There is a highway interchange that I drove multiple times a week over the course of six or so months. Each time I approached this particular interchange, my grip on the wheel would tighten. Closing in on the interchange where drivers are making last second decisions; praying to an unknown god they have chosen the appropriate lane to be in. I know the lane I need to be in; I have been in the lane I need to be in. My knee is shaking uncontrollably. In the midst of the interchange chaos ensues as some drivers continue to jockey for their lane; others are looking for the fastest way out of there; and still others are apparently lost. I feel like I am going to poop my pants. The color in my hands reveals I have a death grip on the steering wheel. Through the interchange safely. A deep breath and a sigh of relief. I feel light-headed as my grip relaxes and the shaking stops. Maybe it will be better tomorrow. It will not be better tomorrow…

Anxiety is a multiplier. Stir in even a little anxiety and something simple invariably becomes a chore. Stir in a lot of anxiety and it becomes something you want to avoid.

I’m passing sleeping cities
Fading by degrees

These are the opening lines to Tom Petty’s Saving Grace (from Highway Companion). Damn, if there ever was an opening line written specifically for me, there you have it. I do not, or more specifically, my anxiety does not, like traffic. I am the person on the road before most people consider getting out of bed. I am the road-tripper who purposefully slinks through a city at 3:00 AM, like a shadow that was never there. Those are my times; little to no traffic and music on the radio keeping me awake and alert.

This is what this song evokes. It’s a rockabilly tune that is built for driving across wide-open spaces or slipping through towns under the cover of darkness. But like any Petty song, there is more to it than that.

And it’s hard to say
Who you are these days
But you run on anyway
Don’t you, baby?
You keep running for another place
To find that saving grace

Sometimes when I hear this, I feel like Tom is calling me out. That maybe Tom has insight to my secret. Until recently, nobody outside of me and a doctor knew I suffer from anxiety. For me, in the before days and even now, each new town or each new location is a chance to start over or reinvent myself – if only for a day or a night. But in the end, it never sticks, because we are who we are.

The song, in its whole, reminds us of that. There is this sense of a weary traveler on autopilot. However, this person is also painfully aware of who or what he or she is. They know the latest facade will only last so long. But they carry on searching for something that cannot be.

Readers of this blog and many friends know I am a big fan of Tom Petty. To me, Tom Petty was more than a musician who had success and a lot of great songs. Tom was also a song writer who went beyond the angst and superficial emotions and imagery one would find in a typical rock song. And for a person who suffers from anxiety, Tom made me feel almost normal. He never said “anxiety” is normal, but he did convey time and again that everybody has problems and challenges; that everybody has moments of darkness; and that nobody has a perfect life.

For me, Tom’s songs could be emotional, they could stoke the imagination, or they could just tell a story. And I would like to tell my story of walking with Tom for over four decades now.

I was formally introduced to Tom Petty with Damn the Torpedoes. I played that album constantly, but I remember the first time I played it, the song that really stuck to me at the time was Louisiana Rain. I recognize Refugee is a song that anyone with anxiety can relate to and it is one of the reasons I wanted the album in the first place, but the haunting imagery created by Louisiana Rain is what stuck with me after the first listen.

South Carolina put out its arms for me
Right up until everything went black somewhere on Lonely Street
And I still can’t quite remember who helped me to my feet
Thank God for a love that followed the angel’s remedy

There are many ways to dissect this particular lyric. Tom obviously had something in mind when he put pen to paper, but he also wanted people to think for themselves. It was OK if you didn’t see what he saw, as long as you saw something.

What I saw was me – a person on the brink of suicide. I didn’t understand until decades later that it was anxiety that prevented me from going through it. It was anxiety that helped me to my feet. It was anxiety that was the angel’s remedy. And it was a few close friends who stood in for a love that followed and kept me sane through that particular moment in my life.

I feel it is important to note that I have not considered suicide since then.

Louisiana rain is falling just like tears
Running down my face, washing out the years
Louisiana rain is soaking through my shoes
I may never be the same when I reach Baton Rouge

Rain (or water) is often used as a metaphor for cleansing, but I took this to be more about change than anything else. Our lives are not a script and an event or moment can change the current path, just like rain changes the topography of a mountain, a desert and even a beach.

There were many songs on Damn the Torpedoes that spoke to me on a variety of levels. I didn’t know it then, but I would be walking with Tom for decades to come. Thank you for taking this journey with me.