A Curated Introduction

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Thanks for joining me!  My name is Rob Bell and I’ll be your host through these ramblings.  I live in Phoenix, Arizona with my beautiful wife Shani and capricious daughter “S”.  I am a truly fortunate human and fully appreciate the people in my life who have helped me become the man I am today.

This blog will explore my journey in becoming that man; how I got here and where I’m going.  The topics will vary, but you can guarantee I’ll be writing a lot about the big deals in my life; being a husband, father and a man at odds with the condition of toxic masculinity (you notice the distinction of toxicity.  I am unapologetic for being masculine).  By my nature, I am a positive and optimistic human being and that will be reflected in the words to follow.  It’s not that I don’t struggle with negativity, because I do.  But when I do discuss my challenges, it will be constructive and full of the perspective of my better angels.

Of course, I am more complex than simply falling into a simple categorization of being a husband and father.  And masculinity of course is not mutually exclusive to either of the former experiences.  I have many hobbies that bring my life pleasure, amusement and enrichment.  I will surely write much about those.  I do my best to think critically and take seriously my life long journey in learning.  It is, after all, much of what has brought me to where I am today.  I also use humor in my writing.  Sometimes it is completely unintentional while at other times it is warmly calculated.  Trust me when I say this humor is wholly reflective of who I am.

So I welcome you into my little slice of the human experience.  I hope you find it enlightening, entertaining, informative, or any thing else other than infinitely boring.  If you like where I’m going, tell your friends (if you do find it infinitely boring, tell your enemies to follow along).  Follow me on Facebook and subscribe to the blog.  Let me know you’re here.  Share along with me if you so desire!  I promise to keep writing as long as you’re reading.  Who am I kidding…I also promise to keep writing even if you have deemed me unworthy of your time.

P.S. If you want to read more in detail about the travel experiences of the Bell family, check out our travel blog at http://www.havewifewilltravel.wordpress.com.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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Be Proud: Why it is important to be a queer ally

I’m usually pretty cautious about how much personal information I share here. Unlike my personal Facebook account, this blog is open to the entire world to ingest. I am, at my core, a private person. I recognize the irony associated with me sharing certain portions of my life with whoever may stumble across my writing. It’s not lost on me. But I control what is shared. It’s curated information. Today, I want to peel back the onion a little further and share something else with you. Anyone who has followed along with my writing knows that I am a parent. My daughter recently turned 17, and is academically and artistically gifted. She is a theater performer. As she is currently finishing up her Junior year of high school, she is busy determining where she wants to attend college after high school graduation. To say that her mother and I are proud of the kind and whipsmart human being she is turning into is a gross understatement. Oh…and she’s gay.

While the last tidbit of information provides you no context as to the makeup of her character, it does provide context for the purpose of this blog post. Recently, a professional football player from the NFL Champion Kansas City Chiefs gave the keynote address at Benedictine College’s graduation ceremony. I won’t go into all the details of the address in this post (you can watch the video here), but he was critical of the NFL’s position on recognizing LGBTQ+ issues and celebrating the community. He also shared his thoughts on the most important accomplishments women could attain, but that’s a whole other issue. Needless to say, as the father of a gay, soon-to-be college student, his remarks hit close to home. As a representative of the NFL, he sent a message to my daughter. It was not one of inclusiveness.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge that my daughter is not a lover of sports. That is not necessarily relevant to the purpose of this post. What is important is that this accomplished athlete sent a message to the entire queer community: You are not worthy to be celebrated. I know he didn’t say those exact words, but that’s what was communicated. It’s a message I’ve heard all too often. Why must LGBTQ+ Pride events be thrust upon my life? After all, there are no Heterosexual Pride nights in professional sports. To be honest, there was a time in my life when I asked the same question.

So, why is it important for businesses, professional sports organizations, and even public entities to promote LGBTQ+ Pride events? Why is it important to be inclusive? Why is it important for gay allies to be vocal in their support of the community? That’s what I want to articulate in this post.

Let’s start by answering the question of why there are no Straight Pride events. The answer? They are simply not needed. As a straight guy, I can tell you at no time in my life has anyone tried to shame me for being straight. There was no stigma growing up. NFL placekickers never stood up and said there is no room for straight guys in football. I’m fortunate to have several queer friends. Never has one asked me why I’m straight. Never has anyone insinuated that my character is in some way flawed because of who I’m sexually attracted to. My daughter cannot say the same thing.

As progressive as society has become, the LGBTQ+ community is still on the receiving end of an effort to shame who they are. My daughter has queer friends who are not fully accepted by their families. She has friends that are not publicly out, due to the fear of how their peers will react. The truth is that there are still legitimate concerns a queer person may have in not being open about who they are. As long as there are NFL placekickers out there who espouse beliefs that it is shameful to be gay, there is a need for society to offer some counter-programming. This is why the NFL recognizes there is a need to celebrate the LGBTQ+ community. There is a need to tell the roughly one in ten people in this world who are queer, that you can be proud of who you intrinsically are. There is a need for Pride events. Want a world free of Pride? Create a world where it is not necessary.

