Before I was 35 I would not have believed that sleeping in a soft bed after attending a show, comfortably removed from the seedy haze of post-show festivities, could be just as pleasurable and vitalizing as sleeping in the grass at the base of a tree somewhere on the venue's grounds. I would have thought anyone who said that had given up on life. From this vantage point, I see that in fact I am appreciating life in new and different ways, and the appreciation is no more stultifying merely because its locus has changed. In fact these days the life-giving force of a comfortable bed is both different and in many ways equitable to the vibrancy of sleeping drunk and buzzing under the stars
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