Happy Birthday Bend in the Middle
No matter how long it takes to record and release and album, it’s always longer than I think it’s going to be. And always longer than I’d like it to be. This time - releasing my 5th album (4th full-length) - I was the most relaxed I’ve ever been around the timeline. But that’s not to say I was relaxed.
It’s a nervy thing - being an artist, making music, sharing it with the world and trying not to care *too much about the reactions of others. Of course I want you all to love my music. But I also don’t want to care too much about what you think about my art, because it then gets in the way of the actual flow required for music making.
But we’re here! The album came out! It exists in real time and people are streaming it all over the planet. Literally. And so far, I’m validated to see that my favorite track on the album (Lovin’ Our Friends) so far appears to be your favorite as well, at least as far as streaming traction goes.
The album release show was perhaps my favorite night of music making in my life! The Dairy Arts center in Boulder was nearly sold-out, and I got to perform all 11 tracks with a 9-piece band! It was beyond dreamy. The one scaled back tune ended up stealing the show, as Kyle Donovan and I sang “You & I” as a duet, and it was memorable. I don’t get too many standing ovations, but the one I received at the end of the show felt as good as any in existence. My heart is swollen and I’ll be floating on the love from that evening for some time to come.
The process of writing, re-writing, recording and releasing and album often means that by the time you hear the first “new” song, I’m already a bit tired of it. You can imagine the hundreds (thousands?) of times that I have heard each song by the time we finally master it and get ready to share it with the masses. But that’s just part of the process.
The other big thing I was really excited about in releasing this album is that my songwriting has evolved at a rapid clip, and I’ve been eager to share with you where I am NOW. But I just just mentioned above, even NOW is fleeting, for I’m now excited for this next batch of tunes I’m writing, and so it goes.
The album itself is garnering wonderful reviews, which always feels gratifying. Thank you for listening, for sharing the music with your friends, and for keeping an eye on the YouTube channel. I’ll have a new video up soon doing a deep dive behind the album, discussing each individual song one a time.
Thank you for your continued support and love. It takes a village indeed. Stay tuned!
What does it mean to Bend in the Middle?
If you’ve been anywhere near my socials lately, you know that I just released a new song. It’s the title track to the new album, “Bend in the Middle,” which comes out October 18th. But this single, or “buoyant new release” as one reviewer called it, starts things off on purpose. Yes it’s high-energy, catchy, and makes a groovy dance track. But the reasons I led with it are much different than that, and have more to do with my ongoing career as a licensed therapist.
On the path to becoming a professional counselor, I was required to undergo many hours of my own therapy, digging in the dirt as it were to better understand what made me who I am. One thing I discovered then and continued to learn in my role as a therapist for others, is that we all tend to receive feedback from the world about the parts of us that don’t quite fit. This is especially true in our upbringing - hello middle school - but begins way earlier than that. We often internalize these messages that we are too this, or not enough that, and we mistakenly come to believe the story (which, for the record, is a narrative rooted plainly in the discomfort of a caregiver who, instead of tending to their own dysregulated nervous system, tried to enforce a different behavior from the offender so they wouldn’t have to feel their feelings). We, being little humans, typically prioritized this feedback, because who wants to upset Mom (or whomever)? So we created a split. We cut ourselves off from different aspects of our being, in the hopes that we would then fit in a bit better, and therefore receive all the love and affection we require.
As you can imagine, this split, coupled with the ensuing years of a now-contorted posture, has long-term implications for our health, sense of wellness, our ability to engage in healthy relationships, to manage our own nervous system, and to generally assume a sense of autonomy and responsibility as an adult in the world. It stands to reason that most us who survive into adulthood had to manage the transition from listening to our parents (or teachers, grandparents, nanny’s, whomever had authority) to listening to our own inner voices. Some of us learned to do that quickly, and assumed adulthood in our 20’s. Some of us (late bloomers) took longer, waiting until our 30’s, 40’s and beyond to start feeling like full fledged adults.
This is all the context for what it means to me to learn how to Bend in the Middle. It starts with getting our eyes off of what other people are doing, and what they think about what we are doing. Let’s keep our eyes on our own paper, so to speak. Work on our own sense of being in alignment with who we really are, instead of so focused on the perceived “ills” of the world.
Bending in the Middle means being flexible. Going with the flow, trusting that the Universe is working on your behalf, even if the present circumstances make that difficult to believe. It means training ourselves to look for the beauty, and to talk about it. Take more pictures, witness more sunsets. Breathe. Life is magical.
Our problem’s our disconnection
Our well intended split
But we can tune back into the goodness again
By loving all the parts that don’t fit
We’ve got to work it out from the inside
We’ve got to pull the sheets from the bed
Like everybody else I have the typical fantasies
But then the battle comes, then the battle comes
If we don’t start to Bend in the Middle
Love in the Pacific Northwest
I grew up in Issaquah, Washington, just east of Seattle. Knowing that helps explain my lifelong devotion to the sports teams the Mariners, Seahawks, and Sounders, despite now having lived in Colorado for the past 24 years. Each year I make the return trip home, where my family still resides, and soak in the sweet nostalgia that comes with a return to one’s roots. It’s wild the way that works. Driving around the old town brings up all these distant memories that hadn’t risen to the surface in decades…somewhere around here I got that speeding ticket…over on that exact field I played hundreds of hours of soccer eons ago…I remember so many things, many of them pleasant.