I recognize that some hold deeply held religious beliefs and that part of those beliefs center on the inappropriateness of homosexuality. I’m not here to tell anyone that their beliefs are wrong. That said, those same people have no scriptural problem eating a cheeseburger or condone selling their daughters into slavery. Those acts are also delineated in the same religious text that decries homosexuality as an abomination to God. I’ll let them rationalize that for themselves. The point is that nobody wants to force anyone else to be gay. In fact, you can’t force someone to be gay, any more than you can force someone to be straight. Acknowledging that roughly 10% of the world’s population is queer isn’t promoting the “spread” of its existence. It’s just science.

I’m glad the NFL promotes inclusiveness as part of their business. I’m appreciative of any entity that recognizes that my daughter should not be ashamed to be who she is. The LGBTQ+ community continues to need allies. As long as people are critical of such efforts, I’ll be there to lend my voice in support. As long as a child doesn’t feel accepted in their own family’s home, they will know they are accepted and loved in mine.

Please, Do Something

I thought I would share a Facebook post I wrote from this date in 2018. While I hold out hope that we might one day find this shared truth as a nation, I am relatively certain I could post this in another six years, and it would be just as relevant as it is today. Alas, as a gun owner myself, I give these words back to you today.

February 16, 2018:

Why must we limit the causation of horrific acts to a single factor? Nobody blames guns. Nobody should blame the mentally ill. This is not about blame. This is about prevention. It’s not about the 2nd Amendment. It’s about our children. Who says we have to search for a single-track solution. One simply does not exist. But this isn’t really about finding a solution.

You see, to find common ground, you have to have shared truth. We could not address the public health crisis of smoking as long as society didn’t accept the truth that smoking tobacco makes people sick. The tobacco itself isn’t inherently bad. Nobody blames the plant. But you cannot remove tobacco from the equation. We could not address the crisis until we accepted the inconvenient truth.

We will continue down the same road we’re on until we accept the fact that a lot of people should never come into possession of a gun. Just like we accept that few people should have access to a bazooka. Just like we accept that vehicles must be regulated. Just like we accept that bridges must meet stringent construction standards. There will be no solution until we are courageous enough to admit that we have a problem. We will not solve anything until we accept that what we’re currently doing, is not working.

If you pray, pray we’ll reach our shared truth. If you act, act in the memory of those we have failed. Be courageous enough to find a new way. But please, do something.

Why I Write

Last week, I had an interaction with someone on Facebook that made me stop and seriously question why I write. The original post, a personal introduction in a group for people with the same Myers-Briggs Personality Type (MBTI), was made under my Facebook profile designated for this blog, The Curated Man. I have a personal Facebook profile as well, but that is used for my friends and family. I use my personal profile to post about personal things. You know, stuff about my kid, my wife, baseball, barbecue (real bbq…smoking and such). Things I won’t post about in a group with over 100,000 members.

While my introduction was widely met with warm welcomes, one person commented with a single word, “Advertisement.” Immediately realizing that they perceived my posting with my Curated Man profile as promoting my writing efforts, I tried to offer them an explanation in hopes that it would relieve the skepticism they might hold about my intentions. I receive no compensation for my little blog. They weren’t willing to concede ground on their assessment of me. I don’t judge them for being wary. However, the interaction did spur me into thinking more intently about the reasons I write.

The primary reason I write is completely selfish. It is a cathartic experience for me. It’s cheaper than therapy. In its simplest form, it is a journal. It allows me to take the random thoughts racing through my head, organize them in a coherent fashion, and create something tangible. It is my feeble attempt at artistic expression. If nobody reads what I write, that’s ok. I’ve still created something that is a reflection of me and the world we live in.

The second big reason that I choose to write is more altruistic. We live in a connected society, as much as some people wish they didn’t. Many are on a journey of trying to understand the world and themselves within that world. My family is well-versed in my experiences and philosophy, only able to withstand small doses of my ramblings. The reality is that most people are not interested in what I have to say. I’m fine with that. But maybe, out there somewhere, is someone on a journey similar to my own. With over 8 billion people on this planet, maybe there are some out there that could benefit by reading a few of my words. Statistically, there have to be at least 20 people out there that meet that criteria. So, for those who might stumble upon my little WordPress blog, I put my thoughts out into the world in hopes that it might in some way help them.

There is another reason I write. It’s another reason why I don’t just keep a private journal. As I make my 52nd trip around the Sun, there are countless times when I wish I could ask my parents for their advice. I wonder what they would have thought about a specific situation. I lost my dad when I was 21. I lost my Mom when I was 30. The older I become, the more I wish I had opportunities to know what they thought about life. Things I didn’t have the wisdom to ask when I was younger. One day, my daughter will likely find herself in the same position. How nice would it be if I could go back and read about what my parents thought about life? So, in that spirit, I will continue to string words together and commit my thoughts to a state of digital immortality. One day, after I’m gone, my daughter will at least have an opportunity to read about my thoughts.

