, there’s the money, of which I have very little right now… Lewis’ autism therapies will not be cheap, and insurance doesn’t cover most useful treatments for autism. (Hell, a lot of doctors still have no idea how to treat it, and even the most well-documented treatments are still shunned by the majority of the medical community.)

This is where I’m supposed to wrap up the blog entry with the moral… except that I don’t know what it is. I know what it SHOULD be: God is bigger than me, and I should have faith that he’ll work in these circumstances. I know that, and somewhere inside I believe it. But it’s cold outside and the well is running dry (that being job opportunities, new avenues to explore, a young but still aging man’s chances at finding “happiness”), and all I know to do is rearrange.

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