Everyone has a Margaritaville

My son, Luke, is learning to play the guitar. For the last several sessions, he has been working on Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville” which happens to be a fan favorite with my husband. Every Tuesday night, I eavesdrop during the lessons, listening in on the exchanges between Luke and his guitar teacher, Mr. James.

Mr. James is exactly what a guitar teacher should be. From his long hair to his epic long-sleeved tight-fitting polyester rocker shirts to his intimate depth of knowledge about every piece and its function of a guitar, Mr. James has taught my son more about life than just making music and I am here for it.

Mr. James recognizes that my son learns in special ways. Luke is intrigued by detail, the function of things, and how they work. Understanding this, Mr. James goes into great detail explaining what a fretboard does or how to manage string action. This way, when he says, "Watch your frets." Luke knows exactly why and how to do this.

During last week’s session, Mr. James was encouraging Luke to project his voice as he sang. He told him to imagine people in the back of the room, straining to hear him, and that only an amplified voice would reach them. He told him he needed to let himself fall into the song, feel it, and let it come out of him with emotion and power both through his instrument and his voice. This is what would connect him to his audience.

Being the back seat guitar teacher from the kitchen that I am, I asked Luke if he knew what the song was about. To me, projecting comes easier when you’re singing a song you can connect with at a deeper, personal level. (Queue me screeching out Total Eclipse of the Heart or Pony depending on the situation.)

To be fair, a 12-year-old connecting with a song about drinking frozen connections to help him hang on is not entirely something I wanted to happen, but the truth is, everyone has a Margaritaville. A place to escape, to feel safe and content, to be at peace or wallow in your despair, to ruminate over your life’s choices, and to place blame elsewhere only to find it land right back in your lap. Who knew Jimmy Buffett was so deep? ?

Mr. James seized the opportunity and explored this further with Luke. It turned into the Lifetime special I didn’t realize we needed.

Mr. James went line by line of this beachy tune, asking Luke, what do you think he means by that? When they got to the line: “searching for my lost shaker of salt…” I was regretting not buying a pair of those hearing aids from that infomercial that helped that lady hear her neighbors discussing her gardening skills from across the street. I wanted to hear every word but not intrude on this conversation.

?“I don’t know what he is looking for.” Luke replied. “Himself, maybe.” ?

I could feel his casual pre-teen shrug from the next room as he spoke, but in that moment, I also felt the proverbial mic drop.

As they continued through the song, I was suddenly asking myself, did I know where my lost shaker of salt was? Was it lost in the first place? Was I two steps away from blowing out my flip flop on a pop top?

When they got to the Mexican cutie tattoo line, I was clenching a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other, stirring nothing.

“You always bring home things from vacation.” Luke said. “To remember it.”

Oh my. Obviously, he was alluding to the fact that we all carry reminders of our experiences. What was I carrying that maybe I needed to let go of? Maybe I couldn’t because it was a permanent scar? Maybe it was ok to reshape the memory it held? Maybe I needed to stop listening to this conversation that I was reading way too much into and get back to cooking dinner?

But as Luke picked up his guitar again, he said, “I’m ready” and proceeded to belt out every lyric loud enough I am sure my neighbors heard him.

It was the best Jimmy Buffett show I have ever been to.

Stay strong out there. Crank up that radio and belt it out!