My Kind of Normal

I've been a nail-biter since I was about five years old. I guess you could say I was a nervous child. Much of my anxiousness has subsided as I've become an adult, but the nail biting has always been there...that is, until I started touring. I realized it on the last tour. And now, as I've begun national number two, it's happened again. I've stopped. So this can only mean one thing; I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. And this kills me.

More than anything, I've always wanted to be "normal"; have a nice little nine-to-five job, a stable relationship, and a home of my own - all my things in their respective places, no having to search for something as simple as a Kleenex. But what I want and what I'm meant to do are two very different things. My brain knows this. My heart does not.

When I am out on the road, I have no other responsibilities than my show - keeping myself healthy, ready to sing, and rested. There is no mortgage. There are no utility bills. Just a lot of miles between hotel stops and theaters. Part of me loves the freedom I have because of this. I get to see the entirety of this amazing country I call home. The mountains in the Pacific Northwest are gorgeous, and the miles of wide plains we cross roll out flat in front of us as sheet metal. I get to see friends, old and new, and interact with people I normally wouldn't have even met. I'm able to spend time writing and lots of time taking care of myself. I've been visiting the gym or doing yoga almost every day since I've started out on the road again, and the results are beginning to show. I am truly lucky to be able to have such concentrated time for all this.

Yet, this life I have is also truly lonely. I've just about come to terms with the fact that I may not ever have a stable relationship again. Many people shake their heads at me when I mention something like this. You just haven't found the right person yet. Someone is out there for you. Can we be realistic for a minute? Who wants to date someone who is only in town for a month (or week) at a time? No one. So shake your head all you want, but it's the truth. I am bound to this caravan kind of life. I've been living out of suitcases for over two years now. And while I've met plenty of men who have loved me, I haven't met one who is willing to stay. But what am I supposed to expect, since I refuse to do the same?

So tomorrow morning, I'll get on the bus again. I'll look out the windows and watch the world go by at 60 miles an hour. My hands will be busy, as will my mind. I will pass the hours by writing, my fingers doing the work they are meant to do. My nails will tap on my keyboard, the unnatural clicking, a sound I am not used to hearing. And I will hope to find a nail file at the next rest stop.