Last September I took a month off of work. I didn't get paid. It was the most expensive vacation I've ever had, and I didn't really go anywhere. Most importantly, I didn't go to work. I wondered how long it would last: the better feelings about work, the freshness, the ability to sustain.

I had the same thought a little over a month ago when I got a 45-minute four hand massage. This is a massage by two people at the same time--very nice, by the way. As one works your upper body, the other works the legs. Forty-five minutes, however, goes by really fast. But I felt pretty good for about two weeks.

A month of salary equals about six months of goodness.

A hundred bucks of massage lasts about two weeks.

Interestingly, capturing Saddam Hussein only got about two weeks of bump for the Prez--and he spent way more than a hundred bucks.

So, when I compare and contrast, I'd say I've been pretty economical with my attempts to keep mind and body in good spirits. But comparing against the government probably isn't fair. I know I'm better off than them--I have a surplus in my budget.

But everything that goes up must fall, and I'm struggling with the re-entry.

Over the last couple of months I've been reading The Right Stuff, about the early years of space exploration in the US. The Right Stuff is the undefinable essence fighter pilots--test pilots to be specific--must have to do their job.

Being in a band, I have found parallels between the righteous stuff test pilots have and the drive performers and artists have. Because, like test pilots, we do things that stress and test the body and mind in many different ways. And we have to have something to keep us going.

For some, it's the incredibly unrealistic belief that this artistic thing will make them rich and famous. That they'll make it. For others, it's just the instant gratification (applause, sex, drugs, unrestrained bohemianism). And there's the need to make something that really means something. An expression of self (or selves) that describes the world in a unique way, and makes others understand the world better. Of course, that's kind of highfalutin for a piece of music or paint on a canvas--but this doesn't mean it can't happen.

I think there's a little bit of all of those motivations for me when it comes to being in a band. Along with the brotherhood of the band, of course. The right stuff blinds you from reality, in many respects.

Even with all of that, though, the high must come down.

And I have to recharge. I have to find my righteous stuff again. I gotta find my little light so it can shine.

So I will walk--mostly metaphorically, of course--through the desert. Pick up the little pieces of life I find along the way, and put it all back together again.

Maybe this is a spiritual Spring cleaning. A hard push to get through the next six months. Whatever it is, I need it.

If you see me along the road, feel free to honk or wave. I don't need a ride, though. Sometimes you just gotta walk the walk.

Matt Worley has new hiking boots for the long walk ahead.