The Joy of Rediscovery

I’ve heard, on more than one occasion, that our musical tastes are established in our teen years. In fact, an article in the New York Times in 2018 claimed that, for men, the peak years that define our musical tastes are between the ages of 13 to 16. And, to some degree, I suppose I can see that. I mean, those were the years when I fell in love with Rush, and for the next 20 years at least, they were my favorite band.

At the same time, I must be some anomaly. While I have strong feelings for the music I listened to during those years (I like the Black Album by Metallica more than it deserves), my musical tastes are far more diverse now than they ever were at that age. Or, at least, far more diverse within the smaller scope of metal music I listen to.

16-year-old me would have crapped his pants if he heard much of the brutal death metal I gravitate towards now, 30+ years later. So, I take some issue with the idea that we often get stuck, musically, in our teen years. I find myself constantly listening to and checking out music that I never would have at that age.

But what I will wholeheartedly admit to is the power of nostalgia.

It doesn’t have to be back to my teen years. But there is something special to me in coming back to music that I discovered, enjoyed, and then didn’t listen to for a while. While I love finding new, exciting music, there is just something special in coming back and rediscovering something I haven’t listened to in a long time.

Case in point, I recently rediscovered the music of Psychotic Waltz and Deadsoul Tribe (both bands in which Buddy Lackey/Devon Graves is the vocalist, and more in the case of Deadsoul Tribe). Using the excellent Apple Music app, Marvis Pro, I happened to see the Psychotic Waltz album Into the Everflow in the “Forgotten” section of the home page of the app.

It is a delightful addition to the music listening experience. It will surface albums that I haven’t listened to in some time, and will actually say underneath the album art how long it has been since I played that album. I was leaving work, so I threw on Into the Everflow. I got home. The music continued. I was in love.

The music is excellent in its own right. But there was something special about listening to it again, after a few years, that connected me to the music. So I listened to more Psychotic Waltz albums. Then I dug back into Deadsoul Tribe. And the albums from both bands have now been in constant rotation this week since their rediscovery.

Both bands were discoveries of my medical school years. Those are not happy years. There were plenty of amazing and happy times, but on the whole, medical was not what I would consider a positive experience. I feared that the music would dredge up some of those feelings. And while, yes, it did transport me to that time of life, to some degree, it did so through the lens of having successfully navigated that experience, of having grown, and of now living the dream I had when I started that long and arduous pathway.

The rediscovery of those albums has actually helped to recontextualize some of those memories. Those negative experiences have been reframed in a more positive light due to the personal, and professional, growth I have gone through. The music recalls those difficult times, but I have been able to put a new perspective on those times.

Perhaps that is part of why I have been so enamored by these older albums. They lack the nostalgia of my teen years, but still recall me to a previous stage of my life, and do so in a way that has taken some of the sting of those years.

The rediscovery of the music has also allowed me to rediscover my self, at least to a small degree. Yeah, good music can do that.

NaNoWriMo: Or Why to Write a Novel in one Month

Thinking back to my youth, I have always enjoyed telling stories. My father found my consistently active imagination (he would have called it overactive) annoying. I was that weird kid who was perfectly content to sit there, alone, and just imagine things. I would play all sorts of events and stories in my mind. In many of the stories I told in my head, I was often the hero, while other times I was the third person observer, witnessing the heroism and triumph of imagined characters as they won out over the evils that beset them.

As I moved through school, this practiced ability to tell stories paid off in spades. In almost any class in which I was required to write some sort of essay, these came fairly easily to me. In college, I was able to ace more than one class on my ability to think creatively and spin out words that would not only appease my professors, but often pleased them. During this time, I remember having a red covered, five subject notebook that I started writing my first book in. By hand. It was the late 90s/early 2000s. I didn’t have a laptop. I was a poor college student getting ready to take out unholy amounts of student loans to go to medical school.

Still, something about that act of story creation fascinated me. Then life hit me, like a massive semi truck barreling uncontrolled down the too-steep road. Between just trying to survive medical school and then a six-year surgical residency, being creative sort of got squashed. And I think that might be putting it too kindly. The truth is, a career in medicine wants nothing more than to utterly crush you, chew you up as part of the machine, and then discard you when your usefulness is spent.

