love – The Conscious Pilgrim

holidays

I try to be transparent in these posts – I really do – though I’m cognisant of the fact that; although I think or feel a certain way when I’m sitting at my computer with a coffee and a peaceful house around me, sometimes the follow-through of my namaste demeanor out in the real world is… let’s say… harder to spot in a crowd.

It’s that same contrast that allows us to identify that Christmas is the season of giving while simultaneously road-raging our way to-&-from the mall on a Saturday afternoon. So, in that way… It’s not even a thing I’m willing to apologize for… because we are a complex and messy race; we humans, and are worthy of a little grace and understanding.

But it’s in that very lack of apology that I must also allow people to be people… and generally speaking, people are panicky, stressed out, over-caffeinated, under-slept, hangry, and financially maxed out at the best of times, but December adds it’s own layer of chaos to the mix that tends to result in an additional element of ‘unpredictable.’

That’s fine.
All most people need is a little space, I think.
And a sandwich.

This phenomenon isn’t relegated to strangers. There’s a good chance that your friends and people in your family are behaving erratically as well – and after a recent observation, roughly 1/3 of people (an American statistic, but how different could Canada really be?) are estranged from their families or members thereof.

I think a lot of people are shocked when they hear a family member is estranged, but as someone who has put distance between myself and certain members of my family (in the past, for a good while) I can honestly say than any time I’ve heard that someone has chosen to do this, I’ve congratulated them on making an obviously very difficult decision to take care of themselves first. When an airplane loses cabin pressure and the oxygen masks drop, you are instructed to put your own mask on before assisting others, and don’t think this metaphor is out of place here.

There are also seasons to everything.
The end of my estrangement situation came with the death of a parent’s partner.

I guess what I’m taking the scenic route around to saying is that the holidays are just as hard as they are magical – and it’s okay for the holidays to be both hard and magical… so as we close in on the most hellacious part of the whole ordeal, I hope that whatever your Christmas or Christmas-adjacent plans might be, or where they might take you, that you find some peace, love, and hope.

I also hope; on a more personal level, that you choose to celebrate without harming any of our fellow earthlings – the ones who can’t speak up for themselves. Veganuary can start ANY TIME.

Happy whatever-you’re-into, everyone.

aging

I turn 43 this year.
Actually, I turn 43 this weekend.
Tomorrow.
Star Wars day.

Ultimately I’m good with it. I’m not in the shape I was in when I turned 40 and ran a triathlon, but I am on an upward swing in that regard. I’d love to spend more time in the pool and round out my tri-sport fantasies once again, but the advent of a fresh tattoo about 6 weeks ago, followed by another tattoo appointment this coming week keeps me on dry land. Submerging fresh tattoos is a good way to get an infection. But… That’s okay. Running and biking are filling my early mornings in the same way creative endeavours seem to fill my evenings.

I’m in the early stages of making another great record with The Confusionaires, I have a busy summer ahead of me with festival performances, long runs, sweaty bike rides, rock & roll recording sessions, and a couple of quick trips out of town with the family if fortune smiles down on us before the snow flies again. Summers are so fuckin’ short here.

When my daughter was born, and I was 26 years old, I recall doing the math and determining that I’d be 44 when she turns 18. That’s still true. It’s true every time I check, and the math gets easier each time… that’s a year from now, but it might as well be now. She’s grown up well, and smart, and strong. She has ambition that surpasses me at that age. I’ve very proud of her. She’ll be 17 this summer (obviously) and although she’s not done turning into the person she’s going to be, I can tell that person is going to be awesome. We got matching tattoos last month – an honour I share with no one else, and one I don’t take lightly.

I’m 43 tomorrow. Where does the time go? Well, I know where my 20s and early 30s went. Kinda. They’re hazy and were largely fuelled by intoxicants. Not sure how I lucked my way into finding my girlfriend. We’ve been together for 14 years or so. Like I said… hazy. She’s great, and has either joined me or guided me on several journeys that led both of us to places we’d never imagined… like veganism. She’s just begun a sabbatical of sorts, as she’s between vocations and has found herself with a month off before starting a new job. Having her around is pretty great. I think I’ll keep her for another 14 years.

