I've got a confession to make.
When I came back to Memphis from New York after CMJ a few weeks ago, my brain felt more fucked up than a soup sandwich. (Hold on! That part was not the confession.) And it wasn't just the complete lack of sleep -- well, let's not discount the gaping open-mouthed hour-long nap I took from New York to Charlotte, which I awoke from so dazed that I left my phone on the plane and almost sent it on a trip to Barbados without me -- or the feeling of my body completely rejecting the way I'd treated it for the past four days, up to and most definitely including the two Pumpkin Spice Lattes (yes, two) that had happened to me that very morning.
No, there was definitely something going on besides clinical exhaustion (and terminal hangover). And so here comes the confession: I got off of that plane in Memphis drowning in a rising tide of thoughts about whether or not I'm where I need to be. Whether or not I can or should or will stay in Memphis. Whether or not psychics and crystal balls and tarot cards are real, and if they are where in fact I could order one of each POST HASTE, please and thank you.
To be fair, this isn't a new thought, this should-I-leave-Memphis thought. I've been actively shushing it since July when I found out I was losing my job at the Music Foundation. And that hasn't been easy to do. Don't get me wrong -- my business is growing, and for being just barely five months into this I've come a hell of a long way already. But I can't help but wonder, especially after a trip to New York, if there will always be a ceiling to that growth for me, in this industry, in Memphis.
And if I'm being completely honest with you -- which I tend to like to be -- in those first few weeks after CMJ I was feeling very certain that in another year I'd be calling somewhere else home. Maybe Los Angeles, maybe San Francisco, I'd even given thought to allowing myself to consider for the briefest moment (brace yourself) -- moving back to New York. It seemed like a foregone conclusion. I even planned a trip to L.A. for the first week in January to take some meetings, build connections for my current clients but also scope out the potential digs.
The real problem, of course, is that I don't want to live in Los Angeles. Or in New York. And I guess more accurately, the real problem is two-fold: I don't want to live in those cities, and I want to live in Memphis. I love Memphis. I know who I am here. And really, who are you in a city like L.A.? In New York? Maybe at best you're a blip, on a good day.
But my passion for this city, I suppose, hasn't ever really been in question. A vacation to just about anywhere couldn't shake that. But this wasn't a vacation I took. It was a professional trip to a music conference where I met and talked to all kinds of people in all kinds of facets of the music industry who work for big impressive companies or small indie labels or boutique media firms in (guess where?) L.A. and New York. And after a few days of being immersed in live music and professional development panels and meeting the 45th person who has a job you'd be ridiculously qualified for who lives in (everybody now!) New York or L.A., you can't help but wonder if you're doing it wrong.
Will I ever be able to get to the next step here? Whatever that is?
I was certain when I came back from New York, that I'd be leaving. Not now, not soon, but eventually. And now? I'm not certain at all. In fact, I actually find myself leaning far more in the stay-in-Memphis, fly-in-the-face-of-convention, invent-your-own-next-step direction. But that doesn't mean that direction is any less scary to me. "What if" is like one of those TV commercials that blasts at its FCC maximum volume allotment so that when my brain is taking a break from its regularly scheduled programming it SCREAMS at me, so loud that it continues to ring in my ears, even once the show is back. I wonder constantly. What opportunities am I missing out on because I'm not in one of THOSE cities?
I don't have the answer to that question, and I never will. Because maybe the answer is absolutely nothing. You're not missing a GD thing. But I can't ever know. What I do know for sure, though, amid all the what-ifs, is that if I did leave I would always wonder what kind of rich life I was missing out on here in Memphis.
If anyone's got a good lead on a crystal ball, you know where to find me.
cheers,
elizabeth
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