I enjoy writing. There were times when I thought I could make a little extra money with my writing. I soon realized that in the blogging world, making money requires creating a lot of material. It requires consistently pumping out copious amounts of content, all in an effort to stay on the forethought of peoples’ minds. I soon found myself dreading the whole experience. What I created wouldn’t resonate with me. There was no joy. As a result, I decided not to use my blog in that manner. Perhaps one day, I’ll decide to write a book. Maybe, I won’t. As long as I still feel a spark of inspiration which occasionally results in a few paragraphs worthy of sharing, I’ll be just fine.

So, if you see me on social media as The Curated Man, know I’m not there for any purpose other than to interact with people. It means I chose to keep a little piece of myself reserved for those with whom I’ve developed some kind of relationship in the past. It’s merely a partition between my personal self and my less personal self.

Thoughts on Success

Are you successful? It’s a loaded question, isn’t it? How do you define success? Dictionary.com offers multiple definitions. It is, “the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors; the accomplishment of one’s goals.” It’s also defined as, “the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.” One is intrinsically personal, based on an individual’s endeavors. The other is contingent on a societal status, as viewed by others. Both are valid definitions. But do they carry equal weight, when your story is told? The answer to that question is likely driven by what you value.

Hopefully, one day, people you have known will gather around and reflect on your life. You won’t be there in physical form, but make no mistake that you’ll be there. People will look back upon your works, and they will evaluate you. Were you successful? I know this because I’ve attended many gatherings of this nature. When we die, how will we be remembered? I’ve been to memorial services and funerals where the reflection of others centered on the latter definition of success. I’ve been to services where the nicest thing said about the departed was that they were successful at work. They met the second definition of success, but nothing was offered up to demonstrate their success by the first definition listed above.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not saying that the second definition of success, which I refer to as status success, is bad. I’ve attained a small portion of it myself. I’m not ashamed of it, but when I leave this world, it’s not how I want to be measured. It will only be one of my endeavors in life. It does not speak of what I did to obtain that status. I can also say that when I measure my own success, I have derived little or no joy from accomplishments directly related to status success. If any happiness has been found in those efforts, it has been fleeting. For me, status success is more a means to achieve a broader meaning of success.

When it’s time for the people who know me to come together to remember and measure me, I hope no time is spent talking about my career or the material success I may have encountered along the way. Did I treat people well? Did I try to be a better human being each day? Was I aware of my shortcomings? Did I use my voice in the furtherance of others? Was I a helper? Did I love and was I loved in return? When I feel like I’ve accomplished any of those goals at the end of any given day, that is when I feel the most happiness. If you gather around in my memory, that is the yardstick I would want you to use to determine if I was successful, or not.

A Jagged Little Pill

I like to consider myself a lifelong learner. I will never be finished, and in spite of my preferences to have finality in pretty much all aspects of my life, I’ve grown more and more comfortable with that reality. When I reflect on what I’ve learned in these 50 years, I’m resigned to admit that I have very little figured out in life. What is easier for me to see, is how I’ve learned throughout the years. It’s no secret that I value my formal education. More than anything, that exposure has taught me how to critically think about life and the many issues we encounter living as socially interdependent life forms. Just as valuable, have been the lessons learned outside of an academic setting. Each relationship I’ve had and every life lesson I’ve experienced, has contributed to who I am today. For better, or for worse, we are all to some extent, products of our environment and our experiences.

This past weekend, I received a reminder of what is perhaps the finest teacher outside of our own personal experiences. Something which manifests itself, with few exceptions, exclusively from the minds of human beings. It offers humanity a mirror, which we gaze upon to see ourselves in others. We see the beauty of this world. We see the world through the eyes of its creator. It can distract us by capturing our imagination, even if ever so briefly, providing our minds with a respite from the cruelty and pressures of our day to day struggles. And when done really well, it can make us terribly uncomfortable. This teacher, after all, is merely showing us our own lives, offering us a chance to step out of our own thoughts, and into another’s. And our minds are undeniably messy. This teacher goes far beyond the simple employment of logic. Logic is cold and void of an essential element we possess as humans; Emotion.

This teacher used to be conspicuously present in our schools. It is unfortunate that it has slowly been forced out of the academic realm, especially in the world of public education. For one reason or another, we have slowly stopped placing value on the importance of this medium of learning. You cannot balance a ledger with it. To see it’s value, you have to look under the surface, peeling away the superficial materialism that seems to envelope our busy, imperfect lives we lead. It is impossible to replicate it with Artificial Intelligence, due simply to the fact that it requires the essence and perspective of another human being. If you haven’t deduced the name of this teacher as of yet, I will eliminate any further suspense. I’m talking about Art. I’ve intentionally capitalized the word here, as it’s the least I can do to communicate the power this teacher holds, with the appropriate amount of deference.

This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to catch the Tony Award winning musical Jagged Little Pill, inspired by the music of Alanis Morissette. If you’ve read my recent series about the soundtrack of my life, you’ll know that her songwriting, her art, holds profound meaning to me. Though I’ve never met her, and likely never will, I consider her a kindred spirit. While the show employs the music she’s created, and so many love, the story created for this musical is equally powerful. My family and I had the opportunity to see it in 2022, as it debuted as a national tour in Las Vegas, a relatively short drive from our home in Phoenix. I loved the show, but as great art does, it made me incredibly uncomfortable. The story deals with the struggles of living as a family, acceptance of others, addiction, and love. But the most uncomfortable story arc for me addresses sexual assault and it’s far reaching impact it has on our society. Knowing what to expect from the show, I thought I would be less uncomfortable seeing it for a second time. I was absolutely wrong.

