55 today. At least halfway, and maybe 2/3 of the way through my allotted days. The last few years have been challenging for all of us: American politics, a global pandemic, the ongoing slow melting of the environment.
I have also been dealing with aging and ailing parents and some of my own health challenges.
For me, and for some of you, this has also been compounded by personal turmoil and drought in the workplace. I was lucky enough to find a job in 2020. Luckier still to get ejected from it earlier this year. The corporate world seems more brutal, unforgiving, and silly than ever.
I am making a big change. After 30 years of being a product manager, I think I am done. I worked on and shipped many things I am proud to have been a part of, and got to work with some fun, creative, smart, and interesting people. But I think it is time for something new. This is convenient, because corporate America seems to be done with me as well, finding me too old and/or idiosyncratic.
Next month I start graduate school. I will be pursuing a Master's degree in counseling psychology, with the goal of becoming a therapist. I want to help people in a direct, clear fashion, and do work that I find meaningful and interesting.
It is a 2-year program that includes a requirement of 3000 hours of practicum. I'll be training for more than 3 years in total.
I recognize it may not work out. But I am excited for new challenges, a different kind of work, and a different pace for my life.
I am not sure what all of this will mean for the future of this blog. Therapists typically keep a low profile online. I have a few years to figure it out.
My product management career was mostly fun, always challenging, and sometimes lucrative. I owe much of it to two people in particular.
One is Tim Bratton, who thought I'd make a good product manager, taught me the basics of the job, and gave me incredible opportunities early in my career. I have thanked him regularly through the last few decades, but probably not enough.
The other is JP Lester, who taught me what good management looks like, how to play the corporate game with skill and with heart, and brought me in to all kinds of exciting projects.
Together, they gave me the opportunities that have defined my professional career. Thank you, both.
Thank you to all of my other colleagues, for putting up with me when I wasn't at my best, and encouraging me when I was.
Most of all, thanks to my partner in life Iran, who has been supportive through all of these ups and downs, successes and failures, job changes, and uncertainty. I could not have done any of this without you.
In the near term, I am still offering product management services as a consultant, contractor, or coach. Act now, supplies are limited, etc.
I wake to greetings and birthday wishes from friends and family. I log on to a memorial service for a dear friend. I drink some coffee, and stare at the ocean, thinking about the water, living as waves for a while.
It has been a hard year so far. But I have learned there is help when you ask for it.
I recently had to put my father in assisted living, and I am still sifting through the wreckage of his life. Those of you who have been through something like this know how wrenching it can be under the best of circumstances. This is almost the worst of circumstances, but I will save the details for another post. Suffice it to say if you are lucky enough to have both of your parents alive and lucid, go talk to them about their finances and make plans for their futures.
This challenge seemed nearly overwhelming on my own. But when I allowed myself to ask for help, friends stepped up in every way, from taking on tasks to sharing advice and experience, and even helping load a box truck in 110-degree Nevada heat.
I have also found myself struggling to stay motivated at times. I am still trying to understand how much of that is the pandemic or old age or stress or fatigue or just "time for a change". And then wondering what to change, or what to change it to.
But I know I am making progress, because those questions -- what to change, and what to change it to -- bring feelings of possibility and excitement, rather than dread and anxiety.
My friends provided guidance and support, and when I asked for it, concrete help. It is still difficult for me to do that asking. But like all things, it gets easier with practice. I am practicing. Learning to show a little more of my self, to be more vulnerable and human.
There is light, too. I am writing this in one of my favorite places, gazing out at the beautiful blue Pacific. I have been reading some good books this year. Listening to music. Going out for some good dinners. Spending time with friends, always my favorite.
I have a new record coming out soon - another collaboration. This project (Snow Westerns) has been one of the more enjoyable things I have done in a while, and it is sounding pretty good. Lauren took some great photos. Another instance of asking for help of a kind, letting people in, releasing a little of that white-knuckle grip I often have on everything.
And it looks like Sid Luscious and The Pants might return in one form or another with a little help from friends old and new.
The waves crash outside. They are all connected to each other, reinforcing and pushing each other. All made of the same water, all part of the same ocean.
Thank you for your help, everyone. Happy birthday to me.
The author, a few weeks before his 54th birthday. Photograph by Lauren Tabak.
This year, when my birthday rolled around, I opted not to write on the day itself. I re-read last year's post. I thought about simply writing "yes, and more so", but that seems like a cop-out. Even as therapy is helping me be kinder to myself, I still have my standards. 53 and change looks OK so far.
My hair is longer still, but is long enough now. My level of fitness remains constant. The runs have been more difficult this year, but I have also managed to avoid overuse injuries so far. I have added a few new exercises here and there.
The aforementioned therapy has also been beneficial. At my age, I am able to appreciate those who choose caring for others as a profession in a way I did not when I was younger. I am also getting a little better at allowing myself to be taken care of, to be vulnerable, human, and imperfect. It is uncomfortable at times, but is ultimately less painful than continuing to carry all that armor around.