I entered the world of private practice medicine, and it was more of the same. Busy days, short nights, lots of weekends of work. This isn't about the travails of a career in medicine, so I won't belabor the point. It is sufficient to note that creative exercises took a back seat to the trials of being a practicing surgeon. That machine constantly reared its hideous head, demanding more. Always more. Never satisfied.

I had to make changes, if I was going to have any hope of making it through as more than a shell of myself. One of those changes, was a re-realization of just how important it was for me to create something. Anything.

Humanity has always told stories. There are a multitude of reasons behind it, and I won't feign to have the anthropological or sociological knowledge to really dive into it. But we have. We tell stories. To each other, to our children, to ourselves. Entire industries exist simply to tell stories. We are naturally creative creatures, to the point that I believe creativity is something that more people have than don't, some of us just get it beat out of us at an early enough age to think we aren't.

Imagination is one of the concepts, the aspects of being human that make us unique in the known universe. Our ability to invent new stories, ideas, sets us apart. Over the years, I have found that to be an incredibly important part of my life. And so, in 2022 and again in 2023, I decided to challenge that creative drive.

By writing a book.

Image courtesy DALL-E

I had long been aware of NaNoWriMo, and made plenty of excuses as to why I couldn't participate. But 2022 was the year that all changed. I committed to myself, and much to the chagrin of those around me, to anyone who would listen, that I was finally going to write a book.

For those not familiar with National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the idea is that you set yourself the goal of writing 1,667 words every day, for 30 days, and at the end of it you have a roughly 50,000 (200 pages) novella written. The organization has a large amount of support for those who participate, with local/regional groups that have regular meetings, write-ins, and other activities to support each other as we all undertake this sort of crazy idea.

It was inspiring. This is something that thousands of people participate in. I wasn't alone. In fact, even in my little corner of Southern Idaho, there were/are many who participate in this every year.

I threw my hat in the ring. I wrote. Some days, it was quite a bit more than the 1,667 words. Some days, if I was ahead in my overall total, I would write fewer. But I set aside time every day to write. To create.

The first years, I was very much a pantser. That is, someone who writes by the seat of their pants. I had the big picture idea, and then just sat down to start writing. Last year, I spent much of October developing my idea more, but still didn't have everything detailed out before I started writing. Both approaches had their advantages, but one of the most interesting things I discovered through the process was that these ideas, well, they were alive.

I could start a chapter and by the end have an entire 1,000+ word scene that I never thought of before the writing started. As I developed my characters, I found things in them that I hadn't planned on, things that surprised even me, their creator. The story took right angles when I had planning gentle curves. And in one case in particular, the story ended up being just a fraction of what I had planned on, as it had grown to the point that it was much larger than the original idea.

At times, these changes were frustrating. But far more often, they were exciting, invigorating. And they were incredibly fulfilling.

That is, for me, the main reason to create. I love being a surgeon. I hate, hate, hate all the bullshit that comes with practicing medicine. The electronic "paperwork", the administrative headaches, dealing with people who tell you how to do your job, despite the fact that if they ever tried, they would be arrested and taken to jail. All of that makes those superfluous parts of medicine, for me at least, put a hard limit on just how much joy and fulfillment I derive from my job.

But creating something new? Something interesting and exciting (even if just to me)? Now that fulfills me. It recharges me. It breathes life back into the husk that practicing medicine leaves when it is done.

It makes me want to live again.

And so, I will be participating in NaNoWriMo every year that I possibly can. Because creating IS life.

Eschewing the Ephemeral: Or Finding Meaning in Analog

I am Gen X. Sure, the tail end of the generation, but still, I am a card-carrying member of generation X.

We're an interesting generation. We are a generation of transition, with one foot in the digital world, and the other firmly on the well-worn ground that is the analog world. And this duality, this inherent need to have straddled two very different worlds gives us a unique perspective.

I was raised in a predominantly analog world. I have vivid memories of looking through my mother's vinyl records. I can still, to this day, see the covers of albums by Michael Jackson, The Jackson 5, The Moody Blues, Billy Joel, and ABBA in my mind's eye perfectly. I have fond, indelible memories of dancing in the living room with my mother as we played music, probably louder than we should have.

