Changing My Tune

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

January has always been a difficult month for me. I’m an optimisitc sort, always have been. But for some reason I never embrace a clean slate/start fresh attitude in January. I view the month as 31 days to barrel through and challenge myself to find new tricks along the way. Little things, forgive the overused expression, make a big difference. And this week, as I was reminded, the variety of music you embrace can be one of these little, big things.

On Monday while at the gym I stumbled upon a LET THERE BE TALK podcast episode hosted by comedian Dean Delay featuring Mike Reno, the lead singer of Loverboy. Like many of my generation, I remember Mike Reno as the dude in the red leather pants and headband who sang a duet with Ann Wilson of Heart off the Footloose soundtrack. But that’s where my knowledge ended.

Well, it turns out that Mike Reno seems like a very affable, modest guy and a true professional. During the interview Reno explained how Loverboy never stopped working following their somewhat brief commercial peak. Reno was on the podcast, in fact, to promote a summer tour Loverboy is undertaking along with Styx and REO Speedwagon.

By the next morning at the gym, I had a playlist packed with Loverboy songs and was listening to their music later that night as I made dinner and shared the playlist with a friend who has similar musical tastes. For some reason I recall the rap on Loverboy being that they didn’t rock hard enough but found their music surprsingly stood the test of time better than that of their other 80’s peers. Their catchy, well-produced, anthem-like songs were exactly what I needed to manage through the winter blues.

I listenened to Loverboy steadily for the rest of the week. By Friday morning, I was at the gym, on the Elliptical and watching the Netflix series Dark. As an aside, if you’re looking for a show to check out, I’d highly recommend it. Picture a figuratively and literally darker version of Stranger Things meets Lost with an insanely complex plot but one worth the investment.

The particular Dark episode I was watching featured a scene where a man was looking at the album cover of a band named Kreator. I could tell by the artwork that it was a metal band; one that I hadn’t heard of. Yet I had hunch how they sounded.

A quick Google search later and I learned Kreator is a German thrash metal band that’s been around since the mid-1980’s with a sound very similar to early Metallica or Slayer. Kreator is led by guitarist Mille Petrozza, who has an active social media presence. Based on some exploring I did over the weekend, I discovered that Petrozza is a vegan, politically engaged, and very much a true creative force.

Kreator couldn’t be more different than Loverboy but their music provided the perfect bookend to the week. Saturday has always been a special day for me; the one I reserve for concurrently decompressing and reflecting. For some reason the loud, fast, agressive music of Kreator proved the right accompanying music as I jdid just that.

I always thought of myself as a deep-dive, rabbit hole type of person, meaning I go all in, usually with hobbies or leisure activites like music or reading. But this week reminded me there’s a different way of approaching this mindset. With music you can go deep to the point where it positively impacts your well-being but be ready to change course, and your tune, when your wellbeing journey takes you in another direction. As it most certainly will.

Image credit: Joel De Vera

Undone (The Sweater Post)

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

I’ve never been much into clothes or fashion. The summer after sixth grade, I was the first among my group of friends to have Vans. So I did make one fashion-forward move in my life. But then I peaked.

Over time, I certainly cared about my appearance; I just didn’t want to put much thought towards it. For much of the early years of my professional career, I wore the typical business-casual uniform of slacks and a button-down shirt, almost always in shades of black. In fact, when our daughter Sasha was a toddler she referred to me as the “man in black.” I remember feeling uncomfortable, almost fighting the urge to scold her for using that term, given it should only be used in reference to the late, great, Johnny Cash.

Then, about about ten years ago, I switched from button-down shirts to sweaters or collared pullovers. Jeans replaced the slacks as my workplaces embraced a “dress for your day” approach. And then COVID-19 hit almost two years ago and changed everything.

Except for a day here or there, I had never worked at home and had to acclimiate to the whole process, including dressing for my day. I’m not the type to wear sweatpants, joggers or shorts – it just isn’t me. I kept wearing jeans and a black or some type of dark t-shirt. But then in March 2020 I reached for a hoodie I had in my closet but rarely wore and inadvertenly locked in my wardrobe.

