carry all your gentlemen

A long time ago, Elie requested I write something about my brother, music and my guitar. I've been waiting for the opportune moment... it finally came.

I've had my guitar for almost two years now. It's hard to reconcile that much time passing, but it really has. I'll never forget the day I bought it, the boy I bought it with or the boy I bought it for.

Or the boy who wanted to take it to Nashville.

It's always been difficult to be Jason's sister. I don't know if it's a younger child syndrome thing, that he's able to do what I've wanted to do more than anything - perform music - or that my parents seem to defer to him and in turn, make me feel disloyal if I don't kowtow in return. Perhaps this all stems back to jealousy or something equally petty and selfish, but I would hope that after 21 years, it wouldn't be so simple.

The thing is, Jason is good. No, he's better than good, he is the most talented musicians I know and perhaps one of the few that will actually make it. And I'm not jealous that he's good, I'm not angry that he's going places. I know he works hard for his fame and deserves it. That's not what drives me fucking insane and makes me alternatively want to cry and swear I never knew him.

It's that... when I stand next to him, it's like what I do doesn't exist. It's not that I'm untalented, but my talents are not the type that get the spotlight like being a musician and having really spiky hair. And it's not that my parents don't love me or believe in me or support me, but it just feels so one-sided in the way they relate to us. Jason needs something? We'll give it to him. Jason's getting bad grades? Oh, it's because he's playing so much. Jason's coming to visit? Start making his favorite foods.

And I get caught up in this show of support for him. And I don't WANT to be! I am not an unkind person. Yes, I'm selfish. Yes, I can be cruel. But I'd like to think in general, I am willing to sacrifice for those I care about. Jason is not counted out in that crowd, but being his sister, him being the way he is, you give more than your fair share.

Last night, I asked him to name one time he'd done something for me. He couldn't think of a single time.

I'd finally had enough, you know? I was sick and tired of having to give up myself to make him happy. So when he asked to borrow my guitar, my beautiful guitar that was bought hoping it would help me fight those demons and any boys who ever broke my heart, I said no. Fucking no, Jason, you will not fucking take my guitar to Nashville, even if it's only for a month, even if you need it, even if I don't fucking play it. It's mine.

And for once, he had no claim. He had no right, and I had every to deny him the use of my expensive guitar.

I can play the piano. I can play a bit on the guitar. I still have these dreams that one day I'll have a hobby of playing open mics and opening for bands in the local music scene, have a few fans, make an EP and just do it because I love it. As I'm driving, I still hum little melodies and write lyrics on old paycheck stubs, hoping to write just one more song to play for my friends.

But I know that I will never be able to write lyrics like Missy Higgins or craft melodies like Matt Nathanson, though God, sometimes I have these words and notes inside of me that are begging to get out, and it fucking rips me up that I'm just too clumsy to shape them into the eloquence they deserve to be.

I will never be Jason. But that's never stopped me from trying.

Because when it comes down to it, I love him. I only wanted his acceptance. I've only ever wanted people to see me as his equal, not his little sister. And because I love him, I want him to be happy and I want his life to be filled with spotlights.

Because I love him, the place where my guitar normally leans up against my chest of drawers, is empty.

friday five

Current Top 5 Favorite People

I know I did this last semester, but it was the right choice for this week.

1. My parents. Maybe it's that I'm still riding the high from last weekend's rescue party, but in a way, I hope not. I think that I came to realize in a gut way how my parents are really for me, 100%. I guess I haven't always felt like that before, and it's pretty rad.

2. Seth/Maddie from the SG. God, these people are so refreshing. It's such an odd feeling to be appreciated for the work I do, especially when I'm doing it for fucking free. Seth has gotten into the habit of calling me "Traci J." in his special brand of Kentucky/Ohio accent, which makes me laugh.

3. Elie. In some ways, living with her has been feeling more and more like an extended sleepover (I'm thinking it's our late night chats when we're both in bed and should be sleeping). But regardless, it's so great to have a second family there for me, and a best friend who has a solid answer for anything I throw at her (and I'm pretty good at throwing the most ridiculous shit out for an SOS).

4. Will. This was my actor for Adam from The Shape of Things from last semester in Directing class. I ran into him by fluke today and we ended up having dinner and having one of the best, most refreshingly honest talks I've had in a while. He wrote his number on a napkin, and I just might call it one day.

5. Miranda. I love this girl even though we are as opposite as you can get (minus our shared OCD over school). I don't know how we're such good friends since I absolutely cannot fucking stand her beliefs and views, but fuck, I love that girl with a passion. Plus she way complimented my mix-making skills, that compliment basically made my fucking week.

change, change, change

This weekend I have been incredibly worn and depressed and emotional. I spent most of Sunday crying, trying to get the what felt like mountains of homework done through my tears, reluctant to return to my own home because of some guests my parents invited over that I did not want to see and trying to figure out why my entire self esteem was in the crapper.

It was not a good weekend.

My saving grace is having parents who love me, though sometimes not in the way I want them to. They have been fantastic this weekend, and I could barely bring myself to leave my house on Monday because I didn't want to leave their warmth and support.

I'm doing better. I'm still stressed, still upset, still really unhappy. But at least right now I'm not feeling like my only option is to retreat to bed and stay there for three months. I'm writing for The Eagle, for the first time this semester, something that I'm excited about and want to do well - and if I've been procrastinating on it... well, that's just the story of this semester. I'm remembering why I chose this 180 of a major, I'm taking pride that maybe those A's weren't a fluke after all.

It's the best feeling in the world to get into something that you haven't done in a long time and find yourself, if not succeeding, at least not failing the way you thought you would. The words are coming, the quotes are there and I am so lucky to be able to tell this story.