JOURNEY B. GOODE

It could never come soon enough. “It” was a lot of things. My birthday. A trip. A concert. The first day of daylight saving's time. Anything I was looking forward to.

But lamentably enough, no matter how good “it” was, it was invariably anti-climactic. I mean, after all that anticipation, it could never hope to live up to expectations. How could there not be some kind of letdown? There was just too much damn pressure on the event. The long stretches of waiting were just something to be not-so-patiently endured.

Such was the pattern throughout the first half-century of my life. But then, tickets to a Chuck Berry concert turned it all around.

I had always been a zealous fan of the rock-and-roll icon, and the few times in my youth when I saw him perform were both electrifying and mesmerizing. So, years later when I became a parent, I was hell bent on ensuring that my kids would have the opportunity to experience his musical magnificence. I relished the fantasy that, one day in the distant future – long after I’m dead and buried – they could proudly boast to their grandchildren: "Chuck Berry? Sure, I know who Chuck Berry was. In fact, I actually saw him perform. Live.”

Of course, by the time my kids were old enough to see him, he was well into his 80s, and certainly not the impossibly vibrant force he once was. But, come on…it was still Chuck Friggin' Berry. I knew I’d always regret it if I passed up the chance.

And then chance found me one summer evening, when I heard on AM radio that he was scheduled to perform a single show in the early fall at a very small venue at the Route 66 classic auto show in the Southern California desert community of San Bernadino. Without a nanosecond of hesitation, I jumped on the internet and scored second-row seats.

And literally every day thereafter, whether on my hike, my bicycle, or in my car, I’d crank up my iPod with his classics: “Johnny B. Goode,” “Rock and Roll Music,” “Maybellene,” “Back in the U.S.A.” I’d share the building anticipation with my friends. We wondered, what songs would he play? Would he do his legendary “duck walk?” How many of those signature musical licks – the ones he invented over half a century ago to create the original sound of rock and roll guitar – would I be privileged to hear?

The day before the concert, I was on my bike ride, rockin’ and rollin’ to “Roll Over Beethoven.” And I was happy. I mean, really happy. But seemingly out of nowhere, a weird, cold feeling crept into the pit of my stomach, sunk my shoulders, and furrowed my brow: “Oh, shit. What if he’s not any good? What if Grandfather Time has reduced him to just an empty shell of what he once was? What if my kids resent me for dragging them out to the desert just to see some old guy on stage trying pathetically to act cool? What if the whole thing is an enormous bust??”

Then it struck me: It didn’t really matter how the concert turned out. Or whether or not he was any good. I’d just had three months of joyful anticipation. The concert itself was almost an afterthought. Sure, I still hoped he’d be great. But somehow it wasn’t the be-all-end-all. The buildup – rather than being a source of potential disappointment – was actually the joy.

As it turned out, the concert itself was a great experience. On some songs he faltered. On some songs he shined. I got to watch my daughter Briana beam as Chuck seemed to sing a verse of “School Days” right to her. I saw my son Jacob transfixed as Chuck made his Gibson guitar warble and whine. My kids got to see Chuck Berry perform live.

But as gratified as I was by all of this, what I took away was a lesson that had always maintained cliché status throughout my life, until I personally experienced it to be true: It’s less about the destination and more about the journey.

When I was younger, “it” could never come soon enough. But now, it always seems to come too soon. So, don’t rush it.

P.S. I just purchased concert tickets to hear Beethoven’s Ninth symphony performed at Disney Concert Hall. The concert isn’t for another six months…and for that I am grateful. I now have half a year ahead of joyful anticipation. Now, off for a hike. iPod fully locked and loaded. Roll Over Beethoven!
 
LIFE LESSON:
The journey can be more satisfying than the destination.