So for most of the last couple of years, except for the summer, when I typically just wear jeans and t-shirts, occasionally a golf shirt, I alterante among a set of hoodies that I refer to as my “work blazers.” And for the most part they did the trick. But right after the Holidays things changed.

For starters, I realized that the hoodies had almost become my security blankets; that I clung to them becasue of their warmth and found myself absent-mindedly playing with the zipper or hood strings throughtout the day. Then, on the handful of times on any given day when I had my camera on during meetings, I just didn’t like the image that was staring back at me. It was me, for sure; no doubt about it. Just not the me that I wanted to bring out to the world.

So beginning this past Monday and going through yeserday, I wore either a sweater or collared pullover each day. And you know something; each day I felt better about myself. I’m not sure truthfully if any of my colleagues noticed. But I did, and that’s what mattters.

Image credit: Tijana Drndarski

Lift Tickets

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

I don’t know about the rest of you but I really can’t stand January. True, I live in the Twin Cities and January can be a pretty brutal month weather-wise. But for me it goes beyond weather. There’s just something about the month that makes me want to plow through, grin and bear it, so I can get on with the rest of the year.

So it stuck me as pretty ironic when I found myself lamenting at how time was flying by, almost going too fast. Which of course is exactly what I wanted. Or at least I thought I did.

For some reason my brain went back to this past December 27, which will be four weeks ago tomorrow. It was the first day of my Holiday break and our son Ethan and I went skiing. It was truthfully one of my favorite days in quite some time. This might sound corny but the day concurrently uplfited and enriched so many well-being dimensions – physcial, emotional, spirtiual. And I’m not sure I’ve felt that way since.

Now, to be clear, I have nothing to complain about. Quite the contrary; I lead a very blessed life. I’m healthy, I’m loved, I’m employed; I have all the so-called creature comforts someone could want. But still I’ve found myself, like I said earlier, plowing through, grining and bearing it. Bearing it, not enjoying it.

But lately, I feel a change; and the commonality is I have things to look forward to, in both the immediate and longer-term. My wife Wendy and I are meeting old friends for dinner tonight. In a couple of weeks, I’m going to my first big arena concert since the pandemic began. And just yesterday, we reserved our flights to visit my father-in-law in Miami Beach this spring. The commonality in most of these aforementioned events is tickets – documentation of a milestone or goal.

I understand I might be buying (literally and figuratively) into the trappings of consumerism – that you need to spend money in order to be happy. And I also get that what I’ve described in this post clearly are luxuries – wants and not needs, that I’m fortunate to have. Guilty and guilty. But that doesn’t make the experience and particularly the promise of an experience, uplifing and enriching.

Earlier today I was taking my jacket off and I noticed the Dec. 27 skiing lift ticket was still on the zipper. When I was a teenager I used to keep lift tickets on my jacket as something of a status symbol and my sense is the kids do the same today. Now I understand that tickets lift me up in a more metaphoric way. And I plan to get some more of them when the opportunity presents itself.

Image credit: Daily Express

Virtual Doggy Bag

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

It’s funny how we view everything through the lens of the COVID-19 pandemic. I find myself more than occasionally using it as a rationalization. This week, for example, we had our first dinner quest in quite some time. It was Wednesday, and I found myself in our kitchen, readying pork carnitas for preparation in the Instant Pot. And I was very cognizant of the fact that we were having a guest; that it somehow felt new and random. “It’s because of the pandemic,” I told myself. I also told myself to be on my best behavior.

Now, I don’t want to sound braggy but if you’re reading this post and know me, chances are you’ve found that in your dealings with me I’ve been pretty well-behaved. But, (and here comes that COVID-19 thing), especially lately, I wonder if I remember how to act appropriately around people. Especially when, like this particular dinner guest, they’re not a family member, professional colleague, or someone I know well.

