As a result of the accident, I had to cancel all on my scheduled performances.You see, I have this little issue with my left arm that is prohibiting me from playing guitar.
Hopefully this will resolve, but I’m afraid it’s gonna take some time.
Many of you know that in addition to performing locally, I travel, especially if there is an opportunity to play for an audience in a “listening” venue. These performances can be incredibly rewarding, and often result in making wonderful connections. Due to this accident, I had to back out of shows across Ohio, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Indiana.
With as much traveling as I do, it is sort of ironic that my crash occurred about five miles away from home!
I was in the hospital for three and a half weeks, with plenty of time to think about what might happen next. Ideally, the mobility and dexterity will return to my left hand, but even so, I will certainly have to “relearn” how to play guitar. Maybe I will be limited in what I can do, or perhaps I will discover a new approach. Time will tell.
I’ve enjoyed some wonderful experiences performing as a solo artist, but also with dozens of and dozens of bands. And while I cherish these, sometimes wild and crazy memories, they simply do not compare to some of the heartfelt messages inspired by the lyrics of my songs.
I received this text the day after I got out of the hospital from an old college friend Andy. He is a bit of a free spirit and has some remarkable life experiences, including a long stay in Antarctica. When he sent the following text, he had no idea I had been injured, but it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Apologies for late night txt. Hwvr have to write this down before I forget it. This is all TRUE!! I’m on the final leg of long long straight through road trip back to Columbus. A bunch of hours ago I picked up an old hitchhiker in the middle of ‘real nowhere’ aside the road in western Kansas. I had many amazing hitchhiking adventures years ago, so I always pick up hitchhikers, especially those who clearly need a ride, and besides, the temp was near 100. His face was truly worn and deeply weathered, body frail and tattered. I gave him a sandwich and bottle of water. I think he finished in one long swallow. I opened the little cooler and he took another. He did not utter a single word for over two hours. We listened to music, after a while we listened to Pat Metheny’s ‘Missouri Sky’ while watching massive Missouri prairie storm far off to the north brightly flash away. Immediately after that album your song “I just don’t want to work hard anymore”came through my iPhone rotation. After the song ended, I jumped a bit, as he spoke for the first time since getting in. “Really like that song” he said. I asked him if he wanted to hear it again. He said yes. After your song ended the second time he turned the music volume down and then came the flood. Without any prompting, he spoke a line of clearly true, relatable, and heartbreaking life stories that just seemed to gently flow out of him. For the next several hours I was blinded by the power of his eloquent words and depth of emotions that tore through my heart and soul. (Still doing so) I drove him all the way to his front door. It was in a severely impoverished black neighborhood in a very tough part of St Louis. He didn’t say “thank you” nor did he need to, he just looked me in the eye, and gave me a clear formal nod. Just like in my old Navy days.
I’m now just outside of Indianapolis with 3-4 hours more to go. I stoped the music after I dropped him off as his stories have not yet released the reins of my emotions. So, I just wanted to share this moment with you, about how powerful and important a single song (your song) can be to a single man. And how truly devastating (in a most positive humanitarian way) sharing a personal story can be. Ergo, I felt the urgent need to tell you. And another urgent need to Thank You, as you, and your song, made this long trip’s power and gratitude possible. If I told you this later, it would seem unbelievable. I still can’t believe it, even just lived it. I’m now both physically and emotionally exhausted, yet have enough adrenaline and coffee to get home by sunrise.
Humbled,
Andy Cameron
As I ponder what might be in store for me, Andy’s text could not have come at a better time. Whatever lies ahead, I hope I can continue to find the words and emotions that make these connections.
If I see you on the trail, I might have a cane.
Steve