Anu Kirk, 2022. Photo by Lauren Tabak.
My days and weeks remain consistent, with some iteration and evolution. A new espresso machine is making the best coffee I've ever had. I am still spending lots of time talking to friends, but focused more on depth than breadth. I'm watching different shows at night, having burned through whatever I was watching last week, month, and year. I still think I should be reading more, but I am also reading all day long, though it is mostly computer garbage.
I have continued to do the Music, Mindfulness, and Madness podcast. I look forward to my weekly conversations with Dee and Michael, and writing the occasional essay for them as well. That experience has been a gift, and started me thinking about some new projects.
When I look out my window, I see the world has decided it would rather risk getting COVID than continuing to stay shut down, for better or worse. Life remains unpredictable and precarious. Environmental news is mostly bad, with some cause for optimism. American politics is the same. Ukraine has not fallen to Russia. An earthquake just shook the house as I write this.
Some companies are trying to drag people back to the office. The specifics are still to be determined, but I expect after a few big outbreaks (and perhaps lawsuits) that may again change.
At 53, I can appreciate how complicated things are, and how people in the world are often just trying to get by, making decisions that are OK at the time, and perhaps not great in retrospect. I am trying to be less judgmental about all of it, and simply experience and accept things. To be, and be without an expectation of having to act, or react as much.
The vaccines and care mean getting Covid seems to have become more of a nuisance than anything else (with a few unfortunate exceptions, and the ongoing, unknown risks of long Covid). Many of my friends have had it at least once. I am still careful, and have managed to avoid it so far.
I have even taken some trips in the last 12 months. While air travel is more uncomfortable and unpleasant than ever, it was refreshing to get out of my room, my house, my routine, if just for a few days. Reconnecting with people was well worth the risk and inconvenience.
On one of those trips, I went back to what is now called "the DMV". I spent a few hours driving past houses I used to live in, schools I used to attend, and towns and streets that were my home. I wasn't sure why I wanted to do it, but I felt compelled. The swampy DC summer meant that being outside even briefly was punishing, and the traffic was terrible.
I marveled at how it all could simultaneously change so much and so little. As I reached each destination on my journey, I experienced a profound sense of closure, of things being put to rest. It has been a long time since I lived there. I am able to recognize how these places, the people I knew there and then, and the things that happened helped shape me into the person I am at 53, but I am also able to look at all of it with context and distance.
I have been practicing guitar more than I have in a long time, and I find my tangible (if modest) progress satisfying. I am still taking voice lessons, and learning to sing in a different, more sustainable way. As my live band remains idle, I have taken to doing more self-accompanied performances online, and have never been more comfortable simply playing a song for someone accompanied by just a guitar or keyboard and my voice. Beyond the basic mechanics of playing and singing being easier, I feel I am more capable of conveying emotion and feeling.
This is a somewhat funny thing to think after life has been nearly the same, day after day, for 4 months. The pandemic feels like something I have been mentally and physically preparing for, but it is still a challenge.
I wake. It's 8 am, or thereabouts. I lay in bed, relishing how relaxed I am, my leg and back blissfully free of complaint for the moment. I think about my plans.
I am 51 today. Who would have thought it would look like this?
I don't just mean the physical aspects, of course. My hair hasn't been this long in at least 20 years. I mean the bigger picture. I don't really know what I thought life would be like at this age, whether forecasting from my teens, my 30s, or even last year. But I never imagined any of this.
I put on some music while I drink a coffee. I treat myself to some Dynamo donuts. It's only this day once a year, and only this specific day once ever. Recent events have reminded me you need to enjoy the things you like while you can, because you never know when you can't ever again.
I read email, the news, and finally, Facebook, scrolling through birthday wishes. I write in my journal. I ran yesterday, so I don't have to do that today. I put in some laundry, and clean up the kitchen.
I spend the day like I have for the last several months: I work on some music. I apply for some jobs. I play some games. I putter around the house. And I talk to friends.
I scheduled a 2.5 hour Zoom with over a hundred invited people for 4:30. I figure I can have a virtual birthday party. I am pretty sure it is going to be a disaster, if anyone even shows up.
But it is not a disaster. It's actually wonderful. By 4:45, there are 10 people on, some of whom know each other, some of whom do not. People cycle in and out.
I talk to some friends I haven't seen since 1985, 1987, 1990-something. I talk to some brand-new friends. I sing a couple of songs. We catch up. Iran does a live demonstration of how to make her Manhattan.
For someone who has so much personal mythology around being isolated, alienated, and alone, I sure seem to have a lot of wonderful friends. It is an emotional experience, and before I know it, the official end time has passed and we continue for another 30 minutes. Finally, I'm talked out and starving. I bid farewell and shut it down as the sun sets.
