February 7th, 2009 should have been a trophy-snatching milestone, a thrilling victory for my art and my craft. Like most 21-year-olds, I had no money, no safety net, and no answer to the question “How many shots of Jagermeister is too many?” (The answer, especially once you reach your thirties, is one.) What I did have was a dream.
I had basically abandoned the college experience and locked myself in a practice room for seven semesters straight: No Spring breaks, no vacations, no weekends off, no friendships forged. I even took on my professor’s challenge to me that “to really make it, I shouldn’t attempt to date anyone.” In retrospect, the dynamic was pretty messed up.