As you get older, it’s funny what gets you excited anymore. The once glorious thought of barhopping until the wee hours of the morning soaking up every ounce of live music your body can handle somehow slowly gets replaced over time by the modest miracle of a couple of kids that hit the sack early, leaving you and your wife with the opportunity to be in bed by 9pm on a Friday. But the missus got a call a few days ago that has had me smiling ever since.

A good college friend of ours in St. Louis called on a lark and informed us that she had put in a pre-order request for 4 tix to the June 16 Phish show in St. Louis at the Fox Theatre and was hoping that, if she got the tickets, we would join her and her husband for the evening. When I heard the news, I couldn’t help but bust out in a wistful grin.

Since then, I’ve sorta surprised myself with more than just the occasional optimistic thought of her getting those tix and, more recently, what I might do if she doesn’t. Should I try for the online sale date on 1/30? Will I need to resort to a ticket reseller? I wonder if there’s a chance I could pull a few strings based on my meager publicity connections? Do we go and hope to get tix in the lot that day?

When I snap back to reality, I feel…silly. Like a dumb college kid. And you know what? It feels good.

I was never a tour rat. On only one occasion did I see more than one show on any given tour. And in total, I’ve seen Phish 9 times. But some of my favorite memories of adolescence come from conspiring with friends for my generation’s version of “getting on the bus” and catching a Phish show, including an epic journey to Limestone, Maine, in the summer of 1998. 

Say what you will about the band, about the scene, about the music, about any of it. I really don’t care. (Hell, depending on the argument, I might even agree with you!) But don’t you dare tell me that you don’t have something in your past that doesn’t elicit the same sort of nostalgic waxing.

You see, for me this isn’t about mourning what I’ve lost in my transition into adulthood. Rather, I like to think of this feeling as acknowledging the journey that’s gotten me to where I am today. And if everything’s just right, maybe the missus and I, along with a few dear friends and in the fellowship of a few thousand like-minded individuals, might have the chance to create a few new fond memories to add to the old ones filed under “Phish.”