The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music

by Dave Grohl

Sometimes I forget that I’ve aged. My head and my heart seem to play this cruel trick on me, deceiving me with the false illusion of youth by greeting the world every day through the idealistic, mischievous eyes of a rebellious child finding happiness and appreciation in the most basic, simple things.

My childhood was a series of far too many ER trips, each usually resulting in a new scar, a day off from school, and a damn good story.

There is a saying: “You are only as happy as your unhappiest child.”

THIS WAS A FEELING OF FREEDOM THAT I HAD WAITED FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE, AND NOW THAT I’D BEEN BAPTIZED BY SPIT AND SWEAT AND BROKEN GLASS, THERE WAS NO TURNING BACK.

It was actually happening. I was watching MYSELF on MTV. Not Michael Jackson or the Cars. Not Madonna or Bruce Springsteen. No. It was Krist, Kurt, and me, playing a song we wrote in a fucking barn. Dalí’s melted clocks had nothing on this most surreal moment.

The next day, I woke up, walked to my kitchen, began to make coffee, and it hit me. He’s not coming back. He’s gone. But . . . I am still here. I get to wake and live another day, no matter how good or bad. It made no sense. How could someone just . . . disappear? It seemed unreal. And unfair.

Pause. Reflect. NOT A DAY GOES BY WHERE I DON’T STOP AND THANK THE UNIVERSE FOR THESE OTHERWORLDLY BLESSINGS, AND I MAKE IT A POINT TO TAKE NOTHING FOR GRANTED. It will never feel “normal” to me to be included in such a waking dream; it will always feel like I’m watching life happen from above, looking down at someone else’s fantasy playing out before me. But it is mine, and it’s these moments when I try to be present, reminding myself that I am perhaps the luckiest person on earth to breathe the next breath that will lead me to the next adventure.

It’s hard to put into words the belief that I have in music. To me, it is god. A divine mystery in whose power I will forever hold an unconditional trust. And it is moments like these that cement my faith. So, when you hear that parade coming down the street, spreading joy and love with every note, don’t just listen; join in the march. You never know where it may lead you.

“Who is to say what’s a good voice and what’s not a good voice? It’s YOUR VOICE. Cherish it, respect it, nurture it, challenge it, stretch it, and scream it until it’s fucking gone. Because everyone is blessed with at least that, and who knows how long it will last . . .”