Touring, Anxiety, and the Cost of Saying Yes

And an amazing new band!

L-R: Ellen Angelico, Mair Meyer, Molly Tuttle, me, Megan Jane.

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I cried over my toast this morning.

I also took a double dose of my anxiety meds (on my doctor’s orders).

I don’t have time to sit and write this post, either, because I should be at our store unpacking the mountain of boxes of apparel that need to be ready for sale next week.

But I vowed that this blog would be showing the full picture of being a woman in music, and what I’m sharing today is part of it.

So I’m not going to edit my writing, and I’m not going to try to find any big takeaways to offer you. I’m just going to tell you what’s been happening and why it’s been amazing and incredibly hard.

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Last week, I spent six full days in rehearsals with Molly Tuttle for a new band she’s launching this summer with a new album.

It was the most fun I’ve had musically in a long time, drawing on my decades of experience in modern bluegrass, improvised music, pop, and folk.

I’m the musical director for the band, and putting together this group of musicians to play her new material and back catalog was an incredible creative challenge—both utterly exhausting and wonderfully creatively nourishing.

This week of rehearsal was for the band to put the music together and for the production's tech side. The crew has created an incredible stage show with velvet curtains, killer lighting, and sound that blew me away just from the rough board mixes alone.

It’s an accidental girl band, meaning everyone was chosen because they’re the perfect player for the job, and we all happen to be women.

I can already tell it will be a socially fun and musically fulfilling tour.

So why were there tears over my toast, you may be wondering?

Because this is also the first time I’ve toured with this intensity since my partner got sick.

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I almost quit music two years ago.

It had gotten to the stage where every time I went out on the road, my partner’s mental health took a monumental dive.

Unable to distinguish whether I was unhappy because I was done with music or because my home life fell apart whenever I performed, I let touring dwindle and focused on building a life off the road for the first time in twenty years.

We started a new retail business last year, and I became heavily involved with my partner’s existing business and my music coaching work.

Then, this opportunity to join Molly’s new band came along, and I felt that fire inside me flicker again—the passion for new projects, for musical styles that stretch my bass playing, and the excitement for getting back to performing more regularly.

My partner and I discussed it and agreed we could make it work by ensuring we had great staff for our two businesses over the summer, but now that summer is nearly upon us, I’m freaking the fuck out.

I look at the touring schedule and see huge blocks where I won’t get home.

I worry that our staff will be able to handle it without me being physically present as much.

I’m stressed over how it will feel to be gone from my home so much.

And, even though my partner is as healthy as he’s ever been, I worry that my being gone so much will result in him getting sick again.

I worry that everything in our lives will fall apart and be my fault.

(Have I mentioned I’m prone to catastrophizing?)

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I’m still going on tour and will still be running these businesses while I do it.

I’m not willing to pick one path, and the cost of that is dealing with this stress.

I just want you to remember when you see all the amazing photos and videos I’ll be posting from truly kickass performances with this new band, there’s another side to it.

Social media is a highlight reel, and I want you to know what gets left on the cutting room floor is a normal part of life as a musician, too.