I reflect on my life. Nobody is happy about the state of the world. It seems clear there is no going back to what life was like a year ago, or four years ago. The future remains murky. We are all trapped in a kind of long present. Based on what I'm reading, we will be here for a while. If we're lucky.
But I don't mind. If this is my life, I'm going to figure out how to enjoy and appreciate it. I no longer take it as a given that I, or any of us, will be here in 2 weeks or 2 years.
That realization makes every day more special and more precious. This could be the last good one, or the last one. I stay up late, thinking of my friends, squeezing every last moment out of the day.
Maybe I didn't get to see my friends in person, and maybe it was only slightly different from any one of the last 100 or so days. I didn't go out for a fancy dinner, and I only had one drink. I'd still say this was one of the best birthdays I have ever had.
The only profound philosophical insight I can offer this year is "it is good to be alive, enjoy it while it lasts."
50 years ago today, the "moonshot" was launched. My grandfather and father both contributed to the Apollo 11 mission, which remains a unique and shining moment in human history.
50 years ago today, I was born.
At the time I was born, America still had a telephone monopoly. Telephones had rotary dials. Microwave ovens did not exist. VCRs had not been invented, and there were only 3 major TV networks. No cable TV. FM Radio was just about to displace AM as the preferred listening system. Computers were the size of entire rooms, if not buildings, and were only owned by governments or corporations. A new TV show called "Sesame Street" was about to debut.
Shortly after I was born, Richard Nixon signed the "Economic Stabilization Act of 1970", which allowed the government of the United States to control prices, rents, wages, salaries, and more -- a level of government interference (by Republicans, no less!) that is nearly unimaginable today. My father worked for the Cost of Living Council, which was the agency that handled this policy. That agency was headed by Donald Rumsfeld.
I saw my first computer when I was in 2nd grade, and we had our first home computer (an Apple ][+) about 2 years after that. I grew up with computers, and I have watched them shrink, multiply, and embed themselves in all facets of our lives.
When I think about that span of time and all those changes, I try to keep some perspective. 50 years from when I was born was 1919. The world and lifestyle of 1969 was greatly removed from that of 1919, far more than 1969 is from 2019.
Technology has advanced. Jets are bigger, cheaper, and faster...though the Concorde no longer flies, and was the fastest of all. Computers are everywhere, too numerous and cheap to count. Nearly every modern convenience has become less expensive and more commonplace. I take too much of it for granted, even as I marvel at the latest gear.
Unfortunately, that kind of progress has not extended to taking care of the environment. The end of the 1970s oil shocks led directly to the Big 80s and the return of gas-guzzling cars and the creation of the SUV. The near-disaster at Three Mile Island and the actual disasters at Chernobyl and Fukushima put the world off nuclear power, though countless other disasters at places like the Deepwater Horizon should remind us of the slow death and damage caused by fossil fuels.
When I was born, the global population was a mere 3.6 billion. It is closer to 7.7 billion now. It is hard to imagine any aspect of our lives changing until there is no alternative. Even then, it will take time.
I have seen a lot. I have a hard time imagining what the next 50 years will look like. I hope I get to see some of it.
Today
I am 50 years old. Not that long ago, it wasn't all that clear I would even make it this far. Every day is a gift. I am trying to see it less as a marker and more as a victory or achievement.
Look around you at the things in your life. Find one that's been with you a long time. What kind of shape is it in? Faded? Scratched? Dinged? Broken? Repaired? Worn? Obsolete? In need of repair?
If you're lucky, despite (or perhaps because of) all that, you still love it. You've at least kept it around, out of inertia or fear, if not love and affection.
Our lives are like that. Contrary to much philosophy, we are our bodies -- we cannot and do not exist without them. Those bodies are physical objects, subject to the humiliations of aging and entropy. There is no escape.
I am lucky. I am still in relatively good shape in every sense. Though I can -- and sadly, do -- enumerate my many flaws and think about what I have lost, and what I could save or gain. I weigh all this against simply enjoying life and being grateful for the bounty I do have. I still have enough -- enough vision, hearing, voice, hair, and on good days, some wit and humor.
50. I sigh and shift in my seat, various parts aching. It has been a challenging year, more challenging than the previous one. I have wrestled with after-effects and the inevitable "well, now what?" as parts of my life have changed and continue to change. Nothing lasts forever.
I consider my life at present. This milestone is intersecting with a few others. Things are in motion, like it or not. But motion and change are the stuff of life, and lack of those things is death.
My wife tells me I should celebrate. It is better than the alternative, in every way. Better than mourning. Better than not turning 50.
If there is one benefit to getting older, it is a growing awareness of my own capabilities and how much things are worth to me. I know what is out of reach, and what could be in reach if I were willing to pay the price. I think I know what is important to me. That is significant.
Some years ago, my friend Stan captioned a photo of me with a quote that said something like "blessed is he who has won understanding of the nature of things". Back then, I definitely didn't deserve such attribution. I still aspire to be worthy of it.