I don’t know where this leads.
Wherever it’s supposed to, I guess.
But wherever that is, I hope they allow dogs.

life with fear

In light of recent election results, I figured it’s time to talk about fear. I’ve spent a good portion of my life afraid of a lot of things. It’s through conversations with other people that I’ve come to this realization, and I’ve come to the realization that I was actually raised this way.

I’d wager a guess that a lot of us were.

I don’t blame my parents for this. They did their level best. We’re all doing our level best… but that doesn’t change the fact that I was raised in this environment. We were a low-income christian family who; on more than one occasion, were cut off at the knees by the church, and when struggling what any atheist might call ‘sour luck’ my folks were told they had sin in their lives that they needed to sort out.

Now, I don’t care if you’re a christian, but if you are you’d probably have a hard time arguing that christianity isn’t entirely based in fear… fear of Hell… fear of Satan… fear of being ‘left behind’… fear of sex… at this point, I’m not completely sure what the selling features of this ideology are, save for the fact that we are all spiritual beings looking for connection and a sense of belonging, and churches advertise their ability to provide these things on billboards.

Okay… back on track… my folks didn’t have much money, and what they did have they were very careful with – to a fault, really. So much so that most opportunities to invest were seen as high-risk. Even clearly good investments, like real estate provided a level of anxiety that I can’t seem to make sense of now as an adult.

This is the tip of the iceberg, but I won’t divulge much more because; again, I don’t blame my parents and I’m not interested in placing myself above them as though I am superior, because I’m not – However, the message that this lifestyle supplanted in my mind at a deep, subconscious level was one of similar fear.

I grew up to be an adult who was ultimately afraid of failure and afraid of success simultaneously. That might sound like a contradiction, but as far as my art goes, it kept me from pushing myself to do bigger and better things because I was:

afraid to compromise artistically because I might not be happy with the result
afraid to push my art further because that meant leaving my comfort zone
afraid to fail, because any failure I might have would probably be public
afraid to succeed, because if I found success doing something I didn’t love entirely, I’d be stuck doing it anyway
afraid to commit to any band for a long period of time, because I was constantly starting over at the bottom… where I was comfortable
afraid to be alone, because the value I put on myself was tied to other peoples’ opinion of me
afraid to be with people, because of how inferior I felt compared to them

… I could go on like this for days. I trapped myself in a cycle of mediocrity because it was within my comfort zone. Not that the music or the people I was making it with were mediocre, but that my effort to have people hear it was… and these things fizzle out when you don’t try very hard. That’s just how it works.

In the end, I’ve made a conscious decision to not be afraid. At the risk of summing it all up and making it sound simple and easy and quick – it is NOT – I’m not afraid of failure – it’s how I learn, and I’m not afraid of success – because any success is a gift, and it can leave me just as fast as it arrived. Maybe faster.

Really, I choose not to be afraid every day. It gets easier with the momentum of the previous day’s choice.

During the covid times, I stopped mainlining cable news, because it instills fear by constantly showing exceptional situations and telling you they’re normal, when the reason they are newsworthy is because they’re not the norm.

I’m not afraid of Donald Trump.
I wouldn’t have chosen him, but as it turns out, I wasn’t consulted on the matter. I won’t live in fear of the things I can’t control, and who becomes the president of a country I don’t live in is most certainly not something I can control.

What I can do is call out injustice when I see it. I can advocate for people less fortunate than myself. I can use my art to broadcast messages of love and growth. I can challenge the status quo when I see fit. I can support those who need it.

Fear lives in the future, and the future is uncertain.
I live in the present, where there is no fear, and there’s no uncertainty.
There’s just us… doing what we’re doing right now.
So we must act accordingly.

thanks a lot

This weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving, a holiday that is a mixed bag of emotion for most people, particularly Indigenous folks. I won’t speak to that in great detail other than to say that I acknowledge their grievances against the Europeans that horned in on this land several hundred years ago, though I am grateful to be here, personally.