The meal started off fine. I served the carnitas, rice and beans and small tortillas family style. I passed to the guest first and did my Jewish mother shitck, reassuring them there was plenty of food. Then we settled in to what seemed at first like our typical family chitchat. As an aside, family meals are very special to my wife Wendy and me and we eat together as often as we can with our two kids Ethan and Sasha, old school, with no television or devices allowed.

Then, for some reason, things started going off the rails and it was largely my doing. I’m not sure why but I was recalling the Kinko’s stores from the chain’s 90’s heyday. I described the Uptown, Minneapolis location as “hoppin'” and for some reason that cracked everyone at the table up and made me the target of quite some good-natured ribbing. A few minutes later, I tried relaying a well-intended anecdote about a meaningful reading experience but ended up describing an inappopriate incident from my high school days.

The other family members for the most part held up their end of the bargain, being appropriately polite. The dinner guest wasn’t saying much (I wonder why) so during dessert, soemone (I don’t remember who) asked our guest a question. And, right when they started talking I began choking on my ice cream bar and then delving into a tears-and-all laughing fit. Or maybe I laughed and then choked; I forget.

Later on, as we were cleaning up, I kept asking myself what it was about this particular night. Why was my behavior so different? And here’s the thing. I truly was myself, my real self and all those things would have likely happened if it was just the four of us. It just so happened we had a guest. And to be clear, it had nothing to do with COVID-19. It had everything to do with who I am (and who I believe we all are as people).

There’s this whole notion of “being ourself.” But I believe the truth is there are many versions of ourselves. On this particular night, our guest happened to get the more random, somewhat quirky version of me.

I know the person we invited to dinner sometimes reads this blog so if you are, please consider this your virtual doggy bag, something you can take away from the evening. Please know I like you and want to get to know you, on your time. I hope you share more meals with us as soon as you can.

For the rest of you, perhaps it might result in less of you wanting to share a meal with me. But kidding aside, if you’ve read along this far, I hope you’ve found this insight perhaps amusing but that it stopped and made you think about whhat it means to be “ourself.”

Image credit: Kelly Sikkema

What’s the Best that Can Happen?

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

It wasn’t long after I first became a parent that I recognized a certain pecking order based on the age of your children. I recall many occasions when our kids were much younger and someone would ask me their ages. “Six and four,” I’d reply, as an example. The other person would then get a huge smile on their face and say something to the effect of “Oh, that’s such a fun age” and then recall a certain event with their own children. Then I’d ask “How old are your children?” And if the response was, “Oh, they’re grown now” or “they’re teenagers,” the conversation would almost immediately grind to a halt. My sense was that children somehow became less sweet and endearing as they aged

Well, as they say, everything comes full circle and I’m now the parent of two teenagers – a 17-year-old son and 14-year-old daughter. They’re not around as often as they once were and our time together as a family unit is much different. But I also find I appreciate them much differently than I once did because I realize, as obvious as this might sound, that I’m conversing with people first, not children. I recognize that I can relate to them on a whole different level. And share things with them that I didn’t previously. Like my thoughts on fear.

Recently, fear has been very much on my brain because as much as it hurts a bit to admit it, I spent a big chunk of my life driven by fear. Stranger danger. Car accidents. Bike accidents. Falling through the ice. If you can think of a fear, I had it at one point or another. These fears influenced me in ways that I’m just now starting to comprehend. And not to sound trite but, while I realize I can’t undo my own childhood, I can course-correct when it comes to our own chilren.

Now, I do believe having a healthy degree of fear isn’t such a bad thing. It’s good to be aware of our surroundings, to understand the conequences of our actions. But caution can quickly veer into over-caution. And then before you know it, caution can start holding you back.

So lately, I’ve been opening up to our kids about my feelings around fear and encouraging them to not let fear guide them the way I believe it guided me for so long, especially when I was younger. To be careful, think things through. But then act. Or don’t act and move on. Either way, let the experience itself, not the fear that surrounds it, define you.

