I ran away once to Boston for two months when I was sixteen. I hated where I lived. Who I lived with and my whole existence. Ever feel like that?

Obviously, I wasn’t happy at home, what with chaotic family dysfunction, an unrequited mad crush on a girl and the usual teenage angst that everyone goes through. So I thought, ‘make a new start’.

I had an older, cool friend named Giles who played the saxophone and was going to Boston to become part of a blues band. I got a ride with him and a place to crash. The band had a house in Somerville, a seedy neighborhood across the river from Beantown.  I thought, what an adventure. A new city, following a band around, and I’d be happy at last.

The band was really good. They drank beer all day and played gigs at night. I hung with these cats who were much older than me and who were pretty rowdy. It wasn’t much fun. I couldn’t go to the clubs because of my age, so there was little to do other than watch rehearsals at the house. They were prodigious drinkers. My job was to go to the corner store and return empty bottles of Narraganset beer for the deposits so they could buy more beer.

I was a mopey kid and not a musician and not friendly with anyone other than my pal Giles.  The adventure fizzled pretty quickly.  One day, while I sat on the front stoop and listened to a great jam going on inside, a ruckus ensued when one of the players (I think the drummer) shouted “You all don’t get drunk enough to play the blues!” before passing out. Someone called “Take five!”

James, the lead singer and my friend Giles came out and joined me on the steps. They smoked and talked and included me in on one of their philosophical conversations. I told them that I was depressed and didn’t know anyone in Boston except them and that I was lonely and bored. “This city sucks.” I said.

“Hey man.” James said. “Everywhere sucks. Get used to it. Being on the road sucks and this house sucks, but you know what? You gotta bloom where you are planted, man.” My friend concurred.

“Bloom where you are planted.” That stayed with me and gave me a lift.

I left Boston and went back home. It still sucked, but I had friends there, I knew the roads, the shops and a lot of kids in school and realized it’s not the place, but the people who make a place good or bad. That phrase and practice has stood me in good stead over the years, as I moved from my home town to various places to make my way in the world.

“Bloom where you are planted.” It’s great advice to give a disconsolate teenager or anyone who complains “This place sucks.”