Here’s To the Second Half

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m writing this post with very much mixed emotions. On one hand, I’m feeling absolutely miserable. I’m not by nature a reflective person; I hate dwelling and would so much rather keep moving forward. But times like these you can’t help dwelling; or at least pausing to process it all.

Our family has been a loyal local news watcher for years and our go-to station is the NBC affiliate KARE-11. They have a great team with well-produced segments and for most part their content tends towards the lighter-side-of-life, buck-up-little-camper variety. But for the past couple of nights our family has watching KARE-11, absolutely transfixed. Rioting and looting in Minneapolis and other areas of the Twin Cities. And both of our kids – Ethan, 15 and Sasha, 13 commenting, every few minutes: “Oh my G-d; my friend lives right by there!” or “I can’t believe it! We’ve driven by that place so many times!” Or “Mom, Dad; I just don’t understand it. Why are people stealing?” Our son Ethan, very much an old soul, has said more than a few times, “This is a really bad look for our city.” I couldn’t agree more.

KARE-11, which for all these years I’ve turned to not so much for news but for comfort, a security blanket, truly has risen to the occasion. Their team has expressed justified outrage at our state and local officials and are asking the questions on all of our minds. Although the reason sucks, I’m impressed with the channel and proud to be a loyal viewer.

Beyond the events caused by Monday’s death of George Floyd, like all of you, I’m still feeling the emotional effects of the COVID-19 pandemic. Anxious. Fearful. Uncertain.

So I’m doing the only thing I know how. I’m writing about it, documenting it. For myself. For you. For our kids if they ever come upon this post.

Enough dwelling.

It’s about 10:30 a.m. CST as I write this post. Beautiful weather here in Minneapolis; sunny, cool. Almost like a September day. We’re expecting unseasonably warm weather next week and, if you live in Minnesota, you just accept that meteorologically, speaking, the other shoe can always drop. So you need to do what you can to enjoy the nice weather while it lasts.

Earlier this morning, the kids and I went to Home Depot where we purchased a new long mower. On the way there Ethan, completely unprompted, said “Wow, 2020 really sucks.” I agreed with him but cautioned that we’re just reaching the halfway point. We have six months go to. I struggled to find a sports analogy but since I know nothing about sports, Ethan stepped in. “Dad, we need a really good second half,” he said. Exactly.

I’m not my any stretch trying to paste over or disregard what has been happening globally or nationally. We’re reeling right now, no matter where we live. And collectively we have our work cut out for us.

But that’s where the second half comes in. I’m hopeful that we’ll rise to the occasion. Make meaningful change in the way we live, work and treat each other. Take nothing for granted. Be sure to exercise our right to vote, no matter how we go about doing it. Because doing nothing isn’t an option.

Be well and stay safe.

Image credit: iStock

 

 

 

It Takes One to Mow One

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

When there’s so much going on that you can’t control, it feels good to focus on what you can. Like lawn mowing, for example. Our lawn is nothing to speak of from a landscaping standpoint but it still needs mowing. And I have a healthy 15-year-old son, Ethan, who had expressed an interest in mowing the lawn; a son, I should add, with extra time on his hands. So I’ve been more cognizant about the growth of our lawn. When I see the sun streaming through the windows and Ethan with a device in his hands, I’ll go out on our deck and check the lawn. Then come back inside with a suggestion on how he can get some fresh air.

Not surprisingly, as Ethan has gained experience mowing the lawn, the novelty has very quickly worn off. What used to be a fun activity he now views as a dreadful chore. It wouldn’t do either of us any good if I tried convincing Ethan otherwise. You and I both know there’s nothing fun about mowing the lawn. But it’s something that needs to get done.

This particular week was a tough one for Ethan as far as lawn mowing was concerned. Our old-fashioned reel mower has seen better days. A backup one he had access to fared no better. I could tell Ethan was getting frustrated and it showed in his work. Our lawn appeared patchy and uneven, with big clumps of uncut grass clearly visible. I’d point this out to Ethan and we’d have the classic father-teenage son exchange: grunted acknowledgement of my request and then a semi-audible mumbling under his breath as I turned to leave the room.

For some reason things came to a head yesterday. Picture-perfect weather. Ethan with his device. And a lawn that needed mowing. So I brought Ethan outside and stood on my soapbox (deck, I mean) and said my piece.