When re-examining fear, my head for some reason goes to the expression “What’s the worst that can happen?” Like many similar expressions, it’s been so long that you stop thinking about what it actually means. But my sense is that the expression has its roots in fear. Like we’re making a quick risk assessment before moving forward.

But what if we view that expression from another angle. Instead of the worst, consider the best that can happen. Consider what benefits, what enrichments, what joy, might come from moving forward without fear.

I like that sentiment. And it’s a reminder that we ideally should be willing to follow any advice we give our kids.

Image credit: M.T ElGassier

Fast Forward

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

Yesterday, as my workday wrapped up and I realized Monday was already Martin Luther King Day, I thought of the signature David Byrne line “Well, how did I get here?” from the Talking Heads song “Once in a Lifetime.” Because I could have sworn it was just the Holidays. And this year, I was very congizant of embracing a take-it-slow approach and pacing myself. Yet there I was.

The way I see it, or I suppose saw it, is that there are two ways you can approach the post-Holidays, everybody-back-to-work timeframe. You can rip off the BAND-AID or dip your toe in the water. And I deliberately was trying the later approach.

As I’ve alluded to in past posts, one of the smartest things I did last year was to start keeping an affirmation journal, which is an activity I have continued into the New Year. And during the past couple of weeks, there are all kinds of references to “pace myself” and “slow down.” It did actually seem to work because, for the most part the time period went by without a hitch. It’s just that it went by so fast.

Now, to some degree, time flying by is good, especially during January. I don’t know about you but as an adult, there’s something I just don’t like about the month. I try each year to find reasons to enjoy it. But overall I see it as a month just to get through, to bear. But then, wouldn’t you know it, here I am lamenting the passage of time.

I suppose the thing is that as time passes, it obviously means I’m older and, not to sound negative, in the big picture it means that whatever has happened I’m not going to get back and the road ahead is more uncertain. And that’s not always a comforting thought.

For some reason my head goes back to when our son Ethan, now 17, was learning to walk. He never crawled and would just sort of scoot around on the floor. I always envisioned this cinematic moment where he walked towards either my wife Wendy or me with a huge grin on his face as we documented the moment.

Yet I still recall that one day in the winter of 2006, I asked Wendy if she saw Ethan. She hadn’t and neither had I. So we both went to find him and within seconds spotted Ethan walking down our hallway, all by himself, with a big grin on his face.

Ethan didn’t care how much time had passed, or what the moment was or wasn’t. He just knew he had to move forward. And figured out the best way to do it.

Image credit: Immo Wegmann

This Little Piggy Had a Message

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

On the evening of Jan. 1, 2022, I was sitting on the couch in the downstairs area of our house, feeling sorry for myself. I had tested positive for COVID-19 the evening before and was in something of a quasi-quarantine. So I decided to use the alone time to watch shows and movies I knew no one else in my family was interested in seeing. Like the 2021 film Pig, starring Nicolas Cage.

At 90 minutes, Pig is a relatively short movie featuring a basic plotline. Cage stars as a Portland, Oregon-based chef who, after suffering a loss, becomes a truffle forager. Cage’s truffle-foraging pig is stolen from him and he spends the remainder of the movie tracking him down.

Now, as background, even though I find them quite delicious, I am very fond of pigs and have been unsuccessfully lobbying my long-suffering wife to take one in as a pet. And I’ve always been a Nicolas Cage fan. Yet watching Pig came at just the right time for me. Because, at its core, it’s a film about mourning. And mourning has been very much on my mind of late.

“Mourning,” of course, is a sad, dramatic word and we often associate it with people – friends, family members, relationships that have ended. Yet especially latey, I’ve equated mourning with eras, with missing how things used to be. Before COVID. Or when our kids were younger. When, of course, I was younger.