Tomorrow
There is still so much to do, and that includes some doing nothing. I am working on music and writing. New projects. Trying to spend time with friends. The last year was a stark and sobering reminder to enjoy the people around me before we move on.
I have planned carefully for the future, and now I am working to make sure I enjoy life a little more in case that future fails to arrive for whatever reason.
I expect a few changes in the next year. A new job, for one (I'm looking, so please keep an eye out for me). I look forward to the adventure. Thank you for being here with me.
About two months ago, one of my colleagues was stopped in traffic, sitting in his car. He was rear-ended by a van traveling at 60 mph. His car was destroyed, hit so hard that it also destroyed the car in front of him. He survived with, relatively speaking, few injuries. Many broken ribs and the attendant punctured lung. A fractured vertebrae. They say he is lucky to be alive. As he lies in his hospital bed, hammering his morphine button and trying not to breathe, it is not clear how lucky he feels.
I can relate. Much of this year has been spent dealing with a serious problem of a most unfortunate nature. Nobody hears the details and says "you are so lucky!"
At the same time, many elements related to this problem have gone my way. Given my situation, I would say I got lucky. I even ended up with a new old friend, which is a remarkable trick.
Metaphorically speaking, I get to walk away (for now), under my own power, looking more or less the same. Not without some damage on the inside, though. I am keenly aware of life's color, now more vivid than ever, but I lament that my ability to perceive that color has been subtly dulled, perhaps permanently.
49. It could be worse.
2. What Matters
Economy forces clarity. When you can only keep a few things, you figure out what you consider important. When you only have enough time or energy to do a few things, you focus on the critical tasks. Moments become hours, hours become days, days become weeks. The time scale expands and you realize you always only have enough time and energy for a few things. So you think about what matters most.
Who do you want to see? What do you want to do? Something productive? Something fun? Should you build memories for others or yourself? They'll all be lost eventually, like tears in rain, but as with sakura blossoms, that just makes them more beautiful and essential. We spend our lives writing in sand. The wind and waves will come.
You might look at what you have achieved in your life and wonder if any of it matters.
Zoom out far enough to see the biggest picture and the answer is "no", at least, not to the universe, or most people on earth. What about at a smaller scale? Did you make a difference? Maybe not to "the world" or "millions of people". But perhaps you affected the lives of a few people.
You hope those people remember you, and maybe they will also try to have a positive impact on the lives of those around them.
You hope you have a few more chances to make that difference. You know what matters to you, and resolve to be better, more focused, more productive. But also to appreciate the reality of life and the patience it requires.
49 suggests what matters is what you choose, how you react, how you live, in the moment and overall. Or maybe you have no idea what matters, and you are just grasping in the dark. You don't understand a thing.
49 says "But then again, who does?"
3. Who Are You
I spend time wondering what happened to people I used to know and lost touch with. A list of faces and names to chase down on the internet.
I gaze out the hotel window at the trees, drooping in the humidity and heat. I have come a long way to see some old friends, tell them some stories about who I am today, and learn who they are at this moment.
We all have a self-image, an idea of who we are. We are what others perceive us to be, or we are the sum of our actions in life, or we are whoever we say we are.
I wonder what people see when they look at me now. My core remains largely unchanged from my teenage years, for better or worse. I think I've gotten better at being a decent person, though I still have a long way to go. I still feel vital, though I can feel the years weighing on my shoulders a bit more. More experienced. Wiser?
Soon I will be 49. Who am I? Still a musician, for one thing. A student, for sure. Perhaps still a teacher of sorts. I am a writer. A worker. A husband. A middle-aged white guy. Boring. Fascinating. Generous. Talkative. Introverted. Creative. Derivative. On balance, someone good?
4. Every Moment
I am awake and alert, even if I do not want to be. 90 minutes ago, I could barely keep my eyes open, but now I cannot get comfortable. I quietly struggle so as not to disturb my love, sleeping by my side.
My skin is acutely sensitive. Moving my hair hurts. Clothes dragging across my skin is sublime, almost painful. Physically, it is like I have had a layer or filter stripped off, or that a gain control in my nervous system has been cranked up.
Not just physical, either. Emotionally raw. I find myself on the verge of tears at odd moments, and occasionally euphoric.
I swallow, and my throat hurts. Sore. Dry. Have I ever been so acutely aware of my body for so long? I think of the hours I have spent pushing myself physically. I do not recall even mile 12 in a long run reminding me of the meat-sack I live in so much.
I wish it were raining. I miss the sound of the raindrops on the roof and windows. I cannot remember the last time I saw rain.
Eyes half-open, conscious. This is a part of life, too. I try to relax my body, hoping my leg does not start twitching. I try to quiet my mind, wishing the fragments of songs repeating would just fade out, along with the shards of memories and ideas. Perhaps all of that brain noise is constantly there, a kind of mental tinnitus obscured by daily consciousness, and brought to the foreground only in the sensory deprivation of the small hours. How do I ever get anything done?
