The Boss

When I find myself feeling homesick for my South Jersey roots, I turn to Bruce Springsteen. For I have learned, in my 15 years of dealing with the sort of homesickness that only comes when you think of your hometown that he is my fastest fix.  And if I can't get home for a visit, Springsteen usually calms my longings for home at least a little bit, acting as a temporary band-aid until I can make the trek down to the Mid-Atlantic for a visit, or the worst of it passes and I'm back to focusing on the life I have here and now in New England.

Earlier this spring, when I saw Springsteen was playing two shows at Fenway Park, I immediately hopped online to snag a couple of tickets.  Springsteen!  Fenway!  August!  What could be better?  Thrilled with the prospect, I navigated my way through all of the flaming hoops that is Ticketmaster, right up until I saw the purchase price.  $125.  For each ticket.  And those were the cheap seats.

Man, do I love me some Bruce Springsteen, but I just couldn't justify it.  Particularly as August seemed light-years away and my credit card bill...only weeks away.  So I closed my eyes, muttered under my breath, and closed the ticket screen.  Still, as the event grew closer, I found myself thinking about his upcoming shows more and more.  I've seen Springsteen before, but come on.  It's. The. Boss.  In the past week or so I've been presented with about four different options to purchase tickets from friends, and still, every single time I've had to take a pass either because I've had some sort of conflict with the day the ticket was available or just couldn't quite justify the still very costly price tag, especially after a slew of recent expenses I've had come my way.  (Dear Sugar Daddy. If you're looking for a good time to make your entrance into my life...)

I have no doubt I made the wise, responsible, financial decision in letting these tickets go, but I can't lie and tell you I wasn't a tad disappointed as I made my way home tonight after work, knowing he'd be taking the stage in a few hours and I wouldn't be a face in the crowd.  But then, around 9pm, as I was sitting at my desk writing in my little apartment, I heard The Boss's voice coming in through my open windows. 

Maybe it's just the way the wind is blowing tonight, or maybe the stars felt like aligning in my favor, but I can hear Springsteen as I sit here typing, clear and loud enough to know he just finished "Glory Days" to a raucous, cheering audience.  I can see the lights of Fenway from my bedroom window, I can feel the cool night air wafting in through my windows.  It's sort of like I'm there.  And maybe, just maybe, it's a nice way to remind myself that even if I don't live in my hometown anymore, it's never very far away after all.