I also remember heading home from the store with a new PC game in hand, ready to tear the box open and pour over the manual. Back then, manuals meant something. If you were lucky, there would be a tutorial level or two, but you were also expected to have spent some time going through that book. I recall the scent of the paper and the feel of the glossy pages. Just thinking of it transports me back to those earlier days.

Yep, I had to flip the tape over to get to the second side. Until I was gifted a Walkman that was sufficiently fancy to automatically change direction and be able to play the second side without turning the cassette tape over.

And books. So many books. I would cover the soft-cover books with clear contact paper to try to protect them. Because, as a youth, I was sure to punish those books. My copies of The Lord of the Rings were so well-worn. All one had to do was look at it to know it was incredibly well-loved.

At the same time, I have been a huge beneficiary of the digital age. I will admit to having downloaded untold numbers of (low-quality) MP3s from Napster and its ilk. I have embraced the streaming and digital media age with my television and movies. And, as a rabid listener of music, I welcome my Apple Music and Spotify overlords, providing me with instantaneous access to more music than one human could ever consume in a lifetime.

My books as well! I have Kindles and Kobos and hundreds (at least) of e-books, ready to read at a moment's notice. Add in the mobile apps for those services, and I can read anywhere, anytime. It truly is a golden age for consumption.

But lately, I have had a bit of an odd thought kicking around in my head.

Image courtesy DALL-E

I am beginning to think that the ephemeral nature of our media, the instantaneous nature of it, has significantly devalued it. When we can add multiple albums to our music "collection" every Friday, each release can get lost in the shuffle. It has become a commodity. Having a hundred books in my pocket makes them less significant.

Access to literally more TV and movies than is possible to watch, and being inundated with new ones all the time, makes each of them seem utterly disposable and replaceable.

And so, as the Gen X-er I am, I find myself moving back to analog forms of media and entertainment. Is this just nostalgia? Am I secretly striving to be an analog hipster? Or is there something truly different when one has the physical?

I am more convinced that there really is a difference.

Now, I am not going full hipster. I still listen to so much music that is digital. It is convenient, constantly with me, and ready to go at the touch of a button on the glass screen. I love having multiple books on my Kindle, and love the fact that I can carry them with me almost effortlessly anywhere.

But I have also begun to embrace the intentionality that comes from physical things. When I choose to listen to an album on vinyl, I am making a very deliberate choice. I am, most likely, going to listen to the entire album. Or at least one entire side. The act of standing up, looking through my vinyl, placing it on the turntable, and dropping the needle on the record, connects me to whatever I am listening to in a way that the digital just never will.

Physical books still move me as well. Yes, I have the vast majority of leather-bound books by Brandon Sanderson. They look beautiful, but more importantly, they connect me in a way that, when I pick up a hardcover book, I am setting an intention to read, and nothing else. That paper doesn't also check my email. It doesn't connect me to social media. It doesn't distract. And that focus that it invites helps me engage in a more profound, meaningful manner.

This isn't something that I turn to for everything. It is reserved for the music and books that really mean something to me. It is for the media I want to develop a stronger connection with.

I still buy my games digitally. Convenience wins out. But it does mean I have more games in my Steam library than I will ever actually finish. Those games in my shameful backlog have been diminished because of the sheer volume of them. So while I realize that something has been lost, in this area I think the trade-off is worth it.

But there are other areas where the analog is connecting me more to my activity. Perhaps even connecting me more to my purpose. This past month, I have embraced paper journaling. I write in my Theme System journal daily. Some days while lifting weights, other days at my desk in my office.

I still journal in excellent apps like Day One, and I do add my paper journal entries to Day One as PDFs. Perhaps this is silly, but I find meaning in adding the paper aspect to the digital.

For me, the digital is much quicker, and allows me to get more thoughts down in less time. So it still has a place. But the paper and the pen, with my admittedly terrible handwriting, must move more slowly, especially if I have any hope to come back to it and read it later. It must be a more deliberate activity. And so, for the thoughts that matter the most to me, I find value in them being expressed in an analog medium.

For my children, the analog seems odd. Antiquated, one might even say. But, having lived significant parts of my life in both the analog and digital worlds, I find great meaning in the requisite increased intentionality of an analog product.

