Is it worse to never meet your hero, or to meet your hero and look like an idiot?
I had the displeasure of meeting my hero and looked like an idiot. I met Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows, a poet who seemed to fully grok my teenage angst. He got me, and I needed him to know how much he got me. He also really wanted to be my friend and just didn't know it yet. (Coincidentally, all of the cheerleaders in my high school wanted to date me but didn't know me well enough to realize it yet either. Their loss.)
Before we get to the looking like an idiot part, let's take a quick look at the depth of my obsession.
Sadly, my aha moment should have come earlier when I met Adam. After catching a concert in Portland, I huddled outside with other like-minded fans until Adam emerged from the back door and graced us with his presence. That was my chance to shine, to forge a connection by saying something profound and thought-provoking. I squeezed through the crowd, tugged on his jacket like a toddler, and said, "Hey." That's it. Hey. The kind of "hey" that says, "Look at me. I'm an idiot."
That encounter should have woken me up from my obsession, but it didn't. It took almost missing my son's birth to finally see the light. Is Adam still dying to be my friend? Sure he is. But I'm finally a little less motivated to help his dream become a reality.
And would it have been better to have never met rather than have my dreams shattered? Undecided.
I had the displeasure of meeting my hero and looked like an idiot. I met Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows, a poet who seemed to fully grok my teenage angst. He got me, and I needed him to know how much he got me. He also really wanted to be my friend and just didn't know it yet. (Coincidentally, all of the cheerleaders in my high school wanted to date me but didn't know me well enough to realize it yet either. Their loss.)
Before we get to the looking like an idiot part, let's take a quick look at the depth of my obsession.
- Skidding into an intersection because I was too lost in a Crows song? Check.
- Stalking a Crows band member after a concert to his hotel with a plan to knock on the door and get invited to hang out? Check.
- Taking my wife to a Crows concert as an anniversary present? Check.
- Buying a Crows concert ticket on my son's due date? Check. (I decided to stay for the birth instead, by the way.)
Sadly, my aha moment should have come earlier when I met Adam. After catching a concert in Portland, I huddled outside with other like-minded fans until Adam emerged from the back door and graced us with his presence. That was my chance to shine, to forge a connection by saying something profound and thought-provoking. I squeezed through the crowd, tugged on his jacket like a toddler, and said, "Hey." That's it. Hey. The kind of "hey" that says, "Look at me. I'm an idiot."
That encounter should have woken me up from my obsession, but it didn't. It took almost missing my son's birth to finally see the light. Is Adam still dying to be my friend? Sure he is. But I'm finally a little less motivated to help his dream become a reality.
And would it have been better to have never met rather than have my dreams shattered? Undecided.
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