I told him that yes, our lawn mower was less than ideal, and that we would replace it. But that even when we have a new mower, he would still need to be patient, to take his time and do the job right. To focus on those nooks and crannies and not just plow through it to get the job done. And that those missed spots will never really go away; they’ll just keep growing and becoming more noticeable.

I have a hunch many of you reading this can relate but at some point during my harangue I realized I was admonishing myself, as well as Ethan. My much younger self who, growing up in Connecticut, would uncover a friend to visit, homework to finish; anything to avoid mowing our family’s lawn. My earlier self who was perennially in a rush, wanting to do as much I could as quickly as I could and getting frustrated when I believed things weren’t happening fast enough. And my current self who still struggles with the notion of perfectionism – when there’s still more to be done and when to let something go, along with remembering to keep focused on the proverbial nooks and crannies, as well as the big picture.

In the end, Ethan did a great job on the lawn and I made sure he knew it. After all he’ll be drawing upon these experiences time and time again. Even if he doesn’t yet realize it.

Patrick Dempsey and Amanda Peterson in “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Image credit: Buena Vista Pictures

 

Pausing and Listening

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It says something about the world we live in when I first heard about what had happened in my own city from the actor and comedian Patton Oswalt. Like many of you reading this post, I spent yesterday working and, the way my day played out, didn’t have a chance to access any news. So I finished my day, had dinner with my family and went about the remainder of my evening activities. Then, when I was about to close down, I went on Twitter and saw that Oswalt had posted a photo of Colin Kaepernick next to a police officer kneeling on a man’s neck. I noticed the Minnesota license plate and  the “eapolis” visible on the squad car. So I quickly went to local and national news outlets and ascertained what happened.

I won’t use this post to opine on what happened and why. Frankly, I’m not qualified and I don’t believe it would be helpful. But I made myself a promise with this blog to write about what’s important to me, when it’s important to me; to never censor myself. And the death of George Floyd is very much on my mind.

So I’m processing it in the best way I know how. Included below are songs that have been on my brain since last night. The common thread is that each is in some way about peace or justice; sometimes both. Even if listening doesn’t provide you much solace, I hope one of these songs at least makes you pause a bit.

Be safe and well.

Frank Zappa – “Trouble Every Day,” 1966
As dark, cynical, and prescient as anything he’s ever written.

Jackson Browne – “I Am a Patriot,” 1989 (written by Steven Van Zandt)
A fresh and unique take on patriotism.

Peter Tosh – “Stepping Razor,” 1977  
This is a tough one to explain. It’s about aggression and violence and for some reason it’s very much on my brain. All I can say is give it a listen. And if you check out the other songs on the album, Equal Rights, it will make more sense.

The Clash – “Police on My Back,” 1979 (written by Eddy Grant)
I tend to enjoy the Mick Jones-sung songs by The Clash and this is one of my favorites. But today I’m thinking about it for a different reason.

Bob Marley and the Wailers – “Is This Love,” 1978
One of these songs that I almost believe we come out of the womb knowing. Not sure why it’s on my brain. Most of the preceding songs are pretty defiant but, when you think about it, preaching love amidst violence is about as defiant as you can get.

Image credit: Kveller

 

 

Seeking Illumination in Dark Rooms

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve been stuck in the 1970’s for quite a few years now. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve enjoyed music, movies and novels from the decade. The 1970’s have always fascinated me historically and culturally. Except lately I’ve been viewing the 1970’s from a more micro level.

I’m now in my forties so the 1970’s impacted me in a very unique way. While I wasn’t old enough then to understand the large events that led to certain behaviors, I participated in them. I understood the what, so to speak, but not the why.

Take the 1979 energy crisis, for example. Years later, I would piece together, both via school and learning on my own, the geopolitical events that led to the United States being in that position. But back then I was living it and those memories are still very much lucid. Homes with solar panels. Every family, especially in rural New England  where I grew up, having a wood burning stove. Car companies competing with each other to produce the smallest, boxiest model with the best gas mileage. And practically having it beaten into my head to turn off the light when you left a room.

For some reason it’s this last one – turning off the light, that has stuck with me the most. No matter where I am, I always turn off the light when I leave a room. I can be a bit obsessive about the behavior and my family will often remind me that other people might want to use the room even if I’m exiting it. But it’s something so completely ingrained in me that turning off the light almost becomes a rote activity.

