Category: Life As I Know It

11 days into my new adventure and it’s been a wonderful whirlwind. I find myself with a lot to say to say, so buckle in for the signature Heath tome of verbosity.

This adventure is a great catalyst to being present. Naturally, many have asked me what I will do when this contract is over. Will I take another one? As humans, we are almost always far too wrapped up in the past and the future. Worrying about things that did or didn’t happen in the past or what will happen in the future. Planning our path. Trying to make it happen. We have our hopes, dreams and goals, and we need to find the road to them. I haven’t even boarded the ship yet. I have no idea how I will feel in 7 months from now. Maybe I’ll be sick of being confined to a ship and be homesick and miss my friends, my bands, acting, Austin, and my life there. Or maybe I’ll feel like I’ve found the best life ever and never want to stop doing it. I don’t know. So my best choice is to just focus on today and enjoying it. I’ve had conversations about future contracts, and possibilities if I decided to stay on with Carnival for more contracts. Maybe I could become a Music Manager and direct my own band. Who knows where this will lead, who I will meet, or what opportunities may present themselves?

There is, of course, the fear that if I decide that it was fun but I want to resume my life in Austin, that it won’t be easy because I’ve been away from acting and networking and all the bands I played with and I’ll find myself with no way to pay the bills so I’ll have no choice but to take another contract and now I’m trapped just like any other job. Of course, that’s just fear rearing its ugly head like it does. It has also made me think about the rigidity with which we think about our “hopes and dreams” for life. Is this an awesome job? Absolutely. Is it what I’ve always “dreamed” of doing? No. I never thought “Oh man, if only some day I could sing on a cruise ship! That is what I want to do with my life!” Now of course, my dreams have never been super specific. I dreamed of fame and fortune in music and acting. Touring with my own band, playing my originals and being somewhat “famous” for lack of a better term (though “fame” isn’t the goal at all). Or touring as a side man with some big band. Playing for Sheryl Crow or Lady Gaga, or anything like that. Putting out my music and people buying it and coming to see my concerts. Starring in movies, television and theater as a renowned actor and making a good living doing so. Being a sought after voice over actor.

For some reason, I now actually feel more cut off from those dreams. Like being so isolated in this very specific situation, there’s no chance of any of that. Now of course, that’s just fear again as, like I said before, I don’t know what kinds of contacts and opportunities might come along here. But while I was a freelancer in Austin, it felt like I was at least playing “the lottery.” That big audition could come along. Playing in 8 bands might lead to something. Now I feel like I’m not even really playing, so as they say “You can’t win if you don’t play.” I’m not going to be doing any acting, obviously. No auditions. Now, sure, I’ve already met amazing people and will be playing 6 nights a week on the ship, so that’s definitely something.

However, there’s another, slightly darker undertone to all this. Two years ago, I first started pursuing all this because of a devastating breakup that made me just want to run away from everything and turn off my brain. I wanted to curl up and die, but I also didn’t (really) want to literally curl up die (at least not deep down, though sometimes I thought I wanted that). I considered crazy shit like taking some kind of job at a remote post in Antarctica or something. The equivalent of a “living death.” I didn’t want to actually die, but I kind of wanted to just become a vegetable and live out my remaining days as a zombie. In some ways, I saw this cruise ship opportunity as a better version of that. I could at least be doing one of the things I am here on this earth to do, being on stage and playing music, but aside from that, I could just turn off my brain, look at the ocean and let the remaining days of my life slowly wash away with each wave.

This is not my “dream” life. I do however recognize that it has elements of it. I am paying the bills playing music and singing. And again it makes me wonder about the rigidity of our dreams. Are my dreams too rigid? I don’t know, but they are what they are. I know (in very general terms) what I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. What I feel I’m here to do. Do we make ourselves unhappy by being too hard and unbending in “what we want”? Do we perhaps need to let our dreams redefine themselves along our journey? I don’t know. I do know that we are fear-based beings and that a tremendous amount of our decisions are fear-based and probably the vast majority of our energy is spent catering to fear or trying to fend it off.

What am I going to do 7 months from now? I have no idea. I want to spend more of my energy on today. Enjoying this moment. We will never know what the “right” thing to do is, and many times there probably isn’t even a “right” thing to do. The best we can do is relax and let the river take us where it will. Don’t fight the current. Though you might want to at least gently paddle in a particular direction.

It all began two years ago after a sudden, blindsiding breakup that shattered me into a thousand pieces and made just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. In an effort to find a more positive channel for that energy, I had the desperate desire to “Run away and join the circus” as they say. Join up with a touring band or some touring play. Something to get me away from my life, out of my mind and out of this city whose every inch was supersaturated with associations and memories. On a whim, I looked at jobs on Carnival Cruises. There was an opening for an “Ensemble Guitarist” to play with the house rock band. I culled together whatever crappy videos I could find of me playing guitar live with bands and cobbled together a demo. I submitted all my materials and the website said I should hear back within 90 days. 90 days cam and went so I assumed that was the end of it.