Without giving too much of the story away, as I would urge you all to see the show yourselves, the story addresses the sexual assault of a young woman by an acquaintance and the trail of damage that impacts the lives of those around her. Specifically, a witness to the sexual assault grapples with the fact that he saw it happen and did nothing to stop it while it was occurring, and stayed silent in its aftermath. And though I’ve never found myself in that specific situation, when I looked into the mirror that day, I saw far too many situations in my life where I didn’t stand up for what is right. There were so many times where I didn’t possess the courage or the empathy to do what I knew was just. To speak up for the marginalized. Once again staring into this mirror, I was forced to recognize the times I failed those that counted on me. Art, while distracting me and capturing my imagination with the beauty of those really good songs (or in the words of my 16 year old daughter…those Bops), it somehow managed to tap into a part of me I’m not proud of. That discomfort, while unpleasant as it was being experienced, was very fine a teacher.

I know I’m not the same person I was when I was younger. I possess enough grace to have forgiven myself for my missteps and indiscretion of my youth. I know that for all the growth I’ve experienced, I will once again fall short of the ideals I try to live my life by. I know that as hard as we try, every human carries around a little bit of hypocrisy. But that’s not the point. The point is that Art, and the emotional wallop it can deliver, was an important part of my efforts to be a little bit better of a person today, than I was yesterday.

Art can be a mechanism to escape. It can be a distraction. It can lift us up. It can bring us together. It can make us embarrassingly uncomfortable. It can do all of that in a matter of minutes. It is the best mirror we have. As much as some people try to fight it, we are social animals. I’m almost certain our species would not be here today if we weren’t so interdependent on each other. Art offers us the ability to step out of our own mind, into the mind of somebody else, and back again. It provides us a medium to understand each other, and I know of no better mechanism to allow us to do just that. Art is important. It’s just as important as science. It should be valued as such by our society.

Support Art. Support artists. Seek it out. Create it yourself. Advocate for the funding of Art in our public schools. You were built for its consumption. It benefit us all, whether we realize it or not.

The Unmasking of a Highly Sensitive Person

“GET YOUR GLOVE ON THE GROUND!” This was the refrain from my little league coach. At 12, I had just spent my first year in school, in the small town my parents had moved us to. During my brief number of years, I had lived and breathed baseball. Nobody needed to tell me to make sure my mitt was touching the dirt, when fielding a groundball. You have to keep the ball in front of you. It’s a fundamental rule. That day, however, I had let a string of five or six grounders go between my legs, to the aggravation of my coach. The more I told myself not to let the next one through, the more anxious I became. Eventually, I lost my composure and just started crying. I had tried to hold it back, but the harder I tried, the more difficult it became.

In retrospect, this is the first time I remember being confronted with an undeniable truth; I was a sensitive person. I spent the next 30 years trying to change what I, and apparently others, believed was a fault. I was too sensitive, especially for a guy. I did not like the fact that I felt deeply about some situations and struggled in environments that my peers did not seem to struggle with. I wasn’t about to tell anyone about how I cried when I watched the movie E.T. There was no way anyone would know how devastated I had become when I first experienced a broken heart in high school. As a police officer, how could I tell my peers that sometimes at the end of my shift, I would just sit in a dark room and cry until my body physically prevented me from going on. I didn’t let on that I couldn’t stand to look at photos of crime scenes or autopsies, at the risk of becoming sick to my stomach, not with disgust, but with empathy. I was battling what we now know as the Toughness Myth. 

In 2014, I stumbled upon the book The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine Aron. While reading it, I immediately identified with nearly every indicator of a highly sensitive person. I struggled with receiving critical feedback. I became overwhelmed in certain environments. I took on the feelings of the people around me. I was easily moved by emotion. All of the characteristics I had come to believe were my faults or defects, were listed out right in front of me, clear as day. I was hopeful that the book would give me suggestions on how I could become less sensitive. If I had the right tools, I could surely learn to stop taking things so personally. After finishing the book, I was initially disappointed because it offered no practical ideas on how to stop being sensitive. It seemed as if this trait was simply a part of who I was. However, there was some comfort in hearing that about 20 to 30 percent of the world’s population are also classified as highly sensitive. 

Unfortunately, knowing that I was highly sensitive provided me little solace. I still felt compelled to mask my sensitivity, due to the Toughness Myth. In 2015, I left public service to start working in the private sector. Part of me thought that leaving the world of law enforcement and child welfare behind, the Toughness Myth would be less prevalent. I was mistaken. When receiving feedback from my leaders or peers, it all centered on one central point. I could become too emotional. I tried to explain that when I felt deeply about something, it could come across as being possibly confrontational, when in fact it was just deep feelings about things that others may not feel deeply about. Unfortunately, the more my motives were misunderstood, the more frustrated I would become. It seemed that trying to tell people about my high sensitivity was actually having the opposite effect. This, in turn, caused me to keep my sensitivity hidden safely away from all but those closest to me. Knowing that my sensitivity was something I could not change did little to prevent me from continuing to see it as a fault and a liability. 

