Whatcha doin?

Hey Stevie baby, whatsupwichoo?! How's it hangin'?! Hope your day is a good one, wherever you are. I'm just chillin', feeling a bit spongy-headed today. My silly hubby introduced me to a drink called a Long Island Iced Tea, and bought me a pitcher of them at dinner last night. Couldn't taste any alcohol, so I chugged the whole thing, and holy CRAP I slept like a ROCK. I have learned over time that I could very easily slip into becoming an alcoholic, and hey, it's a hobby I've never tried before, so I might just make that a New Years' resolution!

Actually, in all honesty, my dad was an alcoholic--at least, until I stopped speaking to him when I was 22, I have no idea if he still is or not--so, really that would be a BAD idea for me to do. You have had some issues with that in the past, from all the rumors I've heard at least, so you probably have a general understanding of what it's like. But, I don't really drink much alcohol at all, so this was sort of an experiment, and wow, I am now feeling like my head is a heavy sponge.

When I was in college, (1988-1992), I spent lots of time reading self-help books to figure myself out and do some soul searching about my life. It was pretty cool sometimes, scary other times, and just plain intriguing most of the time. I became addicted to self-help books. HA! But there's one that you may be interested in reading for yourself, because in it, I not only recognize ME, but also I recognize YOU as being one too---it's called "The Highly Sensitive Person," and I really believe that's what a LOT of super creative people suffer from. I mean, you may not be like Van Gogh and cut your flippin' ear off, but if he had only read this book, he may have thought, "Nahhh, I'll skip that idea." It really opened my eyes a lot about myself, and I think maybe you have the same temperament that they describe in the book. For what it's worth, I highly recommend it. I know for a fact that I am definitely a highly sensitive person.

My mom told me a story about when I was 3 years old. I had apparently been playing in our yard one summer day, when I wandered off. Nobody could find me. The neighbors all started combing the area, calling my name, and for at least 4-5 hours, I was completely missing. My mom was in a total panic, until someone shouted, "I found her!" and there I was, sound asleep, with tears stained down my face, sitting in some neighbor's shed in their backyard, holding a dead baby bird in my hands. Now, if THAT doesn't prove I'm a highly sensitive person, I don't know what will. Another time, when I was 8 or so, I decided to do something good for the world, and my mom stuck her head out the door to yell, "What the hell are you doing?" as I put canned goods into our mailbox. I answered, "How do you spell Ethiopia?" Yep, I was determined to save those starving children that I saw on t.v., so I figured I'd mail them some food.

I've always had this chronic "save the world" syndrome, all my damned life, and frankly it gets on my nerves. As I've grown older, I've realized that NOBODY WANTS TO BE SAVED. So, talk about a slap in the face! What the heck have I been trying to DO all these years, when nobody cares?! What a waste of my time!! The day I did a total 360 on this whole "save the world" thing, was on 9/11, because I was smack dab right in the middle of Armageddon, in Washington DC, only a mile from the Pentagon that day. I stood in the street, and everything was like in slow motion around me, people running and yelling, black clouds of thick smoke all over the place, sirens in the background, chaos everywhere...and I suddenly heard this huge voice from I don't know where, say to me, "You will die today." All I could do was stand there, and I nodded in affirmation of this proclamation, waiting for the moment of my death. Imagine my confusion when I didn't die.

However, a huge part of me really DID die that day. I lost my life and my career in DC on that very day, because I took off to Michigan that afternoon. My mom was flying to Florida on 9/11, and we couldn't find her anywhere. I really thought she was dead someplace, but none of the airlines could pinpoint where their planes were, everybody was grounded. Phone lines were jammed. My mom doesn't own a cell phone either. So I panicked and drove home, 12 hours all alone, listening to NPR and crying my eyeballs out, mentally preparing myself to plan my mom's funeral. That was the day I died inside.

Luckily, my mom was okay but stranded in Kansas somewhere. It took her 5 days to get back home. She never made it to Florida. In the meantime, I had called my employer and they basically said, "You're an essential employee, we need you here ASAP." I told them I had to be home to help my mom, it was a family emergency, and they said, "Choose one, your family or your job." So I reluctantly resigned, and wrote that very thing in my resignation letter, that I felt FORCED to quit, and didn't WANT to quit. I wish now I had contacted a lawyer about it, I would have learned that it was illegal for them to do such a thing. I wish I had just stayed in DC, but that thought makes me feel guilty because of my mom. So, damned if you do, damned if you don't.

My job in DC was my LIFE. Kinda like your job as the lead singer of Journey was YOUR life. Everything in that Museum of mine was MINE, ya know? I knew every inch of the place backwards and forwards, inside and out, like the back of my hand. I loved every cubic inch of that building, I loved the people INSIDE the building who volunteered there every week, and I loved that I was a part of something much bigger than myself. It was like having a higher calling, ya know? Some kind of divine intervention. I BELONGED there, and I had planned to remain working there until I retired. That was my life's WORK, what I loved most in the world.

And I know that you have also been through this same thing: they took what you loved most in the world, away from you, and hurt you with it. That is what happened to me. So, you and I have a few things in common, I think. At least, I like to believe that. I could be totally wrong. But, my intuition says I'm probably right. I paid very close attention to the details surrounding your departure from Journey, along with info from various other sources that I trusted, and so I feel that you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's the absolute worst thing in the world, to be hurt by the thing you love the most. It really kills you inside. A slow & painful death.

I suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for a very long time...hell, for all I know, I still have it. I do still have occasional nightmares about 9/11, and right after that happened, I realized nobody listened to the things I had been teaching all those years at that Museum, and nobody cared, and nobody seemed to want to be saved...so why the hell should I keep trying to save the world? I suddenly felt angry at the whole universe, and wanted everybody to just blow each other up and get it over with already. I decided I was sick and tired of being the ONLY goodie goodie in the universe who gave a damn, and I began to really hate people. I was suddenly anti-social, and rude, and mean to people every chance I got. They deserved it, I felt, for causing me so much grief. So I was hell bound and determined to give them some shit right back.

So, the "me" you met in person in 1994 during the FTLOSM tour is not the same "me" I am today. And, I venture forth the assumption that the very same thing is true for you as well. I mean, 16+ years have gone by since then. You're 62 years old, and I'm 42. Twenty years seems like a huge gap between our ages, but truthfully, it's really not that much difference. You've endured the depression that comes after losing your "purpose" in life. You've dealt with trying to figure out "what now," and feeling restless, frustrated, lost and alone. You may have also felt that you didn't give a rat's ass about the fans who loved you and just wanted to be by yourself for awhile, to figure things out, to sort through your emotions, to start over again. Yeah, I am pretty sure you know how all that feels, and what it's like. It sucks the big dog.

How do you get over such a thing? What did YOU do to get over it? Are you EVER going to get over it? Some days I believe I never will get over it, myself. It's been 9 years for me, of not working at the Museum anymore, but I miss it every day so much that my heart aches inside. I still walk along those halls, I still see and feel it like I'm really living part of my life there, I remember it vividly and dream about it sometimes. That place was everything to me. Do you have similar feelings, of remembering awesome moments of catharsis while being onstage? Do you sometimes ache in your heart for the feeling of accomplishment when you hit that last high note, or hold that last goodbye moment when the show ends, with your arm raised high in the air? Do you miss those bright lights, the running around, dancing, singing, and having fun with your Journey family? Those guys might be jerks when they're not on stage, but they really were your family...and I am going to be presumptuous to say, they still ARE.

Hey, I've met those guys several times over the years. I have also heard stories about them from other people, including Lora, (she told me about the time when she dated Jonathan Cain, and after they broke up, during the time when you were leaving the band, he slammed the door in her face when she tried to talk to him about it). So yeah, I know they can totally be jerks. In fact, Neal had just married his umpteenth wife (the man knows that guitar like it's his own bodily appendage, but when it comes to WOMEN, he knows SQUAT and should just give up), and I believe at the time she was only 19 years old---which also tells you a lot about HIS mentality level, having never graduated high school, playing in bands since the age of 15---so, right after that marriage, he was on tour without you for the first time, and actually asked ME and several other girls backstage if we would like to "come back to his hotel for some...PIZZA." I stood there, glaring at him in disapproval, and said, "No thanks. You can keep your pepperoni in your pants, where it belongs." What a schmuck, I thought. But ya know what? I still love him. And that's the hardest thing to do, when you've been hurt by your family. You still gotta love them, no matter what. And it's hard. Some days you hate them with every fiber in your being, every innard in your gut. Some days you may even want to slam that guitar right over the top of his stubborn thick skull because he made some bad choices, and caused you a lot of heartache.

But, deep down, that bond is still there. You guys are like brothers, and always will be.

When I met Steve Smith at a drum clinic that I attended once in Grand Rapids Michigan (1994 I think), he told me that he still misses all of you guys, and especially YOU, and when I told him I was going to be meeting you backstage in a few weeks after your show, (our second meeting), he said, "Really? Cool, tell him to call me, I want to do the Trial By Fire thing." I had no idea what he was talking about. I didn't ask questions. I just said, "I will tell him."

So, when I met you after the show a second time a few weeks later, I told you---but when you took a physical step back from me---it broke my heart. I thought, "Aw SHIT I've freaked him out, and he is scared of me, I've ruined everything." And I sat there, wearing my long black coat in that restaurant inside your hotel, while you and Rome sat at a different table, talking about the two idiot girls who jumped up on stage in Kalamazoo Michigan with you during your performance---I could tell you were very pissed off about that, and those same two chicks actually had the BALLS to show up at the hotel too! I went up to them and said, "Steve is pissed that you did that you know, he won't want anything to do with you, the two of you freaked him the hell out, so you might as well leave." But they just gave me a dirty look and stayed.

BE-OTCHES.

But, at that split second moment when you took a visible step back from me, I realized: there I was, doing the same damned thing that those other chicks did! I freaked you out. Sadly, I walked over to another table, and I just sat there, on the sidelines, watching you in your pink sweater, eating french fries...I sat there alone, in silence, crying softly as I drank my diet Coke. Then I got up to leave, and said thank you and gave you a photo of Steve Smith at his drum clinic, with the message on the back to call him about Trail By Fire. It took me all of my ability to dry my eyes, and deliver the message, and leave. I cried all the way home, thinking that I was just as bad as the two bimbo's who jumped on the stage at you. I never meant to freak you out though. I was just trying to deliver Smitty's message.

You can imagine how thrilled I was, though, when I saw the new Trial By Fire CD!! I thought, "Well, damn, maybe my message got through...maybe I helped this to happen, even just a little bit..." (and then reality said, "Maybe they talk to each other regularly on the phone silly.") So, I probably had absolutely NOTHING to do with it, but I like to believe I might have. Ya know that's one of my favorite albums actually. I love those songs. They are mature, and real, and deep feeling. They say a lot. They're words from a Highly Sensitive Person. They really get into your core, and affect you when you hear the lyrics and the music. At least, that's how they affected me. And still do.

Well, anyway, whatever you're doing in life, I hope you're happy and feeling stress-free, and doing whatever it is you love to do. I hope you've found your true self, and the reinvention of Steve Perry, the new you, and I hope the "what now" worries are all just a faded memory now.

Love, Rebecca PS. Remind me to tell you about the first time we met! That was THE BEST!