Necessary Toughness

When we first started touring as a band, I was 22 years old and fresh out of college.  We had done well enough in Denver that we figured it was time to branch out, so we packed our gear in a rented 15-passenger van and headed for LA.  On our first few tours, we could only do a few shows at a time before returning home – the drives across western America are incredibly long and in order not to lose (a lot of) money we could only sustain a week or so on the road.  More often than not we were crashing on friends’ floors instead of staying in hotels.  We drove ourselves, taking turns at the wheel, and over time we got the hang of touring, finding better and easier ways to make life on the road bearable.

Our luxurious ride

As a person who has admittedly had a very easy life, touring has always been a challenge for me.  I don’t like to be tired or hungry, two of the most common states you’ll find yourself in while on tour.  I’ve never been a big fan of “roughing it” and a lot of the towns we’ve found ourselves in have not exactly been desirable destinations (Bakersfield, anyone?).  I get really grumpy if I can’t shower every day, and being the only girl in the group has at times been both a blessing and a curse (there is very little privacy, but men's general fear and anxiety about issues of the female body and mind can occasionally be used to my advantage).  Oh, and don’t even get me started on the fart situation. 

The way we do things now is not significantly different, although we have a tour manager and a stage manager who do the driving and gear hauling.  We have a merch guy to hock t-shirts and CD’s, and we spend more time in hotels than on our friends’ floors.  Still, being on tour is a challenge both mentally and physically.  It’s almost like a game you play with yourself.  How little sleep can I get and still perform well?  How much crappy fast food can I eat before my digestive system is trashed?  And the eternal question, how long can I hold it?  Because I really don’t want to pee in this disgusting, filthy gas station bathroom.  Some of the answers might surprise you.

Flobots on tour in Paris, 2008

Now, if you’re a mom and you’re reading this, you might find yourself thinking, hmm….that sounds familiar.  And while fundamentally being on tour and being a mother are clearly two very different things, I am noticing that some of the games you play are surprisingly very similar.  Finding the time and resources to generate and then consume food can be a challenge, especially in the early months.  Peeing (alone, if at all) is an adventure.  And sleep?  Oh, sleep.  You elude me at every turn.  In addition, you are required to, at all times, be attentive, caring, nurturing and loving.  You always put the needs of your child before your own.  You have precious little alone time.  The funny thing is, though, that even though parenthood is one of the biggest challenges you will ever endure, it’s never a chore.  At least it isn’t for me.  The job of being a mom is the best job I’ve ever had and I would starve, hold in my pee, and stay awake every second for the rest of my life as long as I get to kiss and cuddle and love my son.  It has made me a tougher, stronger and more resilient person and for that I am grateful. 

Kissing, cuddling and loving the band is less appealing for obvious reasons, although I am deeply invested in what we’re doing, and I do love my band mates in a platonic, stinky boy kind of way.  Being away from Findlay for the sake of this job is not something that I take lightly or find easy, but I have been pleasantly surprised to find that my “tour toughness” has increased ten-fold since I’ve become a parent.  I feel empowered in a way I never have before.  I feel less fear and anxiety around being away from home because I know that if it came to it, I would walk my butt all the way down I-25 if I had to in order to get back to my family.  The day to day inconveniences bother me less, as I’m now used to skipping a shower and a meal (two words – dry shampoo).  More importantly, I feel a sense of purpose in doing this job, more so than ever before, because I’m doing it for them. 

Photo by Pete Wynn - 2011

A couple of nights ago in Portland, I came back on stage by myself to begin our encore.  It was a packed house and after an incredibly high energy show I was more or less exhausted and kind of ready to just go to bed, especially knowing that the following day we would have a 13-hour drive beginning at 5am.  I had been pretty depressed all day, desperately missing my family and feeling a bit worn down - the night before in Seattle I was stung by a Hornet 30 minutes before the show, so I had been dealing with a swollen and painful arm all day.  Before I even played a note, someone yelled out, “I love you!”  Someone else shouted “I love her more!” and then someone else, “I love her the most!”  Then a beautiful chorus of “we all love you!’s” erupted and I could have cried.  Moments like that make the road’s troubles disappear, if only for a moment.  Even though I was missing my family, I like to think they would be proud of me knowing that I was out there on stage doing what I love and being loved by others in return, and becoming a stronger and better person because of it.