Monday, December 14, 2009

Identity? Crisis.

So, I married a musician. In a tongue-and-cheek manner (and with a tinge of worry), I declared myself  "band wife", even before it was officially so. Perhaps I liked the ring of it. Maybe the appeal was that I was able to get away with the word "wife" this way, just a tad prematurely. The worry: did I want to be defined by my then-future husband's career, even if I was just being cheeky?

I didn't plan this. I would not intentionally seek out a mate headed for a life in entertainment. I'm far too jealous a person. Pre-Alex, the thought of sharing my gentleman's attention with anyone, let alone much-younger much-cuter groupies, would have caused hair loss. I like my men with firmly planted feet, thank-you-very-much. But my preconceived notions of men (and more specifically, men in music) were shattered when I met Alex. For the second time. However, the story of how our stars collided, while a great one, is not the point.

The point - and yes, I believe I have one - is that the life of a lonely band wife is now, unexpectedly, mine. But who am I? Surely, there must be more. I suppose at 30, I'm still finding my groove. Where do I make my mark? Being defined by someone else's success has me in lip-biting agony. I have passions and talents and aspirations (and,  briefly, my own small business), but they've all been stewing for so long, my future is now a mystery soup. For the past two years I have been working at Pistachio, mostly as a buyer. I have discovered that I love the retail world (beyond the sales floor, of course). Hm, just needs more salt? A dash of design, a pinch of fashion, and a hearty handful of self-employment might just do the trick. I'm getting closer, perhaps. We joke that Alex will make his millions and I'll open my own little studio/shop where I will need to have little regard for profit margins and sales goals. It's the big dream. I may need to settle for striving towards tiny  and sensible goals for now. While Alex makes a go of this crazy-little-thing-called-music, I am self-elected as the stable provider of the family.

Not being the centre of attention hasn't come easy for me in the past. I've mellowed considerably over time, though. Recently a bit of the FOMO of my early twenties began creeping back, much to my annoyance. FOMO = fear of missing out (Thanks, Michelle!). But sure, I'll accept a supporting role. He'd do the same for me. And if the little band that could becomes the big band that did, he may eventually be in a position to do just that. A good cure for the FOMOs happens to be a dose of "me +1" at every opportunity. No line-up and a beer swiped from the rider? Backstage pass to see Strombo? It cures what ails you. I might just like this band wife thing after all.

[ green room love]

My friend Dawn and I crammed a month of catch-up into an hour and a half tonight. She's my band wife today, clapping in my front row. She envisions me in my little shop, where I sew dog coats in the back and help customers pick out cute accessories in the front, while Dudley and Archie run amok and greet everyone with a sniff. Sigh.

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