I try to embrace the insomnia, to appreciate what it means to sleep deeply. Just as I try to embrace illness to appreciate health. This restless intermission, this is a part of life. The future is uncertain, and this quiet, peaceful minute could be one of the better things ahead.
It still sucks, and I wish I was sleeping soundly. But at 49, I have a new understanding of how precious every moment is.
5. Decayed, Decayed
In 2007(!), I realized I had no time to waste, and returned to writing and recording with a new sense of freedom and urgency. The first album I made was "Decayed, Decayed", a look back at 2 decades of making music and life, and a look forward as well.
It’s 20 years since this started up Let me tell you how it was: a 4-track Radio Shack tape deck Hissing overdubs I tried to get it down Record what I had to say I thought I had all the time I wanted Somehow it got away Decayed, Decayed There were so many big plans for me They all told me I was Great 13 years of experiments and studies I finally escaped 4 years I lived in winter 9 in L.A. Everything used to work just fine, now it’s not OK Broken bones won’t heal This broken heart can’t feel And scars (some self-inflicted) on skin rashed and peeled My knees crackcrackcracking My mind…lagging My guts slowly rusting Hair thins and turns gray Decayed, Decayed It’s just a matter of time You see you’re already in line The short straw in your hand is previously defined With every breath you draw into your gasping chest Think of how sweet it tasted And all the time you wasted Was it worth it in the end? Would you do it the same if you could do it again? Doubts and questions piling up Endlessly replayed Decayed, Decayed The laws of physics simply state the case: Entropy wins. Everything fades. There is no escape. I walk beneath cherry blossoms listening to the rain.
6. In Lieu of Gifts
If you like having me around, if I have made a difference in your life, do me a favor:
She is brilliant and hard-working. An embodiment of values I hold dear, and the kind of person we should all aspire to be: someone who has taken her powerful intellect and relentless drive and focused it on service, on keeping people like you and me alive.
She is quite literally the reason I am able to celebrate being 49, and have a good chance of being able to celebrate 50 - 55 and beyond.
7. Lucky
Like many years past, I am sitting in a comfortable chair, coffee nearby, and music playing on the stereo. I am writing about this year, today, myself. I write for the same reasons some people dance, I suppose. Because it feels good. Because I hope nobody is watching. Because I hope someone is watching. Because I want to while I still can. Because I still can.
At 49, I am lucky enough to see some dreams come true, and wise enough to be careful what I dream about. I have also seen nightmares made real. The knowledge that there is no "waking up" can be the scariest part of all.
There are plenty of awful things one could focus on. The state of the world. Statistics, science, numbers. Damage and pain, now and in the future. What does that get you?
I do not want to ignore or minimize the darkness out there. But at 49 I want to spend as little time as possible upset by things I have no control over.
I tell myself to focus on what I know to be true, rather than spiraling down about what might happen. It is not easy. That is as good an indicator as any that it is the right thing to do.
I am lucky. Lucky to be here, to be awake and alive, to see the sun come up, to get one more day. I hope to see some of my friends later today, and more of you in a few weeks.
I did not write on my 48th birthday, breaking a long-running streak of annual check-ins. It just seemed pointless, and I felt I had nothing to say or discover that I did not already know, or that anyone would care about.
Singing "Mr. Positive" at my 48th birthday.
Photo by Mark Jordan.
The rest of 2017 replayed and reinforced those feelings, and looking back there is much cause for unhappiness.
I write the following from a physical and mental location that can accurately be described as "my happy place".
My fury still burns for all who enabled Trump: The dupes, cynics, and self-serving cowards who voted for him. The lazy fools who did not vote at all. The useful idiots that voted for Jill Stein and Gary Johnson. Most of all, the corrupt-in-every-conceivable-way GOP and GOP-controlled Congress who continue to smash away at decency, goodwill, cultural norms, and the rule of law to achieve their ends.
While much of the legal damage being done can be reversed with time, it will take much longer to repair than it has taken to smash. Judges, laws, respect, trust. Real damage has been done.
One is torn between adopting and implementing the tactics of "the other side" with a fresh viciousness in order to "win" (at the cost of losing so much) or continuing to act with principles and dignity and suffer more short-term losses.
When I think of our political future, it smells like blood and fire and sounds like an angry mob. History will not be kind, assuming we last long enough to write it.
Little respite was found in the arts. I listened to and watched much of what the new gatekeepers said was important and noteworthy.
A bright spot was the new album from Slowdive, which suggested it is possible for old bands to simultaneously recapture what is best about their old albums while moving forward. Album closer "Falling Ashes" provided an eerie/beautiful soundtrack for the fires which burned so much of California.
