Blog Posts

reactive

There are many aspects of life that are beyond control. As much as I’d like to think that I am in control of; well, anything… I have to take a step back and realize that I am not, and probably never have been. There are only a few things I can claim as mine in a creative sense, and for me they are all songs (though if I’m writing about something, even that level of control is questionable).

The truth is that I am reacting to most things.

I accelerate when the light turns green. I book musical performances when I am available to do them. I apply for funding when funding is available. I reward exemplary behavior. I buy shoes when they’re on sale.

I cannot truthfully be held accountable for anything that happens so much as I can be held accountable for how I react to those situations…

The neighbor’s dog got out. My kid forgot her bus pass. The grocery store ran out of tempeh. My guitar amp is crackling. I’m stuck behind a train that’s going to make me late for work.

Yes – but what am I going to do about it?
How am I going to temper my reaction to scenarios in order to illicit the best (or least worst) result?
And – is there actually anything I can really do to positively affect the outcome?

Almost unanimously, the quick answers to all of these questions is ‘I don’t know’ but beyond the initial shock of being presented with any scenario – be it good or bad – the possibilities are as limitless as the confines of imagination.

If my neighbor’s pitbull escapes the fence, and I am walking on-stage in another city, I must do nothing because not only can I not affect change from my current location, I must also not allow this scenario to take over the task at-hand. I have to resign to entrust the situation with my neighbor’s dog to the people that are able to do something, and I can’t feel regret about what couldn’t be done… especially when it can and will and does get handled.

This is ultimately why I don’t drink anymore. My decision making prowess suffers a devastating downgrade when I do, whether it means saying inflammatory things under the guise of attempted humour, or allowing my judgement around what I eat to slide, deciding whether or not to drive… the list goes on, and it primarily goes on because when I was drinking, I was drinking much more frequently than I should have been.

I am still bound to say inflammatory things and compromise my own judgement, but I do it with a sober mind. So, when my actions and reactions are called into question, I can be held appropriately responsible for them. It might sound a bit fucked, but I take solace in the fact that every poor decision I’ve made in the past 17 months has been made with intention. I don’t hide behind weak, hazy excuses anymore, and I own every smart and dumb idea… which is hard, because I’m fairly bashful and humble about the good ideas, and when the bad ideas come rolling out, there’s no excuse for me to hide behind.

The reality of the situation is that I am doing my best. My path is a spiritual one, and the actions, or reactions, I take are in keeping with the curves in that path that I need to bend with in order to stay upright.

beginnings and endings

I’ve opted to wander, once again.

It’s not that I don’t see the value and merits of the 12-step program for recovery or that I’ve concluded that I am not in need of help with my addictive traits, but for reasons I’ll only be vague about, I’ve left my recovery group behind in search of something that resonates a bit deeper with me.

It’s a group of wonderful and well-meaning people who are united by their struggle, but I’ve concluded that my struggle is different than theirs. Where I seek solace in a 2-hour rigorous physical workout, or am compelled to dive headlong into my art for says on end, I do so at the behest of God.

This means that if I am truly made in his image, then I must also conclude that he is a solitary being, a self-critical physical powerhouse, and carries with him a dark passenger that he must feed; but not over-feed, in order to maintain a structured balance in all his endeavors.

The weight lifted from my chest following my decision to leave was heavy, and I feel free, albeit untethered. I’m cognizant of my vulnerability as a loner who’s on a spiritual path and I realize that I can be led astray, and taken advantage of. I’ve learned a lot from the 12 steps, as I have from the various churches and barrooms I’ve held service in… and I can’t even say I’ll never go back, because I just may.

But my community is a different one… which is either waiting for me to find them, or waiting for me to stop looking as they’re already here. As well, my acts of service are different, and I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet, but I do have a set of skills that makes me unique and I look forward to the opportunity to enrich lives with them… maybe I am already.

4 years

I’ve been vegan for 4 years as of yesterday.

I vacillate between “it’s the least anyone can do” and “it’s not for the faint of heart” constantly, but in the end it’s worth every piece of bacon I didn’t eat or dairy product I didn’t consume. As a matter of fact, those things are fucking gross.

It started as a step in a health journey that was already underway for a while; partly a physical health decision and partly a spiritual decision, but quickly the welfare of our fellow earthlings became a priority as well.

