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87 Miles from Woodstock
Well, then can I roam beside you?
I have come to lose the smog,
And I feel myself a cog in somethin’ turning
And maybe it’s the time of year
Yes and maybe it’s the time of man
And I don’t know who I am
But life is for learning
(Woodstock, Joni Mitchell)
Today, people call it FOMO.
During the summer of 1969, when I was 13, I had a really bad case of it.
Living 87 miles away from the front gates of the Woodstock Music and Art Fair, holding an 18.00 three day pass, having your grooviest clothes picked out and packed in your little vinyl zippered suitcase; the one with neon flowers printed on the outside, your canteen filled, extra cash for food AND a ride with the girl who owned the record store in town and then…
And then. The story of my young life. I told one too many friends about my tickets and my plans and someone got jealous and begged their parents to let them go and their parents got crazy with the level of FOMO from their kid and all of a sudden, a few weeks out from the actual dates of Woodstock, my father knocked on my bedroom door and told me he knew what I was up to. He reminded me that I was just out of seventh grade. He reminded me that I…