Mourning, of course, is a very unproductive state. You’re not moving forward; you’re stuck in the past. At the time time, it can be oddly comforting to conjure up times that we convince ourselves were easier or more joyous; perhaps both.The thing about mourning, though, whether in a movie like Pig, or in real life, is that it can’t go on forever. At some point, we need to put the mourning behind us and carry forward.

Yesterday, I was getting ready to attend a virtual networking meeting. The last time we met was back in October and I paged through my notebook to remember what the group had discussed at the time. I came upon the following quote from one of my peers in the group: “Don’t mourn the way it used to be. Adjust to what is.”

There it was – the message so beautifully stated throughout Pig reflected in my chicken scratch. Get over it. The past is the past and can’t be changed. Adjust to what is. Then be ready to adjust again. And again.

Image credit: Laura Anderson

Rings of Tire

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

I felt somewhat justified when, leading into the Holidays, I saw content shared on social media noting how when you unplug, it’s more unfilling to have relaxation goals. This is very much alignment in my way of thinking; I have trouble unwinding and almost always select specific books that I know I’m going to read on vacation, or Holiday. So, a couple of weeks back, I secured three paperback copies comprising J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings Fantasy series.

I had techniclaly read LOTR about 10 years ago, over the course of several months, but I don’t recall much of it. It was one of those literary accomplishments I convinced myself I needed to have and pretty much forced my way through the trilogy. I always felt that there was another story going on somewhere that I wasn’t quite tracking.

But what’s changed significantly since then as that today my reading is comprised of mostly Science Fiction and Fantasy. And the thing is, I’ve actually come to enjoy it quite a bit. I figured it was time to revisit the source material. Further, I’ve become something of an Anglophile during the past few years. Tolkien being British was icing on the cake.

I’m almost through The Dark Tower, the second LOTR series, and beyond a doubt, Tolkien is an incredible writer and a master of his craft. His contribution to the Fantasy genre can’t be overlooked. He created the template that every Fantasy author has followed ever since – to the point where countless times while reading, I’ve spotted places other authors have pretty much blantly ripped off in their own books.

Yet with all that said, I find the storyline unbelievably dull and needlessly complex. Awkward poems and verse are interspersed with the chapters. Although they are very cool and Metal-sounding, Tolkien uses way too many confusing-to-describe locations. And the character names; beyond the basic characters, don’t even get me started.

While reading LOTR, I’ve also been watching The Witcher, a British Fantasy series currently streaming on Netflix. The Witcher is based on a book series by Polish writer Andrzej Sapkoski and is more aligned with the Fantasy I typically enjoy, books like the Elric and Corum series by Michael Moorcock, early work by Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft or movies I grew up watching like Conan the Barbarian and Clash of the Titans.

The Witcher plotline is pretty basic. Geralt, The Witcher, is a major badass and goes around killing all kinds of really scary monsters. Add in palace intrigue, fair maidens, and British accents and you have yourselves what I’ve heard described as a low budget Game of Thrones. Now, I will tell you that The Witcher isn’t exactly quality televsion. It’s very campy, almost tacky, with let’s just say some gratuitious Cinemax-like content. But, and please don’t judge me here, that just makes it all the more fun.

Last night I watched an episode of The Witcher and found myself alternately gasping, laughing out loud and cheering. It was near bedtime when I finsihed watching and needed to quiet my overly-stimulated brain. I knew just the book that would help.

Image credit: Yong Chuan Tan

In My Room

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

Prior to COVID-19, I was one of those business travelers somewhere in the middle. If you rarely traveled, you might think I traveled frequently. But if you were a seasoned road dog, you’d consider my travel schedule fairly light.

For several years I had a job where I’d travel at least monthly, sometimes more, to a home office, or “mothership,” as we called it. Every time I’d stay at the same Hilton Garden Inn, a short drive away. It got to the point where the place felt almost like a dormitory and I developed an evening routine that I followed during practically every visit.