Lately I’ve been more aware of this behavior because I keep wondering how the COVID-19 pandemic will influence our family’s actions in the future, both as a unit and individuals. On the one hand, I’ve discovered many silver linings during the past 11 weeks our family has lived in what I now consider a permanently altered state. Not being in such a rush all the time. Being more strategic and less wasteful about purchasing items such as groceries. And being focused more on needs as opposed to wants.

Those are the known’s. The unknowns, of course, look a bit murky. When my wife Wendy and I can meet friends for a drink, not sit on our couch with drinks and talk to friends via Zoom. When I can go to concerts again instead of reminiscing about the ones I’ve seen. When we stop talking about “unprecedented times” and the “new normal” and just accept what is.

I wonder if we’re ever really going to put the COVID-19 pandemic behind us. I mean, I believe we will in that, like any other major historical event, the pandemic will start seeming more and more distant. But I also believe that each of us will experience our own repercussions for years to come. Much like I will forever associate turning off the light when you leave a room with the 1979 energy crisis.

I believe the act of writing this post, just documenting this moment in time, will help me better process what’s ahead. If you’ve read this far I hope it helps you in a similar way.

Image credit: National Archives

 

 

A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

There’s a great Yiddish word, “shpilkes,” which loosely translated, means a general state of agitation caused by inertia. And I get shpilkes rather easily; I’m one of those people, even when I’m relaxing, who always needs to be doing something. Yesterday, a combination of the ongoing quarantine and lousy weather had me inside for most of the day. But at one point shortly before 1 p.m., the rain cleared and I decided to take our dog Astro for a walk.

So I rounded up Astro, grabbed plastic bags and the leash, donned my headphones, and headed out with him on our typical 20-minute loop. Within minutes, it started drizzling again. Then, raining. Soon, when we were nearly halfway through the loop, it started pouring. But Astro and I kept soldiering on. I didn’t cut the walk short. I didn’t start running with Astro. I kept moving ahead with the planned 20-minute loop.

As I walked the term “we are what we tolerate” started going through my head. I’d imagine the term has been around forever but I first became familiar with it a few years back while at an offsite work retreat when a guest speaker used it. He was speaking in terms of corporate culture and made the case that once you start tolerating a certain behavior or action – from employees, customers, vendors, you name it; it then becomes part of who you are.

The expression stuck with me ever since and I’ve kept it top of mind in my dealings with professional associates, both within and outside of my particular workplace. But yesterday, I considered it in terms of us as individuals. That what we tolerate, both good and bad, truly shapes us.

It might be what we tolerate in our interactions with others. Expressions, phrases, actions, or habits that really get under our skin but we never verbalize for fear of rocking the boat, so to speak. Or the times we (and by we I of course mean “I”) take on an action ourselves that rightfully should be undertaken by someone else, telling ourselves “it’s just easier this way.”  We also become what we tolerate when we make decisions in haste, or when we know they’re wrong, or don’t make them at all because they’re too darned difficult. And then come up with multiple ways of justifying, which is really just another form of tolerating.

Yesterday, I was, for starters tolerating being wet. My jeans were absolutely drenched; my hair matted down to my head; my black t-shirt heavily stuck to my chest and my Vans squished while I walked. I have to admit that vanity briefly kicked in and I did wonder if anyone in my neighborhood happened to be looking out the window and thinking to themselves, or saying out loud, “What is that moron doing?”

But beyond tolerating the momentarily physical discomfort, I was reminding myself that you can only embrace the notion of “unprecedented times” or “global circumstances beyond our control” for so long. That in the end we need to make the decisions we feel are best for ourselves and our family. That we all will ultimately become what we tolerate.

I went home and dried Astro. Then I took off everything I was wearing, toweled off and changed into dry clothes. I felt great, refreshed. On multiple levels.

Image credit: kclu.org

 

 

Tale of the Tail

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

During one particular NPR pledge drive I heard a great expression called “driveway moments,” where the listener is so fascinated with a segment that they literally sit in a parked car in their driveway, not exiting the vehicle until it’s finished. I’ve had a few driveway moments of my own while listening to the new “Wind of Change” podcast. Except it’s me standing in my driveway with our dog, Astro, after we return home from a walk.