To me, it’s astonishing that the best diet for my heart, the best diet for my liver, the best diet for my brain, and the best diet for all aspects of my body – including athletic performance – is the same diet that is best for the planet, and is also the best diet for the wellbeing of our fellow earthlings, the animals.

In an amazingly short time we’ve gone from “wHeRe Do YoU gEt YoUr PrOtEiN?” to “I’m reluctant to try (or gave up on) veganism because I’m not an athlete.” Both statements are sad and ill-informed despite the fact that they are polar opposites.

If you feel like you need to make a change, give it a shot.

If you do, I recommend you try it for 21 days. You can do anything for 21 days, and you can eat anything for 21 days. I know that, because you can literally eat nothing for 21 days.

discipline

I’m occasionally complimented on my discipline, and while it’s true that a 4:30am wake-up call is not for the faint of heart (nor is the notion that I occasionally wake up before I alarm goes off) I have to say that waking up at 4:30 is the easy part.

I drink tea, eat oatmeal, breathe, and sit quietly before going to the gym for anywhere from a 60 – 120 minute body pummeling, all before the work day starts. I frequently get my 10,000 steps in before the rooster crows for most people and it feels really good to get that done. Aside from the caffeine in my black tea, I don’t consume alcohol or smoke anything, and work my damnedest at not eating too much sugar or fat through a given day.

A lot of what I do sucks… but whatever. I need rules.

I don’t like rules, but I need them. Me without rules is a nightmare, reverting back to the 300 lb. oaf with bad skin who bitched complained about how the world wasn’t fair… and well, at least I was right about that part – the world isn’t fair. So no, I don’t like rules. I just need ’em.

Chances are pretty good that you need rules, too… but that’s your journey. I’m not responsible for you journey. I am; however, responsible for my child’s journey for the next few years.

My child. My kid. My little girl, who I want to be safe and warm and comfortable. And while safe is certainly a priority for me, warm and comfortable are things that I don’t need to worry about these days. Warm and comfortable are terrible teachers, and my duty as a parent is to prepare my child for the big, ugly, mean world… and to greet that world with a kind heart.

Sound hard? It is.

What’s more is that I won’t be there to enforce the rules… so I have to trust her to do it. It can absolutely happen, but it’s not going to happen over night. People like to tell me that “we went through that and we came out alright” and when people say that I want to pound my fists on the desk and say: “For starters – no we didn’t have to deal with that. We didn’t have to deal with any of the garbage that kids have to deal with now. And secondly – no we didn’t turn out alright. We made a mess. I fucked around for 25 years and ended up in a recovery program in my 40’s.”

So let’s take another look at my discipline then. People throw words around like ‘extreme’ and ‘drastic.’ “It’s extreme to run for 2 hours straight” and “it’s extreme to weigh your food” – well… drastic times, friends… drastic times.

No, I won’t be holding my own child to my standard.
If she wants to level-up later on, that’s her call.
But some serious goal-setting, and the removal of distraction is a solid place to start. She’s a kid, so she’s still got her dreams intact unlike the majority of adults do these days. She can literally do anything she wants to.

But it has to start today. In this moment.
Tomorrow is a fictional place.

striking

On this past thursday morning, March 14th, 2024, completely unbenounced to me (as I have made a conscious decision to avoid the news… especially in a US election year)… my gym went on strike.

A city-run facility that I’ve observed the sunrise from roughly 5 mornings per week for the past several years, a wonderful place where I am neither the most extreme nor the least, where early morning grunts & nods have become their own language among the people whom I share space with at the 6 o’clock hour, where sweat is dripped and teeth are grit, was locked up tight this morning.

I was fortunate to have a city worker from another union explain to me what & why, and ultimately I support anyone who is compelled to go to these measures to get done what they need to do.

However, this does not solve my immediate problem.

So, I went looking this morning and found a place not far from home that will grant me 24 hour access and permit me to use facilities in the other cities I frequent. It’s not the rough 1970’s boxing club vibe I was hoping for and would have no trouble finding in my neighborhood, fraught with dinge, rust, and trophies from a bygone era… but again – 24 hours.

It’s a Fit-4-less.
It doesn’t feel very badass, but neither did my beloved commonwealth. Perhaps this is a stepping stone on the way to some gaff-taped punching bag enshrouded in cinder blocks and chipped paint… but I suppose that remains to be seen.

