My Year-Long Fiftieth Birthday Party
In October 2021, my wife AJ and I emerged from our apartment into the crisp fall air, hopeful that the pandemic was finally waning. We began to feel more comfortable with small group get-togethers, and over dinner with friends one night, AJ introduced an ambitious idea: In January 2022, when I reached my fiftieth birthday, we should throw a big party to celebrate my half-century of life. The guest list—which AJ proposed with the confidence of our recent booster shots—should include everyone I’ve ever known.
I jumped in, and the normally arduous task of compiling email addresses turned into a joy as each name triggered a memory: the first kid to invite me over after school when my mother and I made the difficult move from New York City to Salt Lake City; my former bandmates with whom I’d gone to jail in my twenties; and my paternal aunt and cousins, whom I’d only discovered recently. Some of the people were phone, email and social media friends, others I hadn’t corresponded with in years. The process of building the invite list made me miss everything about my pre-pandemic life, when I traveled regularly and saw people more often.
As the party drew closer, AJ solicited my input on music, food, and drinks, and I offered answers that would hopefully guide her decisions without spoiling the element of surprise. We discussed Covid testing protocols and masking, and we speculated who would be the first guests to arrive and who was likely to cancel at the last minute. As RSVPs populated my inbox, my excitement increased and the party began to feel like a reality. Then in early December, as Omicron raged, we decided that a large destination gathering wasn’t the responsible thing to do. With one somber email to everyone I knew, my fiftieth birthday party was canceled.
Much of 2021 was devoted to finishing my memoir, and I was gearing up for the June 2022 publication date. In the absence of a birthday party, my book served as a new way to connect with the many people with whom I was now back in touch. So on my birthday in January, I pressed “send” on an email I’d toiled over for weeks. The subject read: It’s My 50th Birthday—I Wrote a Book.
I’d always planned to go on a book tour, and although the pandemic didn’t make it easy, it felt essential to travel to the places and see the people who helped make my memoir what it is. As a drummer in rock bands in my twenties and thirties, playing in a city was always a fun way to see people I knew. Over the years, family and friends supported my bands as we played on cramped stages in empty dive bars, and opened for superstars in gigantic sold-out arenas. While only some of my friends came to my band's shows in smoky bars in the ‘90s and 2000s, nearly all of them came to my more civilized book tour events in 2022.
In Seattle, friends from college whom I hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years lined up to have their books signed, and I instinctively inscribed long forgotten nicknames like “Shaggy” and “Hiney.” In Salt Lake City—where I lived from age ten to seventeen—my prom date showed up with a shiny wallet sized photo of several teenagers wearing oversized suits, sparkling metal braces, and poofy, ‘80s hair-dos. My bowtie and suspenders drew me in, but not nearly as much as my teenage afro, which I’d kill to have now.
Reconnecting with old friends was wonderful, but it was even more rewarding to meet newly discovered relatives. In Iowa City, I spent some valuable time strolling around the beautiful University of Iowa campus with my cousin Arthur, whom I met for the first time that evening—a blood relative I never would have met had I not made the trip. In Chapel Hill, my eighty-seven-year-old sixth cousin William brought a stack of genealogical paperwork that traced us both back to the same ancestor who was born in the eighteenth century.
Group texts became commonplace, and I often woke up to long threads with photos of myself posed with people the night before, followed by decades old photos of the same people with less wrinkles, more hair, and visibly more energy. The text threads are mini-albums; snapshots of times and places. They’re perennial birthday gifts that I can open up and relive whenever I want. In Los Angeles, when someone asked if I was going to reschedule my birthday party, I replied simply, “I think we’re at my fiftieth birthday party right now,” and I realized that my book tour had become a year-long celebration in which I got to spend more time with more people than I ever could have at one party.
At a time when it’s still not easy to do everything in person, I feel fortunate to have seen more people than ever in the past year. I’m not spending as much time as I’d like to with everyone, but an hour or two with a small group friends feels more productive than a brief chat with scores of party guests. I’m not having a big fifty-first birthday party, but I am extending my book tour into 2023, building in-person reunions, new relationships, and the resulting documents that give me the best birthday present ever: the gift of human connectivity.
When I toured in rock bands in the '90s and 2000s, I was the drummer with an afro who was afraid to step out of our van in the southern states. It's been two decades since I've driven those roads, and now I have a reason to return. As my book tour continues, I'm drawn to the places where I have roots and connections. Ever since discovering my enslaved ancestors who lived in Mississippi and Alabama, I’ve wanted to head to the south. Beginning on February 19, I've scheduled a week-long lecture tour of universities, record stores, and one amazing museum. Please join me and please tell your friends who live in these cities. More details HERE.
2023 looks like it might be even busier than 2022. Below is the schedule so far, and there’s more coming together (Minneapolis! DC! Cleveland? Tokyo!!??). Details and updates can always be found HERE.
Fri Jan 27: Moscow, ID @ the University of Idaho Forge Theater. 12:30pm. Free
Wed Feb 1: Newport Beach, CA @ Newport Beach Public Library. 7pm
Southern Book Tour:
Sun Feb 19: Atlanta, GA @ Criminal Records / in conversation with TaRessa Stovall. 5pm
Mon Feb 20: Athens, GA @ the University of Georgia. 4pm
Tue Feb 21: Tuscaloosa, AL @ the University of Alabama. 4pm
Wed Feb 22: Nashville, TN @ Grimey’s Records / in conversation with Allison Russell + Eric Slick DJ set. 4pm
Thurs Feb 23: Memphis, TN @ STAX Museum of American Soul Music. 6:30pm
Wed Mar 22: New York, NY @ the New York Society Library / in conversation with Jami Floyd. 6pm
Sat Mar 25: Boise, ID @ Treefort Music Festival
Tue Mar 28: Rancho Mirage, CA @ Rancho Mirage Library and Observatory. 2pm
I’m thrilled to have recently published an essay in the New York Times, in which I told the very odd story about eating ice cream with my aunt Shannon in a Brooklyn park when a woman asked if she could use my phone. Things unraveled from there.
My memoir My Life in the Sunshine is out now. I’d love it if you picked up a copy at your local independent bookstore. It’s also available at all the big places, and for your Kindle as well. There’s an audiobook that I spent 20 hours of my life reading (it’ll only take 7 hours to listen). You can listen to the 5-minute intro for free on Spotify.
I hope to see you somewhere soon.
Nabil Ayers / Brooklyn