Before I start breaking out into "Love Song," I wanted to reflect on how the road forks right now for me as a Hanson fan. As time progresses, the road keeps shifting. There are long, straight miles through tumbleweed and then there are patches of pure, unadulterated Las Vegas.
We're not the same people because of the journey, because of Hanson and in spite of Hanson. I have my list of Hanson-related life-changes . . . but for some reason the most dramatic items sound manufactured. When something or someone becomes a part of you, you begin to question the strength of the influence because you internalize the influence--the lines between you and that influence blur.
But lately, mostly, when it comes to being a fan I've felt like a vacuum cleaner after a party. I mean, echoes of conversation remain in the air but my intrusive hum drowns everything else out until all that's left are fragments of my imagination. I am sucking up and consuming confetti--confetti is among the list of unfortunate elements that is appreciated for only an instant and then, literally, become scraps (Scraps of news involving the band's personal life).
What do I expect? That is a question I never try to answer for fear of ever being so bold as to predict Hanson. So, I wait. Patiently. Sometimes it's unclear whether I'm waiting for my ardent devotion to gasp its final breath or whether I'm breathless in anticipation for what the band will do next. Either way, in the simple words of Faith Hill or Isaac on Oprah . . . I guess I should, eh, just breathe.