Fortunately, I am a man of self-reflection. I have a rich and vibrant inner world of thought that I use to navigate the world. It’s no surprise that this is also a trait of highly sensitive people. I started learning more about highly sensitive people. I put a name to the Toughness Myth. I began to take the advice of other highly sensitive people and stop trying to change the fact that I was sensitive, unable to do so any more than I could change my height. I’ve come to recognize that the very trait that has caused me so much frustration in the past, is also responsible for some of my greatest gifts. The same sensitivity that causes me to dislike many stereotypical male endeavors (e.g. violent movies and extremely violent sports) is responsible for my ability to empathize with others so easily. My deep feelings about fairness, that others perceive as me being overly emotional, are what has allowed me to connect with those I’ve led, so effectively. That same sensitivity has allowed me to see beauty in the world, when others may only see chaos. I feel deeply, and that’s just who I am. 

So, why am I sharing this information with you? There’s no one, singular reason. It is partly due to the desire for people to better understand me, and other highly sensitive people. It also offers me the opportunity to reach other highly sensitive people, with a message of hope. After all, it’s likely that 1 in 3 people who read this are also highly sensitive people, whether they realize it or not. It is equally as likely for men to be highly sensitive as it is for women, breaking another leg of the Toughness Myth. And of course, with most of my writing, it serves as a cathartic experience for me. This is the next step in the acceptance of my sensitivity.

So there it is. The mask is off. I am a highly sensitive person. It is not a character defect. It is, like with all other natural gifts, imperfect. Of course, it is not superior to other gifts people may have. Being highly sensitive is no better or worse than what would be classified as a “normal” level of sensitivity. It is simply a part of who I am and how I experience the world, as is the fact that I’m an introvert and that I have fair skin. It is responsible for my appreciation of nature and all things beautiful. Some people may not understand the concept, whether because of the Toughness Myth or lack of a frame of reference due to their own level of sensitivity. But it should not be squirreled away. The world needs more sensitivity, not less; and I am here for it.

My Soundtrack Part VII: All I Really Want 2013 to Present…And Beyond

As this series approaches its conclusion, it should be clear to all how important music is in my life. Famed artist Jean-Michel Basquiat brilliantly stated, “Art is how decorate space, music is how we decorate time.” It’s a universal medium that reflects who we are as a person. It tells our story, even if it is often abstract. It is accessible to nearly every person, regardless of circumstance. Just as the books we read and the people we associate with tell a story of who we are, music can open the same door into a person’s soul.

So, cover me up, and know you’re enough to use me for good…

By 2013, I was 40 years old. Looking back, I can recognize that beyond this point, I didn’t incorporate any new hard rock or metal artists into my soundtrack. It’s not to say that I didn’t occasionally feel the urge to listen to the genre. I just simply didn’t identify with the new music that was being made. There was no connection. It wasn’t illustrative of who I was at that point in my life. Instead, I turned to more subdued sounds. Artists like Jason Isbell and Brandi Carlile began finding their way into my listening rotation. In my opinion, Isbell’s Cover Me Up and Carlile’s The Story are two of the best songs released in the past 20 years. Both are lessons in the songwriting craft and filled to the brim with emotion. Both were reflective of who I had become by this point in my life.

Another musical highlight during this period didn’t involve any specific artists. As my daughter became a little older, she started to develop her own musical identity. Even at an early age, it was clear that she possessed a knack for artistic expression through music. As a toddler, she would often break into impromptu performances for people, including strangers. Any elevated platform became a stage. It would turn that shy, timid little girl into an entirely different person. As such, we did what any thoughtful parents would do. We made her promise she would never play drums and sent her off to music lessons. Piano lessons turned into voice lessons. To this day, music remains one of the few topics that she and I can talk about, with enthusiasm and clarity.

As our daughter became a pre-teen, a familiar musical outlet would return, with a twist. We began to introduce the child to live music. Excluding a Kids Bop concert in 2013, the first real show we took her to was Taylor Swift. We tried to reach a happy medium when choosing shows. We would drag her to see Matchbox Twenty and Counting Crows. At the child’s urging, we would see Fall Out Boy. I finally got a chance to see Alanis Morissette live. Just as I enjoyed watching my wife dance around at a concert, I experienced the same joy watching my teenage daughter do the same.

Now solidly a trio, we introduced our daughter to musical theater. Prior to meeting my wife, I had only been to one Broadway touring production. As a couple, we were fortunate enough to catch Phantom of the Opera on Brodaway, during our first trip to New York City together. It started with touring productions of some of the Disney musicals. In 2015, we took her to see Aladin on Broadway. By 2021, we had season tickets to national touring productions, here in Phoenix. The child loved it. She loved it so much that she decided she wanted to perform on stage herself. At 14, she began performing publicly. When it was time for high school, we would send her to a performing arts school, that offered a college-level theater program. Today, at 16, I’m firmly convinced she could front a successful band. I couldn’t write this series without including her as one of my favorite vocalists to listen to.