So, while I still have mostly digital media in my world, for those things that really matter to me, there will also be an analog component. I find a stronger connection with that, and that connection gives those things more meaning in my life.

And isn't that the main reason to have music, books, and other things in our lives? To provide some meaning? For me, at least, that is what I am looking for. If it doesn't provide some meaning to me, I suppose I'm just not interested. So, yeah, I suppose I am a bit old in that way.

Just don't call me a boomer.

Resolutions: or how to fail in life in one simple step

Maybe it's the time of the year.

Something about the new year tends to lead us to think about improving ourselves. I don't know if it is a recent societal construct, or something that has been around for longer than that. To be fair, it seems fairly arbitrary. But I suspect that, in some form or another, the idea of taking time to reflect and consider how one can change or improve isn't necessarily a new thing. As humans, we often seem to want some outside force to influence us, to push us to something different. Perhaps to help us be better or different or something, than we already are. 

I hate New Year's Resolutions. I think they are trash. They are bad and should feel bad. I never remember liking them. Every January, my parents would ask us to sit around and come up with our resolutions for the year. Often, we would make a family related list of them, in addition to our personal resolutions. They would be written down somewhere, typically a journal that would barely be opened until the next January.  And then we had the opportunity to reflect on our failures. On all the ways in which we didn't accomplish a single one of the damnable items on our list. 

Because the entire idea of year-long resolutions is shit. 

Here is the thing. If you make the resolution “big” enough to really be worth setting it for an entire year, it is too big. You will fail. You will become overwhelmed, or fall short in some way, or just not be able to get there.  But if you make the resolutions small enough they are actually attainable, you will be done with them long before a year is up. 

So it is a catch 22. On the one hand, the goals are too large to be realistically achievable. Maybe not all of them, but the majority at least. Or they are too small to really be worth calling a year-long resolution.  Then we beat ourselves up. We stew in our failure, we struggle to see the successes because we didn't hit some arbitrary ideals we set for ourselves. 

Enter the yearly theme. I can't take any credit for this idea. That belongs to others. But I can honestly say that it is an idea that, in contrast to the idea of resolutions, excites me and motivates me to be better.  See, the theme creates context for our activities over the course of a year. It doesn't dictate what we do, it isn't that proscriptive. But it gives us a frame of reference. When considering smaller goals and activities, we can ask if they are consistent with our theme. If so, great. If not, we can then ask ourselves if they are still worthy of our time and effort. They may be, and that is great. However, if not, we have an opportunity to decide if we need or want to change our course. 

We can then set smaller, actually achievable goals. They don't need to last a year long. If they, in some way, pertain to our theme, then we can justify the time and energy spent on them as working toward our theme of the year.  Personally, I find this is much more productive and positive. It creates a mental environment that allows us to focus on the successes we have, no matter how small. Because each one of those successes has meaning. Each one has value. They are all part of our theme. 

This capacity to focus on our victories, on our successes, no matter how big or small they are, puts us in a frame of mind that is on the lookout for success. And the more we are programmed to look for success, the more grateful we become, the more positive we become, and the more willing we are to work toward success because we know we can, and have, achieved it. Our mindset becomes cyclically positive. 

But, perhaps just as important, maybe even more so, it creates a healthy environment in which we can reflect upon our failures. The truth is, there will be times when we fail far more than we succeed. If we have that buffer of success, that ability to, in a healthy and productive fashion, see both success and failure, recognize them and accept them, we are equipped to overcome the failures. We are prepared to learn from them, not run from them.  Reflection on both aspects is what, ultimately, gives us the power to improve ourselves.

We are more honest with ourselves, and are more willing to accept what is because we are consistently working toward what can become. We become less afraid of failure because, by recognizing it, we understand that it is part of the process.  And what could be more healthy than realizing that success and failure are two sides of the same coin? That is where I believe we find true happiness. That is where we can start to accept who we truly are, and not be afraid of working toward improvement. 

Making ourselves more than what we currently are is frightening. But it becomes much less so when we embrace the process and have a vision that is bigger than the day to day, while still incorporating the small moments. Those are what make up the whole, and the theme encompasses all of that, empowering us to make progress.  So, down with resolutions. Up with themes that contextualize the day to day little victories and failures that make up every day life.

Because, in the end, those small moments are truly what make us who and what we are.