And while this trip was highlighted by my opening act at the famed Triple Door (opening for the Jacob Joliff band who blew my mind!), and picking blackberries right outside the front door of my brother’s house, the real gift of the trip, as usual, included humans.
My family of origin is relatively small; my mother lost her only brother when she was a teenager, and my Dad is one of four who have not stayed close. Growing up it was my mom, brother and me, plus weekends with Dad after they split. But there’s something about quality over quantity, and when there’s only a few of you (at least in our case), you lean on each other, becoming extraordinarily close.
My family is awesome, and I say that knowing how many people don’t feel that same way about their own families. But when I’m around my brother, especially and family in general, we laugh a lot. The love is palpable, the inside jokes go way back, and the wittiness among the clan never ceases to amaze me. Even our collective kids - now 18, 21, and nearly 23 - have taken up the baton and have razor-sharp senses of humor. And as much time as we spend laughing together, the reservoir that is my heart is simultaneously filling to capacity. The family love, the nostalgia of the area, coupled with the sheer beauty of the surrounding forest and hills, there’s nothing like it. I don’t know that I want to live in that area - the traffic alone is enough to dissuade me - but it sure is nice to come home.
Golf is Life
Much like my older brother and nearly all of our childhood friends, I grew up playing all kinds of sports. It’s just what you did. Baseball, basketball, football in the yard, and especially golf and soccer in my family. When we weren’t playing sports, we were watching sports on t.v., and even though the Seattle pro sports teams were mired in mediocrity during my formative years, they provided a constant source of connection, giving us something to talk about, win or lose.
I was older the first time I heard someone wax philosophically about sports as a metaphor for life, but something in me understood. And the other day, I played a golf hole that was the perfect metaphor for my entire life.
It’s a par 5, a nice long uphill hole with a huge wide fairway, but with a bunker left and garbage out right. I hit my drive well, but pulled it a bit, and it was headed for the trap. I was miffed. And in the ensuing two minutes that it took me to walk up to my ball, I spent the time mentally kicking myself for pulling the drive, likely putting it into the trap, when there’s such a huge wide safe landing area on this hole as long as you aren’t a doofus. Which I was. Because, although I hit it well, I was pretty sure I was going to find my ball in the sand. What an idiot. Ugh. Why do I do this? Such as easy hole. And on and on.
But guess what? When I finally walked up to my ball, I noticed I wasn’t in the trap at all. In fact, I was in the short stuff, right there in the fairway. Just on the far left side. But 100% totally fine, with an unobstructed shot to the green. Oh, I thought. Ok. Here we go. A simple three wood, right up the middle. Hit it well and I’ll find the green. Hit it not so well and it’ll be a little short. Sweet.
But I did’t hit it that well. I pushed it way off right, into the rough on the right side of the fairway, and what looked to be directly behind a tree, 60 yards short of the green. Fudge! I screamed at myself, although it was only internal and it wasn’t fudge.
How the hell could I leave that out to the right that like? What a crappy swing. And right behind that tree? Ugh, you dumbass. You suck at golf. And so began the next three minute trudge to my golf ball, mentally berating myself for my inexcusable idiocy, and clear sucky-ness at this sport. Never mind that I’ve played two times all season. My high expectations are immutable.
Quick sidebar: My grandparents taught me to play golf as soon as I could swing a club, but it was years before I learned to control my anger on the course. This unfortunate dynamic had two major aspects for me as a kid: First, my own sense of perfectionism, which makes me hold myself to impossibly high standards, and two: my constant comparison to my beloved older brother who happens to be a truly exceptional golfer. In the hundreds (thousands?) of golf rounds he and I have played together, I have beaten him a sum total of one time. And what a glorious time that was! But back to my story.
As I continue my walk of shame to approach my third shot, I once again realize that, despite my dark assumptions, my ball is actually, once again, ok. I am behind that tree a bit, but I still have a look at the green, and it’s not nearly as dire as I had believed moments ago. Once again, things were just fine the whole damn time, but I, in my head, was a wreck.
And this is my life. Not that I’m always a wreck. But that during those times when I think I am indeed a wreck, it’s actually all just fine. Better than fine, even. Things are always working out for me. Even when I hit my second shot near that tree. Or miss the putt. Or didn’t land that gig I wanted. Or whatever.
By the way, I hit a crafty third shot to fifteen feet, and two-putted for par.
And walked off the green shaking my head, laughing at myself. And endeavoring to do better. Not in my golf game, but in my mental game. Which, of course, is my golf game too. But that internal talk is so much more important than my golf score. It’s everything.
I caused myself so much unnecessary suffering in the span of those 15 minutes, and all for naught. But I’m glad I can notice it, laugh at it, and learn from it. On we go.