Nope. That’s not a typo. That title is basically the essence of my dream.
I’m 51. I’m a wife, a mother, and a student. I have a good job, albeit not a particularly exciting one. I love to cook, I love tattoos, and I love rock and roll. And I have this crazy idea. I want to work for the Foo Fighters.
I came up with this idea almost two years ago, after first discovering the band (yeah, I know they’d been around for a while, I just hadn’t found them yet), immersing myself in their music and becoming a die-hard devotee. What can I say? Sometimes you pick the band, sometimes the band picks you. But we’ll get to that later.
I tried to tell myself that going to work for a rock band was not something you just did. Seriously, who does this? I have no musical talent. I’ve got no background in the entertainment industry or concert promotion or any of that. What could I do for an iconic rock band? I was just a middle-aged empty nester with a wild idea that I had no clue how to bring to fruition. What the hell was I thinking?
But still, I couldn’t stop thinking it. Trust me, I tried.
There’s a scene in the movie “Babe”, when the narrator first explains the farmer’s notion to use the little pig, Babe, to herd sheep:
“When the thought first came to him, Farmer Hoggett dismissed it as mere whimsy. But like most of his hare-brained ideas, it wouldn’t go away.”
Yep, that was me. I, too, had a whimsical idea that wouldn’t go away. As much as I tried to dismiss it, it would not allow itself to be set aside.
It, my Foomania, if you will, began to grow and expand and go off on tangents. It distracted me and needled me. I dreamed about it. I tried desperately to put my energy into other things, but it was always there, in the back of my mind, waiting to pounce at any opportunity. It just wouldn’t let me be. Dear God, I was becoming Farmer Hoggett!
One day, while questioning my own sanity for at least the thousandth time, my brain and I had a serious discussion, the gist of which was this:
Me: “You’re not going to leave this thing with the Foos alone, are you?”
Brain: “Nope. You’re not crazy. You need to see it through”
Me: “What if I never make anything happen with it? What if it’s just a mid-life crisis?”
Brain: “So what? If you don’t follow the thread, you’re never going to know. And do you really think you could put so much mental energy into something meaningless?”
I turned that thought over a few times and looked at it. My brain had a point.
I’m a pragmatist. I’m not mentally unstable. I’m not given to flights of fancy as a rule. And I’ve certainly never had a crazy idea plague me for nearly two fucking years! I began to accept that there had to be a reason I couldn’t let it go. Maybe I needed to learn what Babe’s farmer knew in his infinite wisdom. Cue the narrator…
“Farmer Hoggett knew that little ideas that tickled and nagged and refused to go away should never be ignored, for in them lie the seeds of destiny.”
Maybe I couldn’t let go of my Foo Fighters dream because it was guiding me to something else, something important. Something big. I had no idea what it was, but I decided I would not spend any more time trying to talk myself out of it. If I chose to pursue it, the worst that would come of it was that NOTHING would come of it. But I knew that if I let it go, if I chose to ignore it, I would likely spend the rest of my life wondering ‘what if.’ Not pursuing it, and never knowing where it might have led, would eventually send me round the bend.
I don’t know exactly how to begin this journey, except to tell you why I’m taking it. It won’t just be about the Foo Fighters, although they serve as my muses and I can’t tell the story without them. It’s really about life, and dreams, and music, and food, and joy, and disappointment. Mostly, it’s about believing in possibilities. And yourself.