It’s also a hard time for families, and as someone who has chosen not to maintain contact with a sibling, I understand that from some people’s perspective I am part of the problem. I don’t hold it against anyone if they’re upset with me, and I hope they realize that my job as a parent and the head of my own household, is to stop the bullshit at my front door, and provide a safe environment to grow and rest. I’ve done that, and will continue to do so.

Maybe you get it.

Maybe you don’t get it – Maybe you are the ostracized one, frustrated with your family’s lack of empathy, or sympathy. Chances are pretty good that if you’re reading this, you’re ultimately doing okay, since accessing blogs takes a certain amount of privilege. Maybe you’ve had Thanksgiving dinner at the Herb Jamieson before, or perhaps you’re looking forward to a Big Mac Combo in a parking lot by yourself on this festive weekend.

I’ve done both. I promise you, it’s a temporary vocation.

One thing I can tell you is that I’m grateful for the shit-heeled experiences I’ve had – many of which I caused, some of which were done to me. I’ve been extended some of the greatest and most meaningful hospitality when my life was scraping the bottom.

I’m also grateful that I can provide this home to the people in it, and the people who visit it. I remember what it’s like to not have these things available to me. So, to the people who’ve reached out to me when I needed it more than they possibly could have known, I sincerely hope you are repaid 10x over.

And to those who I can help, I hope I do it justice.
I hope I don’t miss the opportunity.

… PS: If you can have thanksgiving without harming any animals out of some misplaced sense of tradition, or due to a social contract, please do.

open eyes

A few old pals started a punk band called Open Eyes, but that’s not what this is about.

I’ve lived a few lives, as we all have. I consider myself to be a young man but that is really an assertion made by comparison – like, my dad thinks I’m young and my daughter does not… so after kicking around this rock for 4 decades ‘n change I’ve gone through the cycle of life & rebirth a few times, and I’ve recently had my eyes open to my addictive tendencies and I’ve even gone so far as to do something about it.

It’s when I’m in the company of other addicts who have not made those same assertions that I am completely rocked by reality. It’s shocking to me to be faced with these things, for everyone around to know there is a sizable problem and for no one to do anything – mind you, it’s not everyone’s place to do something so much as it is the addict’s place to ask for help – but in a case like the one I’m thinking of, the need for intervention is palpable. The person in question was a newcomer to the group. Not a newcomer in the sense of someone we’d brought in, but more in the sense that he’d injected himself into the group, with baggage and insecurities in tow.

There were 2 extenuating factors at play. The first is that nobody in the group knew him long enough to be able to offer any insight (and the opportunity did not present itself), and that this person, when nestled into their intoxicants, was incredibly irritating.

We were all nice, and debriefed in private about our irks with this individual but as an addict in recovery I now feel like I should have done more, somehow. Showed more love. More compassion. Something… but I’m also faced with the notion that I; and addict in recovery, am outnumbered in the presence of an addict who’s high. It’s me vs. him + my addiction, which is 2 on 1 with me in a disadvantage.

I’m also faced with the idea that I’m somehow feeling more compassion toward this person whom I’ve just met than I am with people I’ve known for years.

I don’t know that I really have the answer to these types of conundrums other than to say this: If I have a problem with someone, the problem is mine. It’s MY problem. The root idea of that sentence is ‘I have a problem.’ And I have to deal with it… and as much as this is something I am re-learning in recovery since I don’t have my old crutch to lean on when I’m stressed or annoyed or what-have-you, it’s actually something my dog taught me.

I learned early on in my dog training experience that my dog is perfect. The only fault my dog has is the fact that he will not live long enough for my satisfaction, but even that is a projection of my insecurities. I’m getting sidetracked. My dog is perfect. He does exactly what he’s supposed to do – it is I who have issues with his need to chew on things, or where he chooses to relieve himself, and so I am the one who needs to show him where & when these actions are appropriate.

I have a list of things I want my dog to do.
He has ONE thing he wants… and that’s to spend time with me.

Addictions are not much different – they have a function and a purpose, to ease pain, and in all honesty these addictive measures work. They just bring other problems along with them as an unfortunate byproduct.