Having a musically inclined teenager in the house has had other influences on the music I choose to listen to. Through my daughter, I’ve discovered other contemporary artists that I would most likely never have given much thought to. Hozier and Noah Kahan are perfect examples of this influence. As I write, perhaps the band I’m most excited about is boygenius. If you haven’t caught their first full studio album, The Record, you’re missing out. Their performance Satanist on this past weekend’s airing of Saturday Night Live was one of the best I’ve seen in several years. Then again, I’m a sucker for great harmonies and artists that write their own material.

Now that my musical preferences have been laid bare, for all to see, I find myself asking questions about why my personal soundtrack is the way it is. What attracts me to a specific song, genre, or artist? Are there patterns? What comes next? Why do I enjoy the Eagles more than Don Henley as a solo artist? Does my personality influence the music I like?

As I ponder these questions, there are some clues as to the answers. Obviously, environmental exposure has an influence. I doubt I would have developed a love for the Eagles without ample exposure to their music by my older brother. It’s unlikely that I would have attached to Hair Metal the way I did if my friends at the time weren’t entrenched in the music. However, environmental exposure alone cannot explain other patterns that have emerged.

Another pattern that has become apparent to me, is that I prefer artists that write and record their own music. While I can appreciate an artist’s vocal and musical talent, there is an authenticity present when they write their own material. It’s my bias, and I own that. It also takes nothing away from artists who record other people’s songs. It’s just my preference.

I’ve also noticed that I gravitate towards bands over solo artists. As illustrations, I prefer to listen to the Eagles or Matchbox Twenty over solo works by Don Henley or Rob Thomas. It’s not that I don’t like the solo artists. Boys of Summer by Don Henley is one of my favorite songs from the mid-80s, but even that was co-written by Mike Campbell from Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. There is something about the collaborative songwriting process that can create absolute magic. Without the influences of Kyle Cook and Paul Doucette, It’s unlikely I would have otherwise been drawn to the songwriting of Rob Thomas and Matchbox Twenty. If a band can put forward multiple vocalists, like The Beatles, the Eagles, and boygenius, that’s even more impressive. As much as this element influences the music I have enjoyed throughout life, it doesn’t hold up as an answer all on its own.

And all I need now is intellectual intercourse, a soul to dig the hole much deeper…

This brings me to another factor…does my personality impact the music I like. My Myers-Brigg Type Indicator (MBTI) is INFJ. I’m a sensitive introvert and as such, I spend copious amounts of time within my own head. I suspect that music that would be considered introspective in nature, possess a natural allure to me. I can get lost in my own mind while examining the lyrics of a song. I’m a sucker for the skilled crafting of language. Songs that employ symbolism and metaphors are most likely going to interest me. The allegorical nature of many musical theater songs fascinates me. It’s not that I can’t enjoy a feel-good song of a less cerebral nature, as evidenced by my love of 80s Hair Metal, but it also explains why it’s not a genre of music I listen to frequently any longer. My personality preference wants a deeper connection, much like how I view personal relationships. For this reason, I usually find myself gravitating to the introspective songs of Gen-X.

A great example of how my personality influences my musical taste would be in examining the songwriting of Alanis Morissette. As I have come to understand myself better, and my MBTI, I have come to terms with the fact that I’m not a great example of what appeals to the masses. INFJ is considered the rarest of the MBTIs, with somewhere between 1 to 3 percent of the world’s population falling into this category. Break it down further, and being an INFJ male is even more uncommon (Most INFJs are women). I can be an enigma when people try to get to know me. In fact, the number of people on this earth that I consider close enough to actually understand who I am, can be counted on one hand. When I look at my soundtrack, there is only one artist out there that I listen to, whose lyrics come close to explaining how I think; fellow INFJ Alanis Morissette.

Two songs off Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill are the closest I’ve found that describe who I am. Every word in her song, All I Really Want, captures my desires in life. I have to wonder if Alanis knew she was an INFJ when she wrote that song with Glen Ballard. Being in her 20s when she wrote the song, it’s unlikely she knew. However, when I listen to those words, nothing has captured who I am, nearly as perfect as she did. Her song One Hand In My Pocket also hits close to home. I can be a walking contradiction. I’m equally comfortable watching football as I am watching a Broadway musical. I love humanity, but I can develop a severe distaste for people. I can be as steady as a rock in a crisis, but become overwhelmed with the unplanned trivial things in life. I cannot imagine failing to find a connection in the songs she writes. I’m thankful that there is someone out there like me, who is infinitely more creative than I am, that can speak my truth for the world to try and understand.

