After the layoff

So gather up your jackets, move it to the exits
I hope you have found a friend
Closing time
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

—Semisonic, "Closing Time"

On an ordinary day in February 2003, my boss IM'd me with a request to see him in his office. As I got up and exited my little cubicle, I mused about how it used to rattle me when I got those messages. See, for most of my three years at the company, the projects I worked on were finite. They had a beginning, middle, and end. My worry had always been that one day, they'd run out of work to give me.

But there had always been more. And after countless meetings with the boss passed without incident, I'd finally stopped worrying that THIS time, he was calling me in to tell me I was fired. So with confidence, I walked in, sat down, and the first words out of his mouth were

(of course)

"I'm going to have to let you go."

A few minutes later I was sitting outside where nobody could see me, cursing my fate and mourning the loss of the job. I loved this job!

Well, no. Not really. I used to, back when the projects were fun. In the past months, however, my primary mission had been to write and edit the promotional mailings our company sent out on a too-frequent basis. Not the most odious thing I'd ever been paid to do, but not interesting either, and an absolute conversation killer at parties. ("What do you do?" "Oh, I write spam." "...")

What I loved was the company itself. My coworkers were the kind of people I'd hang out with outside of work. The hours were flexible. Every day was frickin' "casual day." The perfect environment. I'd never find another place to work like that.

Still, even in those first moments of shock, I tried to look at the bright side. I'd have more time for music. Maybe I'd finally start my own band. You know, after I learned to sing.

* * *

Soon after the job ended, I agreed to back up a musician friend on keyboard for one of her gigs. I mentioned the layoff during our rehearsal together, and Amber suggested I look for work as a lounge pianist.

The idea intrigued me. I didn't know any standards, but I could improvise. The trick would be finding an affordable way to record a demo of myself doing that, something I could send to resorts. Wendy Adams, my vocal coach, recommended that I call Hank Childers at VGB Studio.

Done and done.

As we wrapped up the session, Hank asked me what my plans were.

"I'd like to find a guitarist and start a band eventually," I said. "Maybe in a few months. First I need to become a better singer."

"I know a drummer who's looking for a project," said Hank. "Would it be OK if I gave him your number?"

The rest was history.

* * *

If Cinder Bridge emerged as a result of the previous layoff, I wonder what this one will make possible.

The trick is to be prepared for anything.

At least I already know how to sing.

The power of delusional thinking

Things have been going pretty well for Cinder Bridge lately. And yet, I feel a vague sense of dissatisfaction. I crave something bigger for us. Grander. Why have we not yet achieved major stardom?

A popular philosophy is that we attract things into our lives through our thoughts. Believe all sorts of goodies are coming our way, and they will. Doubt, and they won't.

This means I've been keeping the band down by not fully embracing the belief that we'll hit the big time. In fact, I've been keeping us down simply by saying things like "Why have we not achieved major stardom?" When you think about what you don't have, you attract not having it.

So it's time for me to utilize the power of positive thinking. Ready? Here we go!

I can achieve whatever my mind can conceive.

Cool. Hey, I'm visualizing myself flapping my arms and flying. Think that'll work?

People will pay tons of money for our CDs because the universe is full of abundance and wealth. There is more than enough to go around.

Yeah! Except for the poor people in third-world dictatorships who have to toil endlessly just to keep starvation at bay.

I am a rock star.

I am? Why are we not playing 15,000-seat arenas? Why do I not hear us on the radio?

I suck at affirmations.

Wow, I really do.

Lookit, I have no problem using optimistic statements to psych myself up. Thinking OK, I can do this before embarking on something scary is better than ruminating on all the ways I could screw it up. Where I get stuck is the idea that all you have to do is think certain thoughts, and the universe will rewrite the laws of physics so it can drop shiny things into your lap.

Do I strike you as overly cynical? Read Barbara Ehrenreich's Bright-Sided: How Positive Thinking Is Undermining America for a few insightful reality checks. A belief that you can't fail doesn't always lead to success. Sometimes it leads to the subprime mortgage fiasco. Oh, and it turns out that a positive attitude doesn't make you any more likely to survive breast cancer.

