On Sunday, Mister and I woke around 9 am and started packing. It had been overcast all week in Austin, but the weather had held. We weren’t so sure that morning, though. And it mattered, as we would be spending our final day in Texas at a softball field.
For the last few years, our South-By experience has wrapped up with the annual SXSW Softball Tournament. It’s held at a park, just outside of town. Here’s how it works for us: we check out of our hotel and walk outside. There, we catch a ride with the SXSW staffers to the ball field. We then check in our bags and roam over to the beer tent. We get our free beer and then we queue for Q. We get our final meat-fest on while watching the various teams battle it out for bragging rights. Sounds cool? It is.
There’s something about free beer and BBQ that perfectly sum up the week. And watching softball while talking with any and everyone is about as chill as it gets. (Especially after the festival.) There’s still some business taking place, but most folks are in decompression mode.
I can’t stress enough how important decompression can be. South-By is a beautiful, fun time. Seeing bands is awesome entertainment. The food of Austin is awesome sustenance. The people are the best. But SXSW can be more than physically draining. It can zap your spirit, while making you whole. It can drain you dry, while filling your well. It sometimes requires processing. Sometimes, not. But this year was particularly affecting for me. I just seemed to have so much life on my mind throughout the festival.
For instance, there was one evening at Stubb’s… As I watched Venus slip behind a tree, I realized that no matter if I’m standing still, everything else is moving. Everything else is movement. That led, naturally, to thoughts of my own movement (or lack thereof). And those thoughts gave way to trying to understand my fears. Eventually, I had to admit that my fear of change is paling beside the pains of stagnancy.
None of this is random, either. Some of it was triggered by Bruce Springsteen telling the audience, “We’re alive!” Some of it came from Keane lyrics, which, paraphrased, encouraged us to get up to the starting line because we’re young. Some of it stemmed from the good people of Austin, who seemed so very happy to have 20,000 strangers converge on their hometown for a few crazy days. Nothing beats a cutie-pie waitress asking, “You want somethin’ to drank, Sugar?”
So while Mister worked at a picnic table (yes – even at the ball game – he worked), I chatted with everyone who sat with us, and I processed. I watched “Mixed Media” take down all others (including “Musicians,” “Staff,” “Volunteers,” “Club Owners” and more) and walk away with the big trophy. I laughed at the color commentary of the championship game. I spent a lot of time just being quiet. After so much music, it was nice. And then it was time to retrieve our luggage and catch a ride to the airport with those friendly South-By staffers.
After a long and full flight, we got home late, to 46-degree weather and a quiet and cold house. Our SXSW experience was officially over.
It was hard to leave Austin this time. Something about it just felt real. Sincere. Maybe I’m just in a weird zone. Because home is good, you know? This familiar room feels real, too. And it fits. Still, something’s amiss.
Maybe it’s my skin that isn’t fitting. That, friends, will take far more contemplation than a week of good music, Tex-Mex and BBQ can provide.