It’s been almost two years since I stayed at that particular Hilton Garden Inn, or taken any work trip, for that matter. Yet I’ve found myself calling upon my various stays there repeatedly during the past few days. On New Year’s Eve I tested positive for COVID-19. My symptoms fortunately are very mild but, mindful of my family’s safety, I’ve been in something of a quasi-quarantine, working, eating and sleeping in the downstairs area of our house.

Without realzing it, after a little less than 24 hours into my downstairs stay, I picked up the same rhythms and routines as when I used to travel for work. I’ll head downstairs in the evening, after taking our dog Astro for a walk, just like I used to head up to my hotel room after a walk on a nearby path. Then, I’ll grab a bubbly water and Diet Coke from our refrigerator, instead of from a lobby kiosk or vending machine (much better prices) before sitting down at my laptop and tying up loose ends.

Once I log off, I’ll sit in front of the t.v. with a bag of microwave popcorn, a snack I almost never eat except when staying in hotels but purchased after a recent, now eerily prescient, craving. Then, it’s lights out, usually a good 30 minutes before my typical bedtime, just like when I’m traveling.

The key variable in all these actions is that there ones I take only when I’m alone. Which makes me wonder if we’re most ourselves when we’re by ourselves. Perhaps a topic for another post.

Yet no matter how insignficiant my actions seem, from the beverage choices to my bedtime, the rhythms and routines from my business traveling days give me comfort, sustain me actually. I know countless people have had it so much tougher than me. Yet at times I lose perspecitive and begin feeling sorry for myself, unsettled or a bit lonely. And it’s nice to seek solace in those seemingly little things.

Except perhaps for the microwave pocorn. The other night, as I was picking through the last crumb-like nuggets that get interspersed with the never-popped kernels, I recalled some public interest group study equating microwave popcorn with eating multiple Big Mac’s. Or perhaps it was movie theater popcorn. Either way, the stuff is pretty darned good. And will be hard to give up, when things get normal, or what passes for it these days.

Image credit: Tony Yakovlenko

Embrace All Pace

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

If you’re reading this post, chances are you’re in a similar mindset as me. Meaning that you were fortunate enough to take some type of break during the Holidays and are just now getting back into the swing of things. And I imagine, based on your commitments, you’re approaching that in varying ways and meeting with varying degrees of success.

I know that heading into the Holidays I was at a point where I needed a break – easy for me to say because I knew I had one coming. For the past few months, things had been going at a pretty fast pace. I often felt spread thin, pressed for time and always thinking about my proverbial plate. If I could just get one thing off my plate, I told myself, everything would be fine.

Well, I got the break I wanted. I took all of last week off and except for a few things here and there, was largely able to unplug. My wife and I caught up with some friends. Our son and I went skiing and our family saw a Timberwolves game. Add in gym visits, meals, errands and whatnot and funny, the days just flew by, despite not really working and the relaxed pace.

Then, as I alluded to in an earlier post, I received an unwelcome surprise at 11 p.m. on New Year’s Eve when I tested positive for COVID. Except for a dry cough that (knock on wood) seems to be fading, I feel fine. But I’ve been relegated to the downstairs of our house, where I have remained since midnight on Saturday. And time has existed in a whole new dimension.

Although my family is right upstairs, I haven’t seen much of them and I admit, it’s been lonely. I’ve taken our long-suffering dog Astro for four walks a day and suffice it to say I probably look forward to them more than him. Beyond that, I’m nearly halfway through the second book in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy; watched the entire latest season of Cobra Kai and caught up on some work. But no matter what I do, time seems to move pretty slowly.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions but last fall I started keeping an affirmation journal and intend on maintaining it throughout 2022 and perhaps beyond. A few weeks back I jotted down the phrase “embrace all pace.” I’m not really sure what I meant at the time but now I believe I see it in a new light.

I know that in the days, weeks; heck, even hours that will follow this post, life will start going back to it’s typical super-fast pace. So I’m taking the time to document how time seems to be working now. Because recent events have reminded me that time only exists in relation to how we spend it and the people with whom we spend it.

Image credit: Agê Barros