Where will my soundtrack go from here? I do not know for certain, but I imagine that the factors I’ve listed above will play a role. I know that I’ll always enjoy listening to my daughter sing. I can’t imagine not enjoying live music with my wife. I am excited to realize that even with 50 years under my belt, there are established artists that I’ve yet to appreciate. I’m also confident that whatever new music I come to enjoy will share similar introspective qualities as I love in Counting Crows and Jason Isbell. I’m not sure I’ll ever connect with another Alanis though. Perhaps, in another 10 years or so, I’ll share another chapter of my musical journey. Until then, my desire is that you take a few moments and think about the soundtrack of your own life. Ask yourself why you like the music you do. Does it connect you to a special time in your life? Does it remind you of a specific person? Does it give people a glimpse into your own mind? How well do you know yourself? Can music help you with your own self-discovery? There are no right answers, just as there is no right or wrong music. What is important is that we decorate time with our music. Appreciation for the arts is intrinsically human. I encourage each of you to embrace it, reflect upon it, and if gifted enough, create some yourself.

How Abortion Rights Will Shape the 2024 Elections

On June 24, 2022, Conservatives around the United States celebrated as the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v Wade, removing protection for abortion access on a federal level. Many around this nation celebrated the ruling as a political win for their cause. I knew differently. I also believe that many Conservative politicians could see what would happen next. While it was a blow to women’s rights, it was by no means a political win for Conservatives. I have to believe that some wise Conservative politicians could see that this ruling spelled political turmoil for their cause. You see, with Roe v. Wade serving as the law of the land, none of them had to seriously campaign on the issue. With the ruling gone, it would be the biggest campaign issue for the foreseeable future. They had to read the polls, right?

With the striking of judicial precedent, the issue of abortion rights was front and center in the national political dialogue. Regardless of any individual’s opinion on reproductive freedom, roughly two-thirds of our country believes that access to safe and legal abortions should be protected. If it wasn’t protected by judicial precedent, how would it be protected? The only other way possible way would be through the will of the people at the ballot box. Conservative politicians would no longer be able to hide behind the court ruling, which in essence made abortion a non-issue when it came to an election. Roe v. Wade acted as an insulating, protective barrier that would prevent abortion from impacting their political ambitions. Last night, we saw that very issue drive elections in Virginia, Ohio, and Kentucky.

In Virginia, their Governor had been campaigning for Republicans to retake their State Senate, which had been controlled by Democrats. They didn’t. In fact, Republicans lost control of the State House, which had been controlled by the Republican party. The central issue of the campaign…a 15-week abortion ban. In Kentucky, a Republican stronghold, re-elected their Democratic Governor last night. The central issue of the campaign…reproductive freedom.

In Ohio, voters overwhelmingly voted to amend their State Constitution to include the right to access an abortion. This was after a failed attempt by Conservatives to change the way their Constitution could be amended, to prevent that issue from going to the voters yesterday. Obviously, that effort was also unsuccessful. Ohio went for Donald Trump by 8 points in the 2020 election.

The Conservative push to overturn Roe v. Wade may turn out to be one of the biggest political miscalculations this country has ever seen. What is clear, abortion rights are a central issue to voters in this country, regardless of how red or blue their state happens to be. Republican candidates seeking statewide or national office must be fretting about the decision they will have to make. Which side of the abortion debate will they tie their aspirations to? If they remain in the abortion abolishment camp, we’ve seen what the results will likely be. If they jump ship, likely, many would never survive a primary challenge from the right. Neither option gives them much hope for 2024.

My Soundtrack Part VI: Accidentally In Love 2004 – 2012

When we look back on our lives, it’s often easy to identify the moments that forever altered the trajectory that our lives have taken. It’s not so easy to appreciate the significance of those moments as they happen in real time. So it was on June 21, 2004, when a beautiful girl smiled at me amongst a crowd of people. Soon, that girl and I would become inseparable. As I write this, we’ve been married for 17 years. It was never supposed to happen, as both of us had sworn off any thoughts of a serious relationship. Yet, we found ourselves accidentally in love.

Well, baby what am I up to, getting back into, another thing I’d never do…

That Summer, Counting Crows had released a single off the Shrek 2 soundtrack, aptly named Accidentally In Love. While it is by no means my favorite Counting Crows song, it will forever hold a special place in my memories. I have conflicted feelings about the Universe sending me signs. As a rule, I lean much harder toward scientific explanations for what would otherwise be considered omens, yet here was this melodic harbinger of what was to come.

I never would have opened up, but you seemed so real to me…

For the first time, I found myself in a relationship where there was musical congruency. While not identical, our tastes had a significant overlap. Yes, I tended to have more rock preferences and she was slanted toward pop music, but where those sounds met was a beautiful convergence of mutual appreciation. She had a connection to music as well. In fact, the whole concept of a personal soundtrack that accompanies our lives was brought to me by her. And while we cataloged the music a little differently, I found a connection in her love of music.

We also both enjoyed live music. There is an energy associated with a great concert that I’ve yet to see duplicated. I suppose it is similar to the feelings a sports fan feels when invested in an important game, but a concert doesn’t bring with it the anxiety that accompanies a sporting event. There are no winners or losers at a concert. Just a group of people sharing a collective emotional experience. To this day, few things bring me as much joy as watching my wife enjoying herself, especially at a concert.

