It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been home. A year since I
abandoned my nomadic life, bid farewell to the wild world and moved home to
Bellingham, Washington. It’s been a tough year. Hell, it’s been a tough 32
years. The choice to come home was made for me by several large, looming
financial responsibilities and it would be untrue if I said that part of me, a
big part of me, didn’t long to feel that freedom of unhindered globe-trotting
again. However, I’m an avid believer that everything happens for a reason and that
things always work out the way they’re meant to. That belief is what has enabled
me to survive this life. And anyone who knows anything about me, would know how
deeply and sincerely I rely on music for my sanity and survival. I’ve always wanted to organize
a music festival, full of the bands I love the most, and many hours during my high school English class were spent
planning a righteous “West Coast Woodstock” with my fellow music-loving friend,
Nate (who, oddly enough, now lives in Bellingham as well). But that was all just a
pipe dream; a way to pass the useless days at Rogue River High. But that dream
never dissipated for me. It lodged itself in my heart and grew with me over
time. On the rare occasion that I would voice this desire, it was quickly shot
down as “too difficult”. But coming home, going back to a “real” job, punching
a time clock, paying rent and facing the financial burden of divorce quickly buried
any excitement I felt about being home in a city that I love. My only method of
survival was to found my own organization, give the middle finger to anyone who
ever said a music festival was unrealistic, and plan a damn music festival. So
here I am, in the thick of planning a music festival. The timing was finally
right for me to fulfill one of my many (many!) dreams. This never would have
happened if I had stayed in Amsterdam, as planned, and then gone back to
Australia, as planned, and then spent a year in New Zealand, as planned! But
that’s the thing with life: you can plan all you want, but whatever is supposed
to happen, will happen. Being home in Bellingham is slowly getting better, the
way things have a tendency to do. I’ve partnered with an amazing dude to organize local
events that focus on live music, art, community and supporting NGO’s. I’m doing
photography full-time again and I’ve finally rid myself of a heartache that plagued
every fiber of my being for more than a year. The dreary winter that wreaked havoc
on my still-fragile-from-witnessing-dolphin-death mind is coming to an end and
there’s several thrilling projects hovering on the horizon. Yet through it all,
through all the crap that would perhaps be deemed difficult in our cushy world
full of iPhones, live streaming and fast food drive-thru’s, I’ve continually
conjured in my mind the image of the Libyan refugees I saw while on the ship,
adrift in the Mediterranean on their homemade rafts, hungry, near-hopeless,
terrified and willing to forsake their lives simply for the possibility of
drifting towards a better world. Never will I forget how truly good life really
is. And if the dreams that I’m reaching for slip out of my fingers, at least I
know that I’m giving it my all…and that’s all that matters.
For more information on my NGO and the Blue Ocean Music Festival, follow this link:
http://blueoceanfoundation.blogspot.com/
Dan O'Donnell and Liberty Miller utilize guerrilla marketing to spread the word about the Blue Ocean Music Festival, hosted by the Blue Ocean Foundation and held at the O'Donnell's Flea Market on May 18, 2013.
