A couple years ago, I was browsing in a bookstore when I stumbled upon a book about AC/DC. Thumbing through it, I happened upon a picture of me that I have in one of my own old albums. In it, I’m behind Angus Young, AC/DC’s lead guitarist, who is sitting on the shoulders of singer Bon Scott. We were in the middle of a huge arena in Oakland, California. I was there to make sure the crowd didn’t pull Angus to the ground. This was part of the band’s concert ritual—Angus would play while riding right into the middle of the crowd on Bon’s shoulders. They would break the wall between performer and audience, and they were one of the few bands that attempted that kind of thing. In the early days before wireless guitar technology, it was a nightmare to keep two musicians plus a ridiculously long guitar cable from the audience, so a few of us would have to dive into the crowd with them and try to hold back the manic fans desperate to touch the hem of their idol’s garments. It was always a mad scene, wading into thousands of rabid fans. In the photo, I’m barely holding on, almost drowning in a sea of humanity.
I was probably twenty-two at the time, back in the giddy days when the band was conquering America and the shows were insane everywhere we went. As I stood there in the bookshop looking at that picture of a barely recognizable me, I realized I had been given an opportunity to address my younger self. What would I say to him?
Pretty mundane and expected things, I think. Essentially, all the things I have struggled with most of my life:
I’d also tell him that life is a struggle and there are no easy answers. Maybe life has no meaning at all other than the living of it, and he could relax a little on the existential angst.
I’d tell him there will be moments of sublime, breathtaking beauty and times of unspeakable pain and loss. He already knows this, but it’s good to remind him.
I’d tell him that, above all, his restless internal struggle will not go away. He should nurture the gifts that came with it: insatiable curiosity, a desire to learn, and a hunger for passionate engagement with the world and people around him.
Of course, maybe my younger self has a few things to say to me about not letting go of dreams or not settling for less. He might say I should deal with that crippling self-loathing, so I don’t destroy myself. He might point me back to earlier times when I was more brazen and adventurous, and admonish me for the times I sacrificed doing what I wanted and being who I needed to be because I was afraid others wouldn’t like it.
He would probably raise his voice on that one. And he should.