The Beauty of Human Fallibility

I listen to a lot of podcasts. I enjoy them. I listen to a variety of the, though many of them are technology related. I like tech, but have precious few people in my life who are as interested in it as I am, and so this gives me an opportunity to learn about it and, if not talk with others about it, listen in on conversations about it.

Lately a topic bubbled up on one of the podcasts I listen to about a company named Rewind AI, and their new product, the Rewind Pendant. Here is the short idea: This is a pendant you wear around your neck, and it constantly is recording and saving everything you say and hear, to then transcribe it later. First things first, let's just set aside the potential for massive privacy issues with this device. The company talks about this, and I'll give them credit for at least giving it lip service. But, yeah, problems.

However, that wasn't what really struck me. What struck me was that the hosts of the podcast seemed to feel that, if the privacy issues could be adequately addressed, this would be the "holy grail" of personal life documentation. They went on at great length about how much they would like to have something to keep a perfect record of everything they did, said, and heard throughout a day.

This just struck me as wrong. I had a visceral, made my skin crawl, reaction to that idea. I had to take a moment to try and think why.

And while I am still not completely sure what about this idea seems so wrong to me, I nailed down at least one little part of it.

I believe there is beauty to be found in the fallibility of humans.

It's true! We are grossly, horribly, and at times offensively imperfect creatures. And that imperfection is part of what makes us human.

And I think that fallibility as an aspect of humanity is deeply ingrained in our societal subconscious. Throughout speculative fiction we see, time and again, the idea that robots or androids are flawed because they are NOT flawed. There is fiction describing hive-mind like aliens, and almost always, their biggest flaw is they aren't flawed like we are. They have become some perfect commune of activity and thought, every part working tirelessly toward the goals and benefit of the whole.

That isn't us. We can't seem to work together to do any good some times. And yet. That tension, that imperfection, that desire to capture, describe, and perhaps overcome said imperfection can lead to some of our most inspiring works of art. The description of our flawed nature leads to greater insight into ourselves and what makes us tick.

Yes, it also leads to some of the greatest problems facing humanity. The pride, the selfishness, the desire to set ourselves above others, these stem from our imperfect nature as well. I recognize that, and often wish it weren't so.

But would we have the beauty, the art, the inspiring works that humans can create if that tension didn't exist? I don't think it would. That tension between our imperfection and our desire to overcome it is one of the most motivating and inspiring aspects of being a human.

So, what does that have to do with Rewind AI?

I don't want a perfect record of what happens around me all the time. Would it be useful in some situations? Of course. But in so many more, I prefer the memory that my mind gives me. Sure, it may be an anodyne version of what really happened. But is that a bad thing?

Technology is making it more and more possible to alter what we used to think of as reality. Audio, video and photography are all incredibly manipulable. They can't be trusted in the way we used to think they could be (setting aside the face that editing has existed since the inception of these forms of media). But I would rather trust to the version my brain saves for me, than the version someone or something else decides to save for me. Then that memory is truly mine, flaws and all.

And I don't necessarily want or need everyone else remembering all the stupid things I do and say with absolutely clarity and perfection either! Just as my mind sands off the rough edges of what others do, I'd like theirs to soften my humanity just a bit. Oh, and my mind already does a great job at remembering all my own screw ups, I really don't need that etched in stone for all generations.

Really, though, we are a mess, all of us. Even those we don't think are messy, well, they are. And imperfections in how we recall our daily lives are part of that. I hate the idea that some of that humanity is stripped away from us. Our imperfection brings with it a lot of problems and baggage. But I would rather have that baggage than not.

Baggage is just part of what makes us human.

A Return to the Blog

I’ve been writing regularly these past few weeks. Even months really. But only for me. And not from a creative standpoint. Just writing. Journaling mostly. I’ve been thinking quite a lot about my journey through life, where I am, and if I am happy with that.

And the answer is: I don’t know?

Yes, with a question at the end.

There are some things where I am pretty happy with where I am in life, satisfied one might even say. But there are so many other ways in which I am not satisfied. Not happy with where I am. Where I want to improve. So I have been embarking on that journey.

