Ever feel a certain way but can't put a name to the feeling? So many people have anxiety today, and while I'm sympathetic, it's a diagnosis that doesn't fully cover what ails the creative. Does Banksy have anxiety?... Couldn't tell you, I've never met the guy. But what I can say is it's 10:30 PM on a Monday and I'm sitting up drinking hot tea wondering why I'm thinking everything and nothing at the same time.
That's THE ITCH. I'm not nervous or anxious about anything, that I'm conscious of at least. I got excited thinking about the times I used to write the most juvenile poems that at the time were the best thing since Deja Entendu to me. Then I listened to the new This Party's Lame tracks laying in a dark room alone, flashing back to the first time we recorded. I haven't contributed anything to the new songs, but I didn't feel bad, I just felt different. I didn't feel I was missing out nor did I feel like I let anyone down (sorry Jason and Paul, it's not personal). I just had the itch.
So what did I do? I got up and started writing this thinking it would scratch the itch. Here, on paragraph 3 is it working? Not really, because I can't pinpoint it. It's more so a broader feeling of losing an identity that maybe I never realized that I had. The last time I picked up my guitar was a year ago, realized it had a few broken strings, told myself I would fix it and then did none of that. The last time I read anything that impacted me in a significant way was probably in college (community college thank you very much). I started writing again about 8 months ago and it felt great, but then life, as it does when you're almost 40, got back in the way.
Sorry, I went to sleep for a week after writing the last paragraph. The itch is still there. The question remains, does it ever really go away? I don't think so, if you ask me it gets worse and even more incurable as you get older. I never thought I was going to make a career out of any sort of artistic expression but I sure as hell daydreamed about it. But I at least had the space to scratch openly and expressively. That space gets smaller and smaller the older you get. You go from a warehouse to a studio apartment. The group of people that share your interests shrinks in size and the ones you find also have the same limited availability.
The itch is not so much going on tour with your band or making a short film. At this point in life there'll just be other itches, a symptom of what you left behind. It's an incessant cycle, a deep nagging feeling. Like when you finally get a cast cut off. That one spot on your forearm that's been inaccessible for months is finally exposed to the world again and you can go to town. Eventually it fades, but then your head starts to itch, time to shower I guess. There's always going to be something that itches so what's the point in telling yourself you can't scratch it?
Scratching the itch doesn't mean you're abandoning something sacred. A little time travel's ok. Going back to a time that made you what you are today, not what you're projecting to others. The itch is authenticity which then would mean scratching is then BEING authentic. Critics be damned…