U2's new album, however, was perhaps the polar opposite: a cartoonishly bad album by almost any standard, and the kind of thing that casts negative, unflattering light on their previous work, by showing how fragile and meager their abilities can be. At this point, U2 are nearly at the Rolling Stones inflection point of having been a terrible (or worse, mediocre) band longer than they've been a great one.
I find much current and popular hip-hop unlistenable. Perhaps it is because I am old, but the lyrics lack internal consistency, and what words can be deciphered are nihilistic and narcissistic (and not even in a cool way), lacking even the power to shock in any meaningful way. It's depressing like late-period hair-metal, with poses and imagery offering endless variations on tired and uninteresting themes. When an act stumbles across something approximating a "sound", they and everyone else reproduce it until it is meaningless. It doesn't even sound good, swerving from tinny and pinging to massively overcompressed. And it all quickly starts to sound the same.
Taylor Swift's latest album suggests that her aw-shucks mask seems to be slipping and showing the sociopath underneath, and not to good or interesting result. Her professionalism is solid, but her overwhelming desire to succeed means her songs are a Frankenstein's monster of current sounds and parts, bereft of soul and meaning.
The flipside here would be something like St. Vincent's new album "Masseduction", which finally allows her to subvert and comment on pop music and desire by becoming a sexy pop star and making a great pop album.
The attention and energy dumped into superhero movies and Star Wars and its attendant mythology has stripped me of any real desire to see these kinds of films. Still, I am sure I will diligently trudge to the multiplex. I remain astounded at how the public continues to demand Big Media pander to them more, and how upset people get about the details of said pandering when it isn't exactly perfect, like children demanding pancakes and then screaming because they're not perfectly round or shaped like Mickey Mouse.
There's a larger point to be made about the lack of cultural literacy. The public "reads" content and critiques it on the basis of how well the characters conform to the public's ideas and ideals about how "real people" could and should behave. It's as though the public has never considered that these are not real people, but simply cardboard cut-outs being waved around in a frame for storytelling purposes. Treating them like real people, and grading the authors on their verisimilitude is absurd.
And perhaps one should ask further what the purpose of the storytelling actually is. (In most cases, the primary purpose is for you to give them your money/attention/time/data and the secondary purpose is to program your values and validate the values that have been programmed).
In fact, much of the fury and debate around these fictive endeavors was that their imaginary, created worlds did not conform enough to people's desires about what the world "should" look like, either by being insufficiently conforming to canonical ideas or by insufficiently demonstrating commitment to real-world political ideals and positions.
Yes, there is probably some "good stuff" on screen, especially when calibrated by the standards of those who grew up with 3 big networks and lazy sitcoms. It's still just a way to kill time while time kills you. "This show changed my life", they say. Really? How? What did you do differently the next day?
I look at the wall of shows on Netflix and it reminds me of the sinking feeling I used to get in video stores. Or when I look at the endless rows of suggested albums in Spotify. There's too much. And it's all nothing.
If you want to get really depressed, read the "criticism" or, god forbid, the recaps.
At a higher level, 2017 showed that, at the moment, the culture cares far more about the artist than the art. Tear down the Picassos, because he was an asshole. But celebrate mediocre-to-bad art if it was created by people we like, with the right credentials or background or politics. As the public asks whether artists should even be allowed to use certain words or images or ideas -- or even have studio space -- we edge closer towards a world of truly corporate art. Rather than challenging or surprising us, we demand the content do the opposite: Comfort and conform and reinforce.
2017 also marked the triumph of capitalism. In a time when people have no shame, the weapon wielded by both sides is economic exile: We'll have you fired from your job. For what you did on your own time. For your thoughts. For whatever.
It's OK, though, you can GoFundYourself and if you do it right, end up ahead.
All of this darkness and bleakness is against a backdrop of what was mostly a good year for me, and somehow that made it all worse.
The author in Tokyo, October 2017.
I'm healthy as can be. In good shape. I like my job. I finished an album or two's worth of music that I cannot wait to release...to no one. I made a few new friends and tried to help my old ones. I had a nice coffee this morning.
The sun pokes through the gray skies and glitters against the churning ocean. I read over this and wonder if it's too dark, too bitter. Maybe. That was 2017 and 48 for me. Maybe too dark, too bitter. But there you go.
A beautiful Aphex Twin track plays. I listen to it, and think of how pretty it is. I remember discovering this album a lifetime ago, in all its mysterious wonder.
I look out the window at the dry grasses rippling in the wind. Beyond them, the waves undulate and crash. A wall of clouds and fog transition the horizon from sea to sky.
I feel the sun through the windows, warming my feet. I sip some water and breathe deeply. I turned 46 a little over 3 weeks ago.
The past few years, I've spent the night before my birthday re-reading the previous years' blog posts. I've been writing them almost as long as this blog. The quality varies, but it's always interesting to see where I was a year ago. Or 8. Life was rather challenging a year ago. Things have a way of working out, though.