To summarize, the podcast, hosted by New Yorker writer Patrick Radden Keefe, explores a supposedly long-standing story about how the 1990 power ballad by the German band Scorpions, was actually written by the CIA to hasten the Soviet Union’s collapse. The podcast isn’t really about music but delves into world affairs, the intelligence community and the powers of persuasion. And, it’s had the added bonus of inspiring me to revisit what I view as the under-appreciated Scorpions music.

Back in 1984, the Scorpions hit “Rock You Like a Hurricane” spoke to me a visceral level. It had a great riff; edgy, but in a FM radio-friendly sort of way. And it featured lyrics that, while offensive by today’s standards, entertained my immature 13-year-old-self to no end.

During this time frame I became familiar with the Scorpions mostly through cultural osmosis. I had my Bar Mitzvah earlier that summer and learned how to speak Hebrew phonetically. Some article I read noted how members of the Scorpions taught themselves English in much the same way. Plus, members of the Scorpions acted the way I, at the time, thought a cool band should, although in hindsight it all seems very Spinal Tap-like. They wore leather pants and colorful outfits and struck every singer and guitarist pose in the book.

Time passed and, by the time I was in high school I considered myself “over” the Scorpions, as much as I was ever into them. I viewed them and bands such as Poison, whose music I’d proudly blared only a few years earlier, as childish. My tastes, I convinced myself, had evolved.

But, as they say, everything comes full circle. Since starting the “Wind of Change” podcast, I’ve been naturally listening to the title song, plus their 1982 album Blackout, as well as their 1970’s-era catalog, recorded before they made it big in America. It’s a little more bluesy; less polished and produced, but it still rocks.

Scorpions are a band that has endured. Most people don’t realize this but they’ve been around for more than 50 years and are really paradoxical when you think about it. They are a German band that sings in English that have been huge all around the world for decades. And when I say around the world I’m not talking about the “big in Japan cliché. I mean playing concerts in Bulgaria.

During a segment in the “Wind of Change” podcast, Scotti Hill, a member of the band Skid Row, describes the Scorpions as “a big, strong German engine.” As a Volkswagen driver and brand enthusiast, I couldn’t agree more.

Image credit: Getty Images

 

 

Things Can Only Get Better

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the bloggers

During many quarantine weekends our family will order takeout food on Saturday evening. It gives us something to look forward to and offers a way to support the local economy. We were planning on having burgers this past Saturday, from a restaurant our kids had seen on the Man v. Food television show. They had been talking about it all week.

But, when the time came to order the food, we realized the restaurant’s location closest to our home didn’t deliver. Disappointed, but having burgers on the brain, we scrambled to find an alternative. We decided on a nearby burger joint, a neighborhood fixture that had recently reopened after being closed for a time. Why not give it a try now.

The burgers, in the end, were rather lackluster. Now, I should add here that even a lackluster burger is pretty darn good. But it led to a dinner table discussion about; what else – burgers.

I took the viewpoint that, given the preponderance of good local  burger restaurants during the past several years, we as consumers can afford to be more choosy. Sure, the burgers we had just been eating were fine. But why settle for fine when, for the same price or perhaps just a few dollars more, you can have better.

But our kids, especially our son, Ethan, 15, were having none of it. Ethan admonished me to stop being such a snob and just enjoy the burger I had instead of wishing I had something else. The kid, as he usually does, had a point.

I of course couldn’t help but view the exchange through the lens of COVID-19. Like many of you reading this, I do possess this confident hope, to paraphrase Howard Jones, that things can only get better. I tell myself this every time I receive a bit of discouraging news, which unfortunately happens often.

But at the same time, I do find myself appreciating many “silver lining” moments. More time together as a family. A less-hurried pace with greater opportunities to focus on what’s in front of me.

Yesterday, as the workweek kicked off, a friend emailed me and asked about my weekend. I told him of our experience with the local restaurant and their burgers.

“Yeah, if you look online you’ll see mostly rave reviews about the place,” he wrote back. “But, I think a lot of that is nostalgia, to be honest. Seems like one of those places where if you’ve been going there 20 years, you love it. If not, meh.”

I thought back to that email as it says something about not only burgers and subjective taste but also what we’re collectively experiencing now. And it gives me reason for hope.