Still not convinced? Skim a few blogs written by people with ME/CFS, a neuroimmune disease that causes serious pain and crushing exhaustion. Most of these bloggers refused to believe that their lives could be permanently sidelined when they first got sick. So with pluck and a can-do spirit, they pushed through the pain and crushing exhaustion to achieve their goals ... and made themselves much worse.

I'm pretty sure these guys want to get better more than I want to be a rock star.

Which brings us back to the point. If the think-and-you-shall-have brand of positive thinking amounts to delusion, I'm going to invent a delusional affirmation that can't be contradicted by harsh reality.

My failure to become a rock star thus far has nothing to do with a lack of talent, stage presence, or ability to market myself. The reason I haven't become a rock star yet is because I am a MISUNDERSTOOD GENIUS.

Yes. I feel much better now.

A special situation, seven years on

When I was laid off a few years ago, a musician friend suggested I look for work as a lounge pianist. I could demo some keyboard music and send it to resorts. The idea sounded like it was worth a try. I set up a recording session with Hank Childers at VGB Studio.

Once we'd compiled a sufficient number of tracks, Hank asked me what my plans were.

"I'd like to find a guitarist and start a band eventually," I said. "Maybe in a few months. First I need to become a better singer."

"I know someone who's looking for a project," said Hank. "Would it be OK if I gave him your number?"

The someone was Ron Amistadi. He played drums, not guitar. But what the hell. I was up for any opportunity to jam, and decent drummers are hard to find in Tucson.

Ron called. He seemed nice enough. We scheduled a day to meet, and he arrived at the appointed time. After we got his kit into my living room, I played him some of my songs.

It didn't surprise me when Ron turned out to be a good drummer. Hank wouldn't have connected us if he weren't. The thing that got my attention was that Ron understood what to do with singer-songwritery songs like mine. He came in exactly where I would have asked him to. He made the songs sound a lot more like they were supposed to sound.

Ron noticed that we were connecting as well. "This is a special situation," he said. He uttered the phrase "special situation" several times that day. He wanted us to start a project together.

I told him about how I wanted to learn to sing first. That we couldn't gig with my voice in its current state.

No dice. Ron wanted to start this bad boy now. The singing, yeah, it needed work, but it would get better as we went along. Why wait?

Somewhere in the middle of my protests, the part of me that's smarter than the rest of me interrupted my thoughts.

Susan, it said. Here is a drummer who plays well, who understands your style, who's a nice guy, who shows up when he says he will, and he WANTS TO WORK WITH YOU. Don't be an idiot.

So, with many caveats about my weak vocals, I agreed. We called our new project ... our new project. The name would come later.

That first meeting happened on April 14, 2003, exactly seven years ago.

Cinder Bridge exists because Ron had enough faith that I could learn what I needed to learn, and faith in what we could accomplish together.

Happy anniversary, Ron the Drummer. Happy anniversary, Cinder Bridge. It's still a special situation.

Cinder Bridge, Incorporated: Nevermind

Ron the Drummer called me this morning about the company that supposedly took our name. Being much less lazy than I am, Ron took the extra step of signing up for the business directory that listed Cinder Bridge. That gave him access to the contact info for the companies listed there.

And? The phone number for Cinder Bridge is my cell number. The URL is www.cinderbridge.com, the band's website. Either their bot made a mistake, or they're trying to pad their directory to make it seem like it contains more businesses than it does.

Besides the mailing address for Cinder Bridge the company, the only piece of information they give that doesn't link back to us is the contact name: Alex Spivey. We have no idea who this is. I wonder if he or she would like to be our booking agent.

The hell?

Catching up on my e-mail, I found a Google alert for Cinder Bridge. Yay! Except that it wasn't about us. It was about some company called Cinder Bridge.

Y'know, back when Ron the Drummer and I began casting about for a band name, we wanted to make sure that whatever we chose not only hadn't been taken, but wouldn't be taken. Ever. When we finally settled on "Cinder Bridge," we figured we were pretty safe.

So what are the odds that some random business would think of it too?

And what are the odds that the location of said business would be a few miles from my freaking house?

Buh.