It IS My Birthday, and Don't Call Me Shorty

My friend Lee said that 26 was the most depressing birthday he ever had.

The thing is, most people look at 26 as the back side of one's twenties. It's the time when you do a bit of evaluation. It's the time when you start to think about what other people have accomplished by this point in their lives and where you measure up. Have I done everything I wanted to do? Achieved or contributed something? Is it really gonna get any better from here on out? For most people, it's the time where they realize that their answer to most of those questions is no. They haven't done enough, seen enough, risked enough, but heck, I'M 26 NOW! There's no sense in trying to start something now. I might as well already be 30!

I understand the perspective. I really do. The whole quarter-life crisis phenomenon is a familiar static in the background of my life. What if I had started writing music earlier? What if I had majored in something else? What if I had moved to Nashville or New York or somewhere? But I think the gift that God gave me this year, the thing He decided I needed above all other things, is promise.

Funny, it took me a few minutes to decide what word I wanted to use. I typed contentment, hope, satisfaction, self-assurance, optimism, but I think promise makes the most sense. It kinda works on two levels. One, there's a lot of promise in the future for Karri and I. We're excited about travel. We're excited about working for justice in the world. I'm excited about making music and starting a habit of creation. I'm excited about the wide open possibilities we're faced with in the months and years to come. And second, there's a promise that Karri and I rest on every day. And that's the promise that He's with us.

I've been thinking about the Great Commission lately, and how much encouragement that must have given the disciples at that time. I mean, they had pretty much jettisoned their hopes of a world-changing movement when Jesus was crucified. They had given up any hope of being a part of a movement that could change the world. So when the resurrected Jesus called them together and said, "Therefore go," I imagine there was a bit of apprehension. They had given up without Jesus. Given up on the movement, given up on hope, given up on the chance that the world could get better. And now Jesus was leaving, and he wanted them to stick it out. But Jesus closed the call with, "And surely I am with you always." As if to say, "It's alright, guys. Stick your necks out again. Risk away. Pick up those crosses again. I'm not going anywhere. Fear not."

Seems like God spends a lot of time telling people to "Fear Not."

So at 26, I've got some promise. Sure, sometimes I see Kobe Bryant and think, "Why haven't I signed a multi-million dollar contract yet?" But I've got plenty. I've got a beautiful wife who I'm crazy for. I've got a family that loves me. I've got music. I've got a purpose and a calling that will push me into the world. And I've got a rabbi who believes in me and isn't going anywhere. I'll take that as a birthday present.

I got an iPod for Christmas, anyways. (THANKS MOM!!!!!!!!!)

There's nothing like writing a blog while listening to great music, or at least, that's what I'm about to find out.

Karri and I are frequenting our favorite coffee shop, Milkboy Coffee BRYN MAWR! (nuts to that one in Ardmore!) We're partaking of this great Philadelphia thing called First Friday. First Friday is happens on the first Friday of every month, and it's kinda like sweeps week on television once a month. All these venues put their best feet... best foots?... forward and have some great talent for the evening. So we're listening to these great singer/songwriters from NYC, and I decided to update you all on the blossoming music career of Jim DeSelm.

I've been playing open mic nights on a fairly regular basis lately here at Milkboy, and Karri and I are starting to find a new quasi-community with the regulars. I'm up to about ten songs or so, and I've performed about seven of them, so I'm well on my way to actually having a catalogue of my own. It's intimidating, being a musician who's built his experience on performing other people's music, and getting up in front of a crowd with your own stuff. It makes a lot more sense when you hear artists talk about how personally they feel about what they create. But I'm really happy with the things I've written as a start. And last Wednesday, the host of the open mic approached me about maybe doing my own gig here soon. So I'm feeling pretty encouraged by that, and of course, by Karri, who's starting to learn the words of my songs.

I've got all these questions about where this music thing should sit in my world, and how much thought and energy should be put into it, and whether those questions are premature in the first place. Some days I've got my album cover all laid out and my bandmates selected and we're all moving to some city together to make our big break, and some days I'm ready to just scrap my notebook and stick to playing other people's stuff. On nights like tonight, listening to some guys who are really good and putting all their eggs into the I'm-a-musician basket, I'm wondering if it's even what I would want if I got there. But more than anything, it just feels good to be connected to music, and contribute to the creativity of the world. I think I'm ok with that right now.

So in the meantime between now and my platinum album, I'm just gonna keep doing my thing here in the canvas chairs at the Bryn Mawr. My behind is actually killing me, cause those canvas chairs really do a number on you after a while. Maybe that'll be my next song. Ode the Coccyxical Chairs. Yep. That's a winner.