Guitars and Gut-punches

I’m a musician, albeit not an incredibly good one. I’ve played the guitar for nearly three decades now, trumpet for a few years in there as well, and generally, anything I can get my hands on. It’s been a fall-back hobby, something I run to when I need just to soothe the angry soul. I’ve had a few lessons over the years, but the rest of the time has just been me noodling away, listening to what I’m playing and trying not to get frustrated by my self-inflicted ignorance.

In the same vein, photography has acted the same way, albeit as a more active hobby in which I participate. You see the fruits from that pursuit five days a week in 2024, and while I would not consider myself a great photographer, it provides a decent enough foil for me to write to and tell stories with.

In both of these hobbies, I decided to make the most of the circumstances I found myself in to understand my environment (photography) and the things that move my soul (music and photography). In complementary ways, my poetry and writing have filled both dynamics: the art of the fountain pen, the flowing tides of verse springing from the inkwell, and the delicate scratch of the nib on roughened paper.

As I’ve moved between jobs at my current employer and on to the next at some future employer (stay tuned), these fundamentals of spirit, soul, and inquiry will carry me through the inevitable challenges ahead. The need to connect with the world around me in sight, sound, and touch put a very kinesthetic feel to my experiences. Even as I type this on my laptop, the act of fingers pressing against keys is a catharsis of a sort, a visceral reminder that, in this bubble of free-thinking and reminiscence, the world slows to a crawl outside.

I’d love to believe that all of these inherently personal tips and tricks have been my bastions of support over the years, but honestly, it’s been the select few people who’ve pushed through the veil of hastily assembled hobbies to sit and just…be. There’s beauty in finding that even in stillness, all things being equal, you can find the same contentment in the fury of life’s storms.

This weekend has been a storm of another sort, a journey into discovering that, sadly, I was right about what was happening in my past. It was finding out, through another’s eyes, that there had been deliberate gaslighting, victimization, and, even worse, a selfish tendency to believe that the world revolved around their needs. It has been the antithesis of egalitarianism, and the relentless narcissism required to act in such a way has been galling. And yet, I know as I write this that I too will be blamed for what will inevitably come, that I’ll be informed that I was complicit in whatever result happens to the people I love, and…well, I’m sure I’ll be damned to a personal hell all over again.

And yet, in the midst of this all rises a fury, an absolute blackness soothed only by hope, an indignation that someone would choose to use their position of authority to abuse the vulnerability of another. That subjugating an innocent to their fanaticism and flawed understanding of what happens out in the world would somehow “right a wrong” that I caused in leaving years ago. This is asinine foolishness, manipulation, and abuse, and I decry anyone who pleads to the contrary. I’ve seen far too much, experienced far too deeply, the wounds that such actions carry, and I know the inevitable outcomes of what it takes to escape.

The music, photography, and writing have been a sanctuary, an oasis sheltered from the dust of the past, and I wish it would do the same for others. However, I can only provide an example to my kids and others of what they’ve done for me and hope they, too, find their safe place in the world. I’ll always be there for them in whatever capacity they need, but sometimes, finding out that the storm hurts, that people suck, and that coping mechanisms aren’t always effective takes time.

Just like traffic, I wouldn’t wish some of my stories on anyone, but like the journey to see the eclipse, if you don’t venture to find the beauty of this universe, you’ll find only the back of your eyelids and the doldrums of a life unlived. Find those things, people, places, and experiences that enliven and protect your spirit, dear souls, and perhaps you, too, will be the shelter others need to weather the storms of life.

May it ever be so.