Editor’s note: Dante Cimadamore is a Bristol born musician, recording artist and award-winning writer for the YouTube series “Epic Rap Battles of History.” You can find his music online under the moniker “Give Me Motion.” He currently lives in Los Angeles and writes from his great-great grandparent’s Forestvillian antique kitchen table when he’s not on the road as a touring musician.
By Dante Cimadamore |
I love a shelf full of plants. Not more than a field or a forest, but a shelf will do just fine. This cafe in Denver is so far delightful. It prides itself on its juices—of which I’ve been savoring its celery blend for the past 20 minutes in hopes it will give me the inspiration I need.
I’m feeling less energized by the road today. The constant changing of airflow in our bus bunks makes the amount of blanketing I’ll be wrapped in a gamble each night. With certainty I’ll be waking up and readjusting every few hours.
The seed of a subtle on-the-road sickness starting to take root in me, so it’s celery juice for me this morning. That should begin to readjust the little fellows in my stomach.
I’ve been on the road long enough to recognize the warning signs of an increasingly alarmed immune system and what things I can do (or not do) to set things right again.
I can tell you what does not help: beer and fried macaroni and cheese bites with a ranch dip. But these are the traps of living in such tight quarters with other pleasure seekers. If my body is going to cooperate with my intentions to stay upright, active and relatively painless it has to get with the plan and just say no to the open box of hot food someone will almost certainly order to the bus at 11 p.m.
In order to make it through each day I have found I need to implement a practice and adhere to it at all costs. It is difficult to choose not following the pack to get coffee and bagels first thing. It is difficult to not open any messaging or social media apps. It is difficult just to get up and get outside, but that is what I have to do each day.
First thing.
If I do not, my mind tricks me into believing the treasure I seek is further into my phone. The next post, the next reply. Whatever imaginary fire I think I’m extinguishing this morning can wait until I’ve gotten up and out into the fresh air.
A simple walk around the block will do the trick. Then after I have sat in some sort of meditative silence—if only for a brief moment—do I begin to put down a word or two and reflect upon my current condition. Now the day can begin. Now I can get out the extinguishers.
As a youth living in Bristol, during the dawn of the internet, I did not have much of a need for a consistent routine. School gave it to me and I loathed the time at which they asked me to show up. I guess that’s what began my rebellion towards “defying the lie” and choosing to do “only what would make me happy and fulfilled” and not “working for the man.” HA!
I admire my desire to shift the paradigm, and the pursuit of my interests has fortuitously stumbled me into my relatively rock’n’roll lifestyle (spoiler: it’s just working freelance and comes with feast and famine and more unknowns than I care to reflect on at this moment)
It took me some 30 odd years to understand the importance of carving time out for myself, and every day I struggle with it, but like my immune system I can start to see when unhealthy behavior has started a flare up.
And heaven help me if I have children. All of my preaching may well become digital pleasantries, but I know enough healthy parents to hear them echo the importance of quality time with oneself before the chaos ensues.