When, several months or even a year from now, the masks come off and “social distancing” and “Anthony Fauci,” as impressive as he is, starts fading from our vocabulary. When, dare I say it, life gets back to normal. Will we find ourselves nostalgic for selective quarantine memories? Will we, when things actually get better, realize, that if we were fortunate enough, things could have been a whole lot worse?

I certainly hope so.

Image credit: The Daily Meal

 

For Marc

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve always found the comedian and podcast host Marc Maron somewhat unlikable. And that’s always made me like him more. An old, dear friend of my wife Wendy, himself a comedian, introduced me to Maron several years ago and he was one of the first public figures I started following on Twitter. And then, nearly two years ago I started listening to his WTF podcast and became a fan.

I’ve referenced Maron’s interviews several times in this blog and even though a stranger, has provided me with so much insight and inspiration. Last night I learned that his partner, the director Lynn Shelton, died suddenly at 54. So I wanted to honor Marc Maron the only way I could.

Maron’s persona – an educated, neurotic, and somewhat self-hating Jew, certainly isn’t unique. If you’re of a certain age and have read a Philip Roth novel or seen a Woody Allen movie, you are familiar with the persona. But with Maron it’s not really a persona; it’s very much his warts-and-all, acquired taste personality.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, Maron’s WTF podcast is an interview format. While his interview with former President Obama objectively put Maron on the map, he’s spoken with a series of fascinating public figures throughout the years, ranging from David Lee Roth to Cate Blanchett and everyone in between. While I know some people in my sphere will skip past Maron’s roughly 15-minute opening segment, that’s always been the part I enjoy the best.

The opening segment is where Maron riffs and, depending on his mood, will lay his heart bare. Maron recently achieved the milestone of being sober for 20 years and speaks openly of his past struggles with addiction. He also regularly mentions his two ex-wives, and failed relationships with Moon Unit Zappa and the more recent “Sarah the painter.” And during the past several months he’d been referencing Lynn Shelton and in a recent interview with Kathy Valentine, former bassist with The Go-Go’s, Shelton appeared in the opening segment. Maron sounded, and I can’t believe I’m actually writing this word; happy.

Of course now, in light of Shelton’s passing, I’m really trying to get my arms around the notion of happiness and our relationship to it. Maron has spoken often about never really being happy; that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he actually experienced happiness. Because I, of course, don’t know Maron, I always wondered about that and of course considered my own relationship with that emotion. Let’s just say it’s a relationship I would describe as complicated. And I recognize I’m far from unique.

Even though Maron, like I said, is a stranger, I do hope he finds happiness, or at least solace at some point. I’ve spent so many hours listening to him talk about his needs, wants, desires, insecurities, and relationships. More often than not I find myself agreeing with him or at the very least, empathizing with him. He’s helped me process some difficulties I’ve experienced and given me helpful context for others. The least I could do is let you know what he’s meant to me and hopefully extend some of that empathy he most certainly needs.

Lynn Shelton and Marc Maron. Image credit: Shutterstock

Phil and Peter

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I know I consider myself a music geek but the truth is I was well into my thirties before I fully understood that Genesis was really two bands. There was the Peter Gabriel-led era in the early to mid-1970’s with albums like Foxtrot, Selling England by the Pound and The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. Then the Phil Collins-led period with albums like Duke, Abacab and Invisible Touch. Plus each of the artists respective work, which is where I started, in 1985, when I was 14 years old.

Back then MTV was still two years away from my rural Connecticut town but I listened repeatedly to my copies of Purple Rain, Diver Down, Heartbeat City and especially, No Jacket Required, by Phil Collins. I knew all the songs by heart and found them catchy, buoyant (even though I didn’t yet know what the word meant) and fun. In the summer of 1985, Phil Collins used the Concorde jet to perform at both London’s Wembley Arena and Philadelphia’s JFK stadium during Bob Geldof’s Live Aid concerts. Phil Collins seemed to me the coolest guy on the planet. Invisible Touch was released the following year and the self-titled song, plus offerings like “Land of Confusion” and “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” were everywhere – on both radio and MTV.

Then, I abruptly decided Phil Collins sucked and stopped listening to him.