What’s important is I have a new place to lift heavy shit.
Perhaps it’ll only be temporary, as the aforementioned strike was short-lived, but I think I will give this new gym a shot, regardless. Change is good, and the price is an improvement… but I sacrifice a few amenities in the process – namely the running track, which I use frequently, and the swimming pool, which I use infrequently.

Perhaps the commonwealth will call me back…. Perhaps it won’t.

don’t sell yourself short

I’ve been selling myself short for most of my life. You probably have, too, but I can’t speak to that other than to say that as a species, we seem to have a tendency to resign ourselves to our own misery, and as cheap compensation, we give ourselves a dopamine hit as frequently as possible.

I’m certainly guilty of this despite my propensity to ‘do hard things’ but for me there has historically been some disconnect between physically doing hard things that are maybe kinda scary, and doing hard things on a spiritually-fulfilling level, like saying no to shitty gigs, or being confident.

A few years ago, I cleaned up my act. I started giving my body the nutrition it needs to thrive and stopped numbing myself to life, and a crazy thing happened. I felt young. That’s not a tangible thing as I type it, but the only way I can explain it is to say that I removed the things in my life that were holding me back the most, and I started to become more energetic and vital.

Energy and vitality weren’t the only things that came back though… the dreams I had as a young teenager came back – those pie in the sky things that I’d eventually talked myself out of over the years came back, and I had the energy to prioritize them, and believe them, and chase them in a way that was impossible 25 years ago.

Nothing happens overnight, but I just returned from an international tour with my band, and our next move is to play the 2 Canadian dates with legit Psychobilly legends The Nekromantix next weekend, before we play with Luke Doucet’s (Whitehorse, Sarah Mclachlan) old band VEAL and play a handful of festival shows. Confusionaires are now booking into 2025.

This is all very small compared to where I see it going, but a few years ago it wouldn’t have only been unattainable for me, but I also would have had a massive chip on my shoulder about someone else having these opportunities.

I feel optimistic.
I feel love.

Thanks for sharing in my joy this morning.

journeys

I feel like a really old teenager most of the time. In spite of the fucked nature of the planet and most of the people in it, I am often filled with wonder and optimism to a level that most people – including myself, once upon a time – would find irritating.

Fortunately, my demeanor is pretty low-key.

As promised, I have returned from a journey to Mexico, wherein I was invited as a guest to perform at a number of venues with my rock & roll band. I knew going in to this that it would be both difficult and life-changing and I have most certainly left a piece of mi corazon in the sand off the pacific coast. I’ve encountered both stunning beauty and heart-breaking poverty, and have seen what giving and being of service really looks like.

I will undoubtedly return, but before I do there are a few things I must take seriously before I do. The first of which is the language, which I can only describe as a poetic and flowing assemblance of syllables that I picked up as much of as I could at the time, but by my estimation I wasn’t speaking it so much as I was chewing it up and spitting it out in an effort to inquire about excluding the cheese and meat from a traditional dish. I’ve already taken steps to refresh what I (almost) learned in high-school Spanish 25 years ago and I look forward to gradually integrating that language into my life so that I can carry myself respectful of my surroundings when I return.

The second is an acknowledgement of privilege. I don’t mean the “I’m white and I don’t know what oppression is” brand of privilege that we like to both enjoy and be embarrassed of in Canada, so much as I mean that I have access to things that musicians there don’t – like guitar strings, cables, and microphone stands, and all manor of other things we take for granted. Suffice to say, a lot of people helped us out and made rock & roll possible when any number of hiccups could have completely derailed the tour. We were shown an amazing amount of grace and respect and as much as nobody is keeping a tally, I’m inclined to feel the need to reciprocate.

There are more lessons, of course, and as I settle back in to life in Canada I am reminded of the subtle differences, and these lessons are revealed to me. Previously, I’ve only ever known Mexico as a tourist in all-inclusive resorts with Caribbean white sand & blue water, and as much as I think people should enjoy those and experience that, I took part in the day-to-day goings on of what was “Real Mexico” as the Mexicans experience it and I have to say that I loved it regardless of it’s challenges.

I look forward to my much more prepared return, realizing of course that I must live here, in this moment, and I’m fortunate to know that this moment will lead to a moment when I am back there… in due time.