In July of that Summer, she took me to see Sarah McLachlan, our first concert together. That same month, I brought her to see Don Henley. That cycle would continue throughout the next couple of years. She would take me to my first U2 concert. I would introduce her to Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers and Circus Mexicus. She would take me to see the Rolling Stones and Tom Petty. I’d drag her to see Poison and Cinderella. When not watching national touring acts, we were following local cover bands all around the Phoenix area. We were building memories, almost always finding music tightly woven into each experience. Another new memory was about to be made, as life was about to throw us a curveball. After proposing to my wife in July of 2006, I came home from work five days later to the news that she was pregnant.

Soon reason will have rhyme, soon wisdom will imply…

Both in our 30s, it was obvious that becoming parents would alter our priorities. The chapter of our lives that saw us enjoying live music multiple nights a week would be closing. I’m not complaining, the upcoming chapters are pretty awesome. All the same, it would be almost two years between seeing Tom Petty in 2006 and our next concert, a weekend away at Circus Mexicus in 2008. Of course, that doesn’t mean that music left our lives.

Aside from new material from artists I’ve already written about, there was a new set of artists that was ready to make their debut on my playlist. The Foo Fighters were hitting their stride while bands like Fall Out Boy, The Killers, and The Raconteurs offered fresh new takes for my rock tastebuds. On the poppier side of the melodic spectrum, there was what I dub as the Grey’s Anatomy sound. Think of bands like Snow Patrol, Matt Nathanson, and O.A.R. I still enjoy these bands, yet as with the bands from the early 2000s, the majority of these bands belonged to Millenials. I never developed the same connection with them as I did with my music from the 90s.

And it’s all downhill from here, the curves are sharp and the cliffs are sheer…

Our daughter was born in the Spring of 2007. As you can expect, the transition from a 30-something guy with no children to a 30-something guy with a brand-new baby was a transformative experience. Fortunately, many of the bands that I learned to love in the 90s were also going through their own transformative journeys. The bands that once were writing songs about fumbling through relationships, were now penning songs about relational success. They were writing songs about becoming parents themselves. As I was growing older, so were the themes of the music I listened to. Sattelite by Collective Soul and Small World by Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers are perfect examples of this perspective shift. A natural side effect of that maturation is the mellowing of music I started to enjoy. A note to 20-year-old me: In fact, it can at times be too loud.

With that mellowing occurring, there were a couple other bands that started to make their way into my repertoire. I really enjoyed The Lumineers debut album, incorporating some alternative folk into my soundtrack. I also appreciated the song-crafting efforts of Mumford & Sons. It’s crazy how a British band was able to capture their Americana sound.

Eventually, we would tap back into our love of live music, once again putting more effort into seeing bands that we enjoyed. Of course, the frequency would never be like it was from 2004 to 2006. One new and wonderful twist to that formula would be the addition of a third person into our concert equation. I’d find a new layer of joy in watching my daughter discover the same musical magic that her mother and I had stumbled upon!

Up Next: My Soundtrack Party VII – All I Really Want 2013 to Present

When Will It Be Enough?

When I closed my computer yesterday, in preparation to spend the evening with my wife, I had fully intended to write a post today about the onset of Fall in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona. I would tell you about a day I hold sacred; The first day of the season when the high temperatures do not go higher than 80 degrees. I would talk about how I eagerly restocked my bird feeders, happily watered my orange tree, and actually sat outside in the afternoon for more than five minutes. All without a drop of sweat beading on my brow. I would tell you about how I watched the woodpeckers methodically taking peanuts from the feeder, then flying off to various palm trees in my yard and elsewhere in the neighborhood, to store their newfound abundance for a later day. That’s what I intended to write today.

That intention vanished as soon as news of the latest American mass shooting, this time in the small city of Lewiston, Maine. My heart sank. It always does. I am an unwavering optimist. I believe there are no problems that collectively, as human beings, we cannot solve. I know we can do it. All you have to do is take a look at countries in Europe. Though the optimism is still there, I continue to be disheartened at America’s inability, or unwillingness, to even try to address this carnage. I woke up this morning asking myself, “When will it be enough?” When will Americans admit that doing nothing isn’t working? If 1st graders in Newton, Connecticut didn’t do it, maybe it was more elementary school children in Uvalde, Texas? No, that did nothing. So, what will it take? When will it be enough for you?

When will it be enough for you? When will you, as an individual, determine that what we are doing in this country concerning gun violence and mass shootings is not working. Because right now, we’re doing nothing. There are individuals who recognize the patterns and are aware enough to know that this isn’t a problem the rest of the world has to worry about. They use their voice. They show up for elections. They know Sandy Hook was an abomination, leaving a permanent scar on the fabric of our society. When will you join them? When will you be courageous enough to say publicly that we need solutions? When will you use your power to say, “Enough, already!”

Some of you, once you figured out the subject of this post, immediately dismissed these words. That doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me because I know that if we continue to do nothing, what happened in Lewiston, ME will continue to happen. It will happen in big cities. It will happen again in small towns, like Lewiston. It will continue to happen until enough of us decide that inaction is not acceptable. It doesn’t matter if it’s hard. It doesn’t matter if there isn’t a perfect solution. There are options out there if we are humble enough to acknowledge they exist.

So, I ask again. When will it be enough for you?