Peter Gabriel’s solo work was also a ubiquitous presence around the same time. Songs like “Solsbury Hill” and “Shock the Monkey” received regular radio airplay, “Sledgehammer” became a signature MTV video, and “In Your Eyes” made an indelible GenX popular culture mark as the background music during John Cusack’s iconic scene in 1989’s Say Anything. But throughout this time I never thought of Peter Gabriel one way or another.

I guess it makes sense, given he was my Genesis gateway, that I revisited Phil Collins first. About 10 years ago I heard “I Know There’s Something Going On,” the 1982 song by ABBA singer Anni-Frid Lyngstad, featuring some pretty nifty drumming by Phil Collins. I gradually purchased used copies of Face Value and Hello, I Must Be Going, along with early Collins-fronted Genesis albums. Much of the music holds up well and is surprisingly good.

I’m not a musician so can’t speak to Phil Collins’ drumming abilities but do believe he’s a pretty impressive songwriter. Collins writes regularly about romance and relationships yet manages to do it in a straightforward, relatable way, along with maintaining a catchy, almost ear worm-like sound. His work conveys empathy and sincerity – key elements, I believe, for an artist.

It’s only been the past year or so that I’ve actually seriously started delving into Peter Gabriel’s work and I’m enormously impressed. Gabriel took risks as an artist. Beyond technological experimentation, he embraced world music early on, along with several humanitarian causes. He did soundtrack work, opened his own studio and dedicated himself to constant growth and evolution, not milking his back catalog for nostalgia’s sake.

Even during the past several weeks I’ve been listening to Gabriel’s work that came prior to 1986’s mega-selling So and especially the aforementioned 1974 Genesis album The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. None of it seems dated and in fact seems to be in a league all its own. No easy feat, I believe, for an artist.

Much has and will be said and written around the intersecting themes of art for art’s sake; art for entertainment and art for commerce. But if you ever want a sonic representation of these themes competing with and occasionally meeting each other halfway, then listen to the work of both Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel.

Image credit: Prog Sphere

 

 

In My Head, In My Head

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

One thing I don’t believe any of us can deny about our current reality is that it helps put things in perspective. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to mentally walk back an issue that appeared to be an major inconvenience, to give myself a “Dude, really?” Like with headphones.

Last year I was given a pair of wireless headphones and, as it tends to be the case with technology, once I started using them I couldn’t imagine not using them. Except now the headphones are a bit on the fritz. So I’m making due with those white earbud headphones that come along with the iPhone.

During the past several years, headphones have taken on a greater importance to me, literally and figuratively, as they occupy my head space. My headphones are the one accessory I’m hardly ever without, when I’m by myself. I’ll listen to podcasts when I’m walking our dog Astro or taking a midday walk and then music when I’m running. But here’s the thing: lately, I’m hardly ever by myself.

Now, I want to hit pause here and go back to what I said at the start about putting things in perspective. I’m glad that I’m not by myself in that I realize I’m blessed to spend each day with my healthy, loving family; that we’re in this together and can turn to each other for support. But with all that said, during the past several weeks our family has learned that a big part of happiness is giving each other our space. Which brings me back to my headphones.

Early yesterday morning, while walking Astro I listened to Marc Maron interview the actress Cate Blanchett on his WTF podcast. Cate Blanchett seemed charming and is undeniably talented but she, and Maron, seemed almost secondary. It just felt good to be outside, on a cold but relatively nice spring day. Several hours later, I took a run, also by myself, and listened to a Spotify playlist I creatively titled “January 2018,” with songs by Journey, AD/DC, The Kinks, UFO and others. Similar to Maron’s interview with Cate Blanchett, these songs, while enjoyable, ended up serving as nothing more than sonic wallpaper. I savored the feeling of having seemingly random, disjointed thoughts go through my head. Which, ironically, had the affect of clearing it.

I’m taking the time to document these seemingly little activities because cumulatively, they matter to me a great deal. They comprise a big part of my personal and professional temperament and my well being. And they help me build the figurative muscle that enables me to process all that is going on around me; that keeps me convinced that we’re all going to make it through this and emerge on the other side.

If you’ve read along so far I hope that something in this post resonated with you. Perhaps it’s the music, or the exercise, or a reminder that you need a new set of headphones. Regardless, believe me when I tell you that it feels great to be inside your head for a bit. And even better when you emerge refreshed.

Image credit: Apple