My writing has been victimized over the last few months due to having an inordinate amount of time spent on other shit. Being so busy has been a concern and is festering like a boil on the ass of my creativity. As I reviewed past entries for inspiration I realized I was coming up on my 100th entry. I thought to myself, “Self, this has to be a big one.” And then after deliberation with myself which could in fact be considered a moderate level of insanity, I concluded that the rule sets of the modern world ‘define’ milestones like this to be big and in need of a parade and a marching band. So in an effort to go against the grain, I won’t make this a ‘big’ entry.

To be honest, I really don’t know what I intended on discussing in this entry. But as I began to write, I started thinking about creativity. This blog has become my medium for letting go. So maybe, writing has taken place of drawing and dissecting music has taken place of writing it. Not that I’m a great novelist, or even a mediocre music connoisseur, but I do find emotional value in creating and communicating, whether that be in visual, verbal, or aural form. So my outward thinking here is that in my ‘chapter,’ I’m less of a visual artist and more philosophically possessed.

In this instance, music is the topic and my yard stick of growth. That’s not saying, ‘Well I used to listen to gangsta rap in suburbia trying to be a thug and now I listen to Celine Dion and have a dozen kids so I am TOTALLY grown up.’ You’re not grown up if you listen to Celine Dion, you’re just misguided. With adulthood, your ears literally and metaphorically grow and are more open to new sounds. That’s the easy definition. While you may be listening to a more open cross section, I believe that there’s still a subset of music that played a central role in your growth, maturation, and development. You always gravitate back it. That’s the more nebulous definition. Taylor Swift or some other pitiful pop star may be what you tap your toe to while you commute to work; you’re still listening to the substance of your life on your MP3 player later in the day.

If I had to compartmentalize the chapters in my life for measurement, I’d have six buckets: 1. The Youthful-Exuberant years. 2. The Adolescent-Angst years. 3. The Confused-Young-Adult-College-Student years. 4. The New-in-the-Workplace years. 5. The City-of-Angels years. 6. The Adult-Sized-Kid-Now-a-Father years. Unfortunately, I would eliminate buckets 1, 3, and 4. While important, their weighting on the emotional scale is less than buckets 2, 5, and 6. These three remaining buckets, I grew and learned the most about who I was. And hypothetically consistent, I was largely creative in these stages. What I really think back on is how I felt in those stages. The confusion, fear, and helplessness stand out in boxes 2 and 5.

And now in box 6, I find a musical gravitational pull back to boxes 2 and 5. Not so much to relive those years but to reassuringly remind me of the climbing process. I never want to forget how fragile I was and that’s the fabric of my existence. So the ‘chapter’ I exist within now is most obviously box 6. And while I’m ‘happy’ or whatever it’s called, I sometimes wish for a connection back to those years to capture that inspiration out of desperation. Enter the music that lends to the gravitational pull. Maybe I’m not as visually creative as I used to be, but I hope that my introspection in written form paints the picture of growth and travel up a long flight of stairs. With any luck, I can impart the process and its value on Son #1 and #2. I hope I convey to them how important it is to ‘feel’ and not be ashamed to communicate it. There’s peace to you can find in music.