***
At the moment, I try to think of life like this:
Every day, you get dealt a hand of cards. Some days, it's a great hand. Some days, it's a terrible hand. You play it the best you can.
Whether you win or lose one hand isn't important, and you shouldn't get too hung up on it either way. You keep playing. You'll probably get a better or worse hand soon. Things may be different tomorrow, next week, next year.
Or this:
Life is struggle. I don't mean that in a bad way. To quote someone else [emphasis added]:
You never really want an object, you only want the wanting, which means the solution is to set your sights on an impossible ideal and work hard to reach it. You won't. That's not just okay, that's the point.
Part of becoming a mature adult means fully assuming your own personal freedom. Not just the freedom to abide by an ideal, but the freedom to create one by which to abide. The way to create such an ideal is to set your sights on the impossible.
When you live your life this way, regardless of the doubts you may feel in the moment (and especially how you doubt your own motives), if you're ultimately able to make those doubts a part of your overall creative project, to fully assume control over your own life and live it in real-time, you will realize at the end that it was all worth it.
But not before that, because to be alive means, at the deepest level, to struggle in this very fashion.
There are countless obstacles. You already know how life ends. Trying to be better or to make things better for others is the point. Not even whether you succeed, or how much you succeed. It's the trying.
***
I spent the first 15 years of my life learning I was different from everyone else.
I spent the next 15 years of my life struggling because I was so different from everyone else.
The last 15 years of my life, I've wondered whether I really am different from everyone else.
For the upcoming years, I hope to not worry about it so much.
***
I had a nice party not long ago. Low key. I hadn't really expected people to show up, and in the first hour, it looked like it was going to be tiny. But before long, my home was filled with wonderful people, and I realized somehow I had ended up with all of these special friends in my life.
I started a new job a month ago, and I still can't believe my good fortune. I haven't felt this excited about work in a long time. Maybe since the original Rhapsody...and that was over 10 years ago. I'm learning new things, meeting new people, and look forward to going to work every day.
I still have challenges. My arm is still not 100%, though I think it is finally starting to get better. I hope. That problem has led to some of the weight I've lost creeping back (well, that, and letting myself off the strict diet leash).
But in general it feels like I've attained a level of ease and peace in my life that feels different and new. I'm a little mistrustful of it, sometimes wishing for more of the burning anxiety that drove me so hard when I was younger (but did it really help?). I still struggle with myself and music and ambition and life and countless other things. Now I am starting to grasp that this isn't the prelude, this is the theme.
I wake up slow. My wife has brought me bacon donuts and is making me an espresso. I am groggy and torn between the certain deliciousness of the donuts and espresso and the potential comfort of sleeping a bit longer. I close my eyes briefly and feel my body, relaxed, creaky, a bit sore. I weigh my options, considering multiple variables.
The espresso wins. I pull myself up and into some clothes. By the time I've made it to a comfy chair in the living room, Fennesz/Sakamoto on the stereo, she's got me covered.
"Seven times six is forty-two...seven times six is forty-two..." I am 7 years old and hopping around the dining room table, holding my left leg. I am in the second grade, having recently been moved from one second grade classroom to a combined 2nd/3rd grade one next door. My school desk is full of crumpled-up math homework which I have no intention of finishing. Long division is hard and boring. I am having trouble memorizing my multiplication tables.
My mother has decided the fastest way to get me to remember is to do this. For better or worse, it works, though I will think of hopping around this table for the rest of my life when multiplying many numbers. And will always have an easier time with 7 × 6 than 6 × 7.
A few weeks from now I will empty my desk of all the failed, incomplete homework and start fresh. At the end of this school year, my parents will argue with my teacher about whether or not I should be in a gifted program. Tests will be taken. Shrinks will be seen. Parents will win, Mrs. Weimer will lose, and I will spend the rest of my school career working hard and going to different schools every year or two.
"The answer to the life, the universe, and everything." I am 12 years old and sitting in the small TV room in the Great Oaks Way house in Fairfax, Virginia. I am watching the end of the BBC "Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" show on PBS.
I've enjoyed the show, even if the reception is poor and I haven't been able to catch all of the episodes. I love the multiple smaller characters and throw-away bits. "Disaster Area". Marvin the mopey robot.
I want a Hitchhiker's Guide for myself some day - a handheld computer with all the world's knowledge at my disposal.
Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect have landed on ancient Earth, in a kind of time-travel apocalypse, and have apparently ruined the purpose of the entire planet. I am only slightly amused by this finale, and more bummed out. Seems like a terribly lonely and awful way to die, trapped in a prehistoric past with a bunch of telephone cleaners. And a pointless existence for an entire planet. It will take me many years to realize this may have Douglas Adams' point about life, the universe and everything - something about "there is no point" and "it's kind of sad" and "it's a bit silly."