Look, I’m getting older. I mean, of course I am. We all are. But I am now to the point that I would consider myself on the downward slop of middle aged. Sliding into oblivion. Not climbing anymore, just barging down that inevitable hill to the 6 foot deep hole at the end of this rainbow trajectory of life. No pot of gold there.

But I want this later half to be more, different, better. I want to become a better version of myself. And so, I am undertaking that journey.

My Week In Music - February 5, 2022

My Week In Music - January 29, 2022

My Week In music - January 22, 2022

The Power Of Inertia

I have long thought that inertia is the most powerful force in the universe. Really, just think about it. It is, after all, Newton’s first law. That means something. I had some great momentum going initially. And what is momentum, if not inertia in motion?

I was blogging, writing, and posting. For a bit. Big plans. Thoughts on what I wanted to do for my blog, maybe even add a podcast and some videos. But I didn’t have a great setup and way to make some of those things happen. So I stalled out, and my momentum was converted into true inertia. Complete lack of motion. 

But then something happened. I got a space, a place of my own, a true office. And I was able to get a desk, get things set up in a way I really love, and that I feel is going to inspire me to get working on some of my thoughts, dreams, and plans. Ridiculous they may be, I want to explore, experiment, and exercise an aspect of my brain, and personality even, that I haven’t really been able to exercise in a while. And so I hope that this is the start of something good for me. 

I feel like I have a little slice of home. And that makes me feel pretty good. 

Terrific Tuesday - Funeral Doom Edition

When I first fired up this blog I had a couple of ideas about what I wanted to do. Initially I was mostly basing it off other music blogs I frequent. The idea was, thus, to mostly do reviews and such. 

“Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Malia J

New music Monday begins with a haunting cover of the Nirvana classic. This hits right in the feels.

The Need to Create

I honestly wonder, why do I feel the need to create?

Why do I want to write? Why am I fascinated by the idea of a podcast? Making videos? I don’t know why I am interested in all those things, but I am, and I can’t seem to shake it. I have blogged for years on different platforms. It is something that continues to draw me back, like a bad habit.

I have always had an active imagination. My father would accuse me of having an overactive imagination. I recall as a child being quite comfortable with just sitting, playing out scenarios in my head. These often involved some spaceship or some type of science fiction battle. And, yes, sound effects were involved more often than not, much to my father’s chagrin.

But it didn’t end there. As a teen I recall constructing wild scenarios in my mind to keep it occupied while I ran or delivered papers in the early morning. It has always been so for me. My mind creates scenes, scenarios, situations. Sometimes these are rooted in reality. Often, they are completely disconnected from the real world.

I think, and I could be wrong (often am as a matter of fact), that this is where this desire to create comes from. I have always created in my mind. And now things like blogs, podcasts, and the internet in general make that creation more accessible, more real, more possible.

And so, here in the middle of my life, perhaps my mid-life crisis is to create? I suppose there could be worse.

May the anger soothe your soul

The Middle

The middle.

What does it mean? It can mean the center. It can signify the point between two other points or objects. It can be more metaphorical: simply being within something.

We fold something in the middle, cut it down the middle, mark the middle. We can also be in the middle of something. The middle distance is just that: the part of the picture or painting that is neither the foreground nor the background. It is the sometimes vague area, loosely defined, that doesn't represent either extreme.

These days, I find myself in that middle distance.

I have, for many years, had various blogs. Some were personal. Some were related to music or media. I have written for online publications. A little over a year ago I decided to start a music blog, that I have woefully not kept up. When trying to create that identity, I chose Middle Aged Metalhead. Because I find myself in those middle years of my life.

I am no longer young, yet not quite old (though some days I feel otherwise). The middle.

I find myself in the middle stages of my career. No longer in training, and almost a decade out of it by now. Yet still years away from being able to call it quits.

My two oldest children are or will soon be moved out of the house, with two more to go. In the middle of having raised my children.

At work, I often find myself in the middle, having to navigate that tricky area between being a clinician and working with administration. Stuck in it.

And I would describe my mental health also as being in the middle.

So the middle distance is an apt metaphor for my life. And seemed a reasonable place for me to center myself here. I hope to use this as a platform to explore some of the creative outlets I have wanted to engage in, but have felt that I did not have a home for them. This middle distance is a good place to bring things together here, and maybe, just maybe, be interesting every once in a while.