Morgan Trinker

Everybody knows / it hurts to grow up / And everybody does / It’s so weird to be back here / Let me tell you what / the years go on and /

We’re still fighting it / We’re still fighting it

Last night I got to see Ben Folds work his genius and his magic on stage alongside my friends Sarah, Crystal, and Lyndsay, who drove down to Birmingham from Knoxville and Nashville. It was Sarah’s last hurrah before leaving for Denmark in just a couple of days to spend the next year nannying for a family there, and I can’t think of a more perfect way to have celebrated.

When we first arrived to the auditorium, we walked into what was essentially a cocktail hour. People, most of them our age and older, were all dressed up and meandering about with their glasses of wine. Honestly, my first thought was that we had somehow accidentally shown up at an NPR fundraiser. This couldn’t be right. But as we found our seats and proceeded to witness a 40-something-year-old lady try on the too-tight concert T-shirts she had just purchased (yes, she bought all three, and yes, she tried ALL of them on), it was impossible to ignore the realization that this was it. This was the Ben Folds crowd.

Whhaaaaa….?

All of the sudden, I felt very… old. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Ben’s musical career is now 15 years old, and as I did the math, I came to the conclusion that all the people who stumbled across his music in high school and college were now in their thirties. At least. I didn’t really discover him until my freshman year of college, so I was a little late to the game, but I still very much have that I-grew-up-to-this-music association with him. I mean, I walked down the aisle to “The Luckiest” at our wedding, for Pete’s sake. (I still think it’s one of the greatest love songs ever written.)

Ben (we’re on a first name basis, naturally) has this incredible way of marrying melancholy, introspective, and depressing lyrics to startlingly upbeat melodies. It’ll catch you off guard the first time you actually really pay attention to the words of the songs. He’s got all the power, presence, and talent of Elton John at the piano, but the comparisons end when you get to the subject matter.

Perfect example: one of his best songs, in my opinion- “Still Fighting It.” From where we were sitting last night, we were above and behind the stage. It was just Ben and the piano, so it was actually a perfect spot to be in. But as he began to play the song, the tears began to flow, not only because I was having this intense personal experience, this emotional connection to someone whom I only know through his art, but also because as the lights came up, I could see the faces of 90% of the rest of the audience. And I saw that they, too, were sharing in that. I felt like I was seeing something I shouldn’t see, like I was peering behind the wizard’s curtain, spying on all these other people as we sang it hurts to grow up.

Not long ago, I was second shooting a wedding with my friend Kelly, and I don’t know if it was due to the lack of sleep we had gotten the night before or what, but as I walked by a wall of mirrors in the country club where we were, I stopped dead in my tracks because there it was: a full-on, deep set, unmistakable wrinkle on my cheek. Not one of those smiley wrinkles you get around your eyes and mouth- I’m pretty okay with those- but an honest-to-goodness, oh-my-gosh-I’m-aging wrinkle. Guess who spent two hours later that night researching anti-aging skincare products? This girl. This 25-year-old girl.

When does it change? When do you stop wishing to get bigger and grow up and start wishing to turn back time or at least slow it wayyyy down? When do you stop feeling invincible and immortal and start suddenly worrying about death and taxes? I know for most people it’s relative, and there are probably lots of you who still think I’m just a naive kid and won’t know what it’s like to feel old until I turn forty, or fifty, or sixty-five, or whatever. And then there are all you teenagers who probably do think I’m ancient. I know I for one couldn’t even imagine myself as a 25-year-old back when I was in high school. But here I am, and in some ways I feel so far removed from that girl, and then other times I’m convinced that despite the fact that I’m a married, college-educated, tax-paying business owner, there’s absolutely no way I’m an adult.

Then I find myself preferring to spend Friday nights watching TV on the couch with Jamie and going to bed at 10:00 pm and realize that I am well on my way to elderly territory.

But I think about Ben singing to us, telling us that he’s still fighting it, that we’re still fighting it, and as I watched him perform, I saw what that means. Sure, it’s depressing to see his balding head (we had a particularly good view of it), but he hasn’t let that keep him from living his life, from throwing himself fully into his art, and learning to age with grace and style. Even at 44, he’s as spontaneous and dorky and endearing and inappropriate and brilliant as ever. At one point in the show, he actually conducted the crowd, assigning different vocal parts to us, and had us sing in unison. The hair on my arms was literally standing straight up. And maybe that was the turning point for me. Maybe as the lights came up and everyone began to filter out of the auditorium, I felt like that instead of spending the evening in a room with hundreds of strangers, I had actually been among people who understood exactly what I was feeling. All the conflicting, bittersweet emotions stirring through me… maybe Ben had struck that chord with them, too.

Maybe you should watch his video for “Still Fighting It,” of him with his son, and see what you think. Triple dog dare you not to cry. And sorry to get all emo on you… I promise to return to happier and lighter material with the next post. ;)