I am a nerd in a world that does not yet appreciate them. I am a rather lonely and misunderstood kid. I spend a lot of time on the Apple ][ in the attic or sitting in my room listening to music. I have recently discovered rock music and am learning as much as I can. My favorite records are Tomita's "Kosmos" and Jean-Michel Jarre's "Oxygene". Next year, my parents will ship me off to North Carolina for the summer to attend something called the "Duke University Talent Identification Program".
21 × 2. I am in a car, heading for California and my future as a rock star. A beautiful blonde girl sits next to me. I graduated from college with an economics degree three months ago.
All of my worldly possessions are jammed in the back. A guitar. A stereo. A P.A. Some clothes. A desk. Music. Some hand-me-down cups and dishes. It seems like a ridiculous amount of stuff to lug around, and yet it will only take me 90 minutes to unpack. Except the music and a microphone, all of these items will vanish from my life in the next few years.
The girl and I pass through multiple states each day. We stop at Graceland to pay our respects to Elvis, drive through lightning storms in Oklahoma, and eventually alight in Santa Fe, parting ways before I head for Los Angeles. Against all odds, she will remain a part of my life and become one of my best friends.
I am certain I will succeed in the music business. I have no idea what's ahead of me, what the music business means or is, or that by the end of the 20th century, it won't exist in the same fashion. And that all of that is probably the best thing that could happen to me.
42.
I have lived in San Francisco for 11 years. California is more home than Virginia now, San Francisco more home than L.A. or DC or Fairfax. I look out the window at the gray July skies. Sip my espresso.
The news says the 405 freeway is closed this weekend. Only people who've lived in L.A. know what a big deal that is. I used to live right off the 405. Fucking Sepulveda, indeed. I don't miss being in L.A., but I think fondly back on my youth there. Floating in the pool at 3 am. Laughing with my brother and my bandmate. Z, before, during, after. "Days filled with music, nights filled with music, music all the time". Massive fires, turning the sky gray and orange with the ashes of trees and homes. Earthquakes. Floods. Riots.
The memories flow, converge, and split off, like L.A. traffic through the freeways and city street grid.
And, as the song goes, I remember leaving, and the feeling of a great weight lifting from my shoulders as I drove up the 5, the city shrinking behind me in the rear view mirror. I will return to visit friends, but probably not as much as I should.
I sip some Pellegrino, hoping to take the edge off the vague, floating headache lurking. I flip through the self-portraits I shot yesterday. I think I look like my Dad and my brother more each day. I particularly like the mutiple images caught at different angles in the mirrors. My wife says they're incredibly unflattering. I say they look just like me, and what I see in the mirror. I suspect we're both right.
Next week I'll return to DC to visit some family, and see Claire's baby, the vanguard of the extended family's new generation. My brother and his wife will be contributing before the end of the year. More multiplication. I'll see my Mom, perhaps a few old friends, and see how the place has changed.
After that, I return to Duke for a "30th anniversary reunion" for TIP. I've been asked to give closing remarks. I'm looking forward to the trip, if a bit apprehensive about the numbers involved. I suppose I could say the same thing about this birthday...and life in general.
I have learned much. I believe I have changed, or at least the knowledge I have won informs my decisions and behavior.
I know I am incredibly lucky - not just in the usual "born in upper class white America" ways, but in other more significant and personal ways. I have a wonderful life and a wonderful wife. My body is a little banged up and imperfect, but for all the years and miles on it, it's in pretty good shape. I have a good job, and one I really enjoy, and one with some very cool colleagues. I still work in the music business, having more of an impact than I could have possibly imagined in my youth.
I'm still making music, too, and feel that my recent work is by far my best. I have 2 completed albums ("Reflection" and "The Ghost Town") in the pipeline waiting on artwork. I have a new Captain Kirk album underway. Plans for the next Anu album. I'm also helping my friend Sid with his next record.
I'm imperfect. I wish I was less of a jerk, less impatient with myself and the world, less prone to being lazy. I am trying. Every day. I expect the people who know me best would both laugh at these statements.
But I also have great appreciation for the progress I've made, for what I've got in my life, and for who I am. In the last decade I've learned to enjoy life moment-to-moment. To savor the delicious certainty of now while still planning for the uncertain future.
I am grateful to be here, for as long as it lasts. At this point, I've probably got more days in the rear view mirror than on the road in front of me. That makes each memory and each new second precious, valuable, special.
I review what I've written this morning. I don't think it's gloomy - it's like the weather outside. These clouds are what July mornings are like in San Francisco. It won't last. It will get better.
My mind has been wandering I hardly noticed It's running on its own steam I let it go Oh, here comes my childhood... A penny for your secrets... It's standing in the window Not out here where it belongs
There's a fire in the forest It's taking down some trees When things are overwhelming I let them be
I would like to see you It's lovely to see you Come and take me somewhere Come take me out There is always sunshine far above the gray sky I know that I will find it Yes, I will try