But in the end… love is all any of us humans want.
Dogs, too.

busy busy busy

I’ve been writing a lot lately, and not only in this blog, so I’m hoping that I don’t end up falling behind in this, but I’ve been working on grants for touring with Confusionaires and working on a few new songs I’m excited about. It’s also a busy time at my day job but that doesn’t really impact this blog much.

Soon, my band will be announcing our Mexico tour, and we’ll be able to count ourselves among the ranks of export ready Canadian bands, which is big for us. We’ll be there for 10 days and play 7 shows (maybe more). Before that, we’ve got a a 2-nighter of Elvis, and a 3-show run of Buddy Holly performances at the end of January that you should most certainly buy tickets to… please… because Mexican gigs pay in pesos…

All that to say I’m really in a state of equal parts shock and gratitude, but I’m reminded that it’s important speak love into other people’s lives, too. We humans get so wrapped up in our own shit that we forget to come up for air sometimes.

A friend of mine is in sales, and recently posted a very vulnerable and beautiful post about the state of the world and ho she felt like she was distracting people from these things that need attention. It prompted a conversation and we got to really encourage each other in our ventures because these things are important – even though they’re not a war in Gaza, or a homeless crisis – we still get to facilitate people bringing joy into their lives, which is incredibly noble – but I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, and neither had she. It got me thinking about how rare these conversations are and that they shouldn’t be so rare.

Did these conversations used to be more common? Before the internet and the de-personalization of everything? I don’t know, and I don’t remember.

But I want to go to that place with people, to inspire and be inspired… and I have people I can do that with, and I am very lucky to have them… but there must be more. People are not just their avatars… they are complex and flawed and wonderous… and we should know more of them.

Anyway… that’s my stream of consciousness for today.

Much love.

redemption

I think one of the most dangerous things you can be right now is a lonely GenX’er. Over the past few years, sprinkled evenly between the apocalyptic number of boomer-aged celebrity deaths has been an even match of 40 & 50 something’s taking their own lives. It happens so often that nobody asks how anyone dies anymore, we all just assume that another casualty of depression, anxiety, and loneliness sat in our midst without our knowledge.

I can’t speak to the state of mind of someone toeing up to the ledge at any age, because I know what dark thoughts are and I know that they’re not all the same. What I can speak to, is that doling out guilt by way of telling everyone to ‘check in on your friends‘ can’t possibly work – this coming from someone who has always answered every question about my own well-being the exact same way: I’m fine – and when I do so, it’s either because I actually am fine, or I don’t want to get into what is not fine.

I’ve taken to planting seeds. Or trying to, anyway.

I try to speak openly about attainable notions in mixed company. I’ll often be caught dropping lines like “everyone is doing their best” because I truly believe they are. I’m always down for both light and heavy conversations about things like self-improvement, goals, and likely what is most important – redemption.

Redemption. The notion that it is entirely possible that I am not the same dipshit I was when I was 22 years old. The very idea of human advancement and growth is predicated on the idea that we can not only do better, but that we can absolve ourselves of our wrongdoings.

I won’t pretend that the vultures don’t gather, rubbing their talons together at the prospect of squeezing money from every searcher among us, because that’s a real thing and a real concern.

However, the notion of meeting someone on a spiritual level and being of service – just humans being human to each other – can turn things for anyone. No church or holy book required, and not just checking in on people, but actually seeing them – looking them in the eye – and relating to them on a spiritual level that goes beyond stylistic choices, upbringing, body fat percentage, musical taste, or any other judgement that can be passed.

I used to think and say “everyone’s just waiting for their turn to talk” but the truth is that they’re waiting to be heard, and seen, and respected – which, if we’re being honest, respect is a suitable substitute for love, and love is what we really need.

All this from a borderline-reclusive introvert.
I know, I know… but there’s redemption for me, too.

For what it’s worth, I’m not posting this in an emotional response to the Christmas season, or New Years, or any of that, so I hope this isn’t lost in the holiday well-wishing shuffle. I actually wrote this at the beginning of November.

Much love.