What's Next?

“There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?”

Spoiler Alert: Those are the last lines to Elton John’s autobiography Me, and it got me thinking about a lot of things. But before I get to all that, I loved reading about his life, how decadent it was, how he's lived as the person he is, how unapologetic he is for his personality and because it brought me back to a six degrees of separation moment with the legend himself. But, don’t get me wrong, this is also just an excuse to share this story.

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It was shortly before I moved to San Francisco, Elton was on his Reg Strikes Back Tour, and I was where you’d always find me on a Saturday night. At a club, drinking, flirting and being, what I hope now is not the extinct social person that I am. I was out with the first girl I would have brought home to meet my mother - my friend Dawn and one of her friends, who I seem to remember was named Carol. 

Now, drinking has always been one of my favorite pastimes, and not in a Zoom room, but surrounded by people, where, once the buzz kicks in, I can flash my smile and work whatever magic I seem to think I possess. 

That night, as I ordered my latest Long Island Iced Tea, which back then was my drink of choice because I could down four of them in an hour and still be perfectly functional the next day, I sauntered up to the bar and sat next to an average looking gent. We started talking and his British accent had me fascinated. I accepted another drink and I introduced my companions, because forgetting who I was with - no matter how many drinks I consumed -  was never my style.

He introduced himself by his first and last name, which I found interesting.

 “I’m John Reid,” he said. 

“And, this is Jim,” Dawn interjected realizing that I forgot to say who I was. (Back then, I was always Jim, don’t get too comfortable calling me that now.) 

“What brings you to town?” Dawn asked.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly  “I manage Elton John and he’s at the Worcester Centrum this week.”

Now, being three sheets to the wind, none of this registered with me, but it did not, however, go unnoticed by Dawn. She then became very keen on keeping Mr. Reid talking to us. As the night wore on, and with more drinks bought for us, he asked if we would like a ride home. I stumbled down the stairs and out in front of the club was the longest stretch car I’d ever seen.

“Look, Dawn,” I squealed at the top of my lungs, “It’s a limo!”

“Shut up, Jim,” Dawn scolded, pushing my head down and body checked me as the chauffeur opened the door. “And, get the FUCK in the car!”

And so began my decadent night at the Ritz Carlton with the manager of Elton John, while the former Reg Dwight was asleep in the next suite. The next morning, Mr. Reid told me to order whatever I wanted for breakfast. He had to get an early flight back to London, but the room was mine until late afternoon. There I sat in a fluffy Ritz Carlton bathrobe, calling Dawn, eating my breakfast without a hint of a hangover. I did manage to swipe the Ritz Carlton umbrella on the way out, and I don't know how I got out with the bathrobe, but I had it for the longest time. And just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, I checked the back of one of my Elton CD's and there was John Reid's name.

I suppose the whole point of that story is to not only to tell a tale (get it - Tel-la) that personifies me as the social and yes - had for the price of a cocktail person I am - but to also reach back and remember how things used to be. I am, maybe naively, clinging to the belief that part of the old world will still exist in the new.   

Back then, I didn't know what the future held. I still don't, but I foolishly didn't appreciate the moment when I was living in it. Youth has a problem thinking that things will always stay the same, that what you just experienced was just another day in the life, and that you are the only one that matters. However, as time now proves, nothing is just "another day in the life." 

Which brings me back to how I began: 

There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?

I've had a lot of time to think these past few weeks, even though it feels like months. What if I had taken John Reid's number? What if it wasn't more than just what it was? Would I be Elton's best friend? What if I moved first to Los Angeles and not San Francisco? What if I never sold my condo in San Francisco (Don't ask, it's a sore subject), what if I never spent three long lonely years in Manhattan? You can't change the decisions you made in the past, you can simply learn from them and not make the same mistakes. Always striving for something better for yourself. And along those lines...what if this damn virus never reared its ugliness? But there really is no point in searching for those answers. The only thing to do is ask what is the next step? You and I can't control the world, we can't make this virus go away any faster, but we can work terribly hard at maintaining the people that we were, and I can work, if it's possible, to be an even more social person than I was before this pathogen decided to infiltrate the world. 

I don’t think I ever lost being that social boy of twenty-something. In this new world, I still want to be able to sit at a bar and meet people. (Although Long Island Ice Teas are not on the menu ever.) I want others to discover the joy of talking to the person next to you, because you never know who that stranger is or what adventure they can take you on. Wether it's one incredible night or a lifetime journey, you have to keep the faith that people will still want to be part of the human race. And we have to appreciate life in the most exciting of events and the most minuscule of moments.   

So my simple advice or maybe it's my simplest of thoughts: whatever this new world brings, leave the couch behind, look up from your phone, talk to the person next to you, reach out to the people you care about, and above all, enjoy every minute of the ride before it ends. Basically, just "get the fuck in the car."