#044 - Origins - Pt. 6 - Seneca

6.8.24

At this point in my Seneca journey, I stepped down from my part-time responsibilities but was still contracted for set changes and Sunday lighting. Because renting a place up there didn't make sense, I moved out of the apartment with the chickens and back into my parents' house in Atlanta. Still, I was driving back and forth on the weekends, and most of the time, I would drive up on Saturday nights, program and set up the lights, and take a nap in my car in the church parking lot overnight. I even had a spot where I parked, and the local cops knew my car. In small towns, strangers are noticed more often in the city.

State Troopers and BVDs.

There is this funny story where I found a quiet neighborhood next to the church in which to sleep. It was a steamy night in the foothills, and to prevent the only clothes I had brought with me from stinking too bad, mind you, I was twenty, and twenty-year-olds do not necessarily plan. I had removed my shirt and pants, and the local newspaper delivery person, who knew these still existed, saw me in what he thought was nude. Sleeping me had no idea until I was met with the searing white hot light of a state trooper's flashlight. He was inquiring why I was sleeping in my underwear in a neighborhood with an out-of-state tag. Then he told me to go to the church parking lot, and that's when I was added to their local police list of okay cars.

Seneca was a fantastic experience, and as is true of all life's journeys, it had its ups and downs. But Seneca was more about the people than the rocky, forested foothills of Appalachia. It was about me leaving home for the first time and finding true friends. It was more of a vision quest and a trial run for my future, and while growing up and learning, I ran into some minions, too.

Phil the first.

Phil and I are five years apart, and he is like a younger brother to me. When we first met, he was a rambunctious thirteen-year-old who communicated more by tackling me and wrestling me to the ground than by words. He loved lighting and, more so, looked up to me. Every time I programmed some fantastic look, he would rave, and soon, I began to teach him what little I knew about lighting.

At the time, I was twenty and had no idea what I was doing, but nothing reinforces your personal knowledge more than teaching and pouring your knowledge into someone else. When it is a younger person, some consider it mentoring, and I certainly do. However, mentoring is more of a formal friendship between two people: one who is established and doing well and the other who is growing and learning. Some older / younger relationships become familial and take on an older / younger sibling dynamic. This was the case for us.

He would push back with me and ask me relentlessly why I was doing what I was doing. I would get annoyed with the older brother's style and show him quickly to make him stop. Phil is a drummer who is high-energy and can hype up anyone. But few people know me better, and he has been by my side longer than most, too, and this is where it gets sentimental. We're both thirty, and he's married now. Our adventures include more talking and hanging out than going on actual adventures, but that is what happens when you grow up. And Phil had to grow up quickly.

John.

John was a local stagehand in Greenville with a heart of gold. He would always make me laugh and cut up with me even though we were in the thick of some awful situations. I could always rely on him to bail me out or hop in and help Mark and me when we were doing set changes for the church. John was also Phil's father, which made our friendship even more unique, and he would throw shade at me in a fatherly way for doing quintessential "Taylor things." It wasn't until I toured years later that I would run into John on the road in Greenville, and it was always a welcome treat.

Touring and travel are a blast but can be exhausting. Seeing an old familiar face in a crowded room warms my heart, taking the sting off the day-to-day. Storytime. When I was doing a gig, I think it was somewhere in California. Who knows? I felt ostracized by the crew and was in an awful mood. I kept thinking about how much longer it would take until I could get on the flight home. That was until I ran into the lead singer of a band I used to tour with. Running into him randomly on the other side of the country instantly put me in a fantastic mood. I remember poking my head into the room where he was and him stopping what he was doing to hug me. We chatted for a bit and caught up. John was the same way, and I always knew I would have a good day when he was around. And even if I didn't, misery always loves company.

Leaving on that midnight train to Georgia.

There are a couple of classic songs about trains leaving and departing stations. Gladys Knight and her pips have the Midnight Train, but the song that is a true song of departure is from The Impressions in 1965. I cannot listen to "People Get Ready" without thinking about my time in Seneca and John. A couple of the national acts I toured with covered the song, and it always hits a particular chord with me. If you want to know an old hymn that does the same, it is one of my family's favorites: "Blessed Assurance." I want to warn you that this next part may make you cry and wreck you like your favorite old song.

John left the world too soon, and like most departures, it was a difficult time for those around him. I don't want to bring up anything wrong or harmful because that is not what he would like. He loved his family, especially his son Phil, who followed in his footsteps, but the community did not support his family in the aftermath. When he died, I was on the road and unable to attend his funeral, but I was there for Phil through the whole thing because I had lost a father, too. Phil disconnected from the world of Seneca shortly thereafter, and I had already passed the torch on to him and moved on anyway. With John gone, Phil had no reason to be up there and moved to a church in Louisiana for a while. If you've read my blog, you know where my story is heading.

Phil was one of the first of an army of younger dudes who looked up to me, and I feel inadequate to have this kind of spotlight. However, I like to step up to the plate and at least try and take a swing at things. If you never swing, how could you ever hit a ball? And with practice and patience, you can at least score a point every now and again. John's departure from this Earth was sad and unexpected, but what Phil did in the aftermath makes me tear up when I think about it. Literal tears. And I hate crying. I feel weak.

Transformational bereavement.

It is what you do in the aftermath of tragedy that transforms you. It takes you to the next step of development sometimes. Other times, it atrophies and makes you arrogant against the universe or God. I can become bitter at the circumstances surrounding the death of a dear friend, or I can reflect and think about the good times and happiness that the particular person brought to the world. (An insertion: if the person was a genuinely evil person, then happiness in the departure, you know, for balance) Yes, losing is hard, but it can be an excellent motivator for the future. In honor of the memory of my departed friends, I try to honor and respect the world around me because that is what my ancestors wanted me to do.

Phil lost his father in his twenties and became motivated to build his life away from Seneca. I moved from the lake because it was too far to drive for work, and I connected to a larger church in Atlanta. He's a starving artist like myself, but when I say he has made a life for himself to honor his dad's memory, I do not lie. John smiles down from heaven every time Phil makes a good choice and shows up in spirit to surround him during the hard times. Part of the bereavement process is transformational; the older you become, the easier it is to see this.

In addition to losing John, I also lost a younger brother and his wife suddenly in 2020 and not from COVID. My grandparents are deceased on both sides of my family. I lost an Uncle and cousin this year, but I try to honor all these people who meant and still mean the world to me daily by living an ancestor-honoring life. It honors God and Jesus too and makes the spirit warm and happy, but I don't want to Jesus Juke this. Because ultimately, this is about the journey and origins of my human life. Samantha, Mark, John, and Phil are people I've met and connected to and always keep in touch with and pray for. If you're reading this, I pray for you, too, because we can find healing together even in our brokenness, even if it's not with me, but with someone you haven't spoken to in a long time.

Thank you for reading - have a fantastic day!

To read the previous parts: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5