Then months later, I had a response. For round 2 they wanted me to video myself play guitar to the backing tracks they sent me for “Le Freak,” “Everybody Wants To Rule The World,” and “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” I did so and submitted those along with an automated video interview where I just recorded answers to questions on my webcam. More months went by. I got another email now wanting me to take the “sight reading” portion of the interview. Gulp. I don’t sight read. Or really read music much at all. I can read music very slowly but I learn everything by ear. If I hear something I can generally play it very quickly. Well luckily for me, this “sight reading” test, wasn’t really “sight reading.” I downloaded the music I was supposed to “sight read” but then could take as long as I wanted with it. I’d heard that there wasn’t really much sight reading in this position so I hoped I could still do the job despite that not really being a skill I had. The emails also said there was no deadline and that you could do the interview at your convenience. Well, apparently there was a silent, invisible “within reason” appended to that because when I finally got back to tackling this beast many months later, my application had expired and I was told there was no way to resume it. I’d have to start from scratch again.

I was little disappointed in myself for procrastinating so badly, but decided it was actually for the best, as now I could watch for the “Acoustic Soloist” position instead which would pay more and would mean that I had my own cabin instead of sharing with someone else. And I’d be a solo acoustic act, which would be fun. Eventually that position opened up so I went to putting my solo acoustic demo together from the videos I had online, though they weren’t really appropriate as they were generally me solo in my room doing songs and not live performances with an audience which is more what they wanted, but I hoped my talent would shine through. By the time I went to submit, the position had closed again.

So again, I went to checking the listings periodically again. The next appropriate position that opened up was “Rock Band Vocalist.” A male and a female singer front a 4 piece cover band (the one I initially would have been playing guitar for had I got that position). So once again, I went to putting together demo as quickly as possible and submitted. And again, many months went by before I received an email inviting me to the second round, once again consisting of an automated recorded webcam interview, as well as 4 backing tracks I was supposed to sing along with and record via video. You can see those videos here if you like. When I was initially learning and practicing the songs, I noted how they were all fairly challenging. I figured they did that thinking “Well if someone can handle these four, they can handle the rest of the set.” One Saturday, I tried to record them but after learning and practicing all day, I was pretty vocally fatigued after the first tune, so I decided to put it off to another day so I can learn them more thoroughly first and then just record them in one day later hopefully. Strangely I also find that I can sing much better, higher, and longer live with a band, but in this solo recording at home scenario, I get all in my head and everything seems more difficult somehow and notes that I could normally hit with ease, seem shaky. I took a couple of voice lessons on a whim after a friend randomly posted recommending Megan Sherrod. I’d been singing professionally for 30 years but I knew I had some bad habits and no matter how long you’ve been doing something, you can always learn and better your craft. Megan was awesome, and I felt like a total newbie tearing everything back down to basics like I was re-learning to walk. I only got to take two lessons before I completed my audition, as I really wanted to get it done.

I uploaded the videos and all the rest of the video interview, and figured, like every other step, I’d probably not hear anything for months. 15 hours later I had a contract offer via email. I was in shock. Now it was real. Two years later, here was this opportunity to “Run away and join the circus.” I immediate set in motion trying to get all my affairs in order. There was much to do. Firstly, I had the rare animal that is a steady acting gig. I was the Lead Actor/Director/Stage Manager for the Suicide Prevention program at Fort Hood every Wednesday. As an actor this is like a minor lottery win. I play in 8 bands, 6 of which are fairly active and had gigs on the calendar. I have directors and theatre troupes who contact me directly to offer me cool roles and opportunities. I have an agent who submits me for film, commercial, and television work. I did ask Carnival is there was perhaps a later contract I might take so I could fulfill all the various things I had on the calendar through the end of the year, but they couldn’t offer me anything specific, just keep me in the “talent pool” for future contracts that might come up, so I figured I better take the “bird in the hand.” I set things in motion and sent several difficult emails. As a freelancer, I’ve spent years growing roots, expanding my network, building a professional reputation, and now I’d be leaving that all behind (at least temporarily). I feared losing my momentum. That there would be nothing for me when I came back as the world would have moved on and forgotten about me. I hated leaving people high and dry as I take pride in my work ethic and professionalism and when I make a commitment, I take that very seriously. But I felt like I had to take this opportunity for so many reasons.

Firstly it was just an amazing opportunity. I’d be making a very nice living as a singer. Doing one of the things I love, for an actual good, steady paycheck. That’s like a major lottery win. This would be chance to finally knock a huge chunk off my credit card debt that’s been looming over me for as long as I can remember. Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to make a “living” through my various and many irons in many different fires without a day job for many years now, but not enough to hammer that debt down. I feel I need a spiritual reboot. I’d be living on a ship (vocalists also get their own single cabins I found out, much to my surprise and extreme happiness), with no food expenses (one of my biggest expenses). No constant hustling and wondering where my next audition, gig, job would come from. I could just turn off my mind, sing to packed houses 6 nights a week, eat for free, see ports of call, continue my health goals with the aid of the gym on board, and hopefully meet all kinds of new people. I’d be pushed outside my comfort zone and routines in a way that I think will be good for me. And who knows what opportunities could come my way during this adventure? It just seemed like something I could not say “No” to. Something that I need and will indeed help me grow and heal and come out of it a much deeper, better, more textured and layered person.

Also, when I really analyzed all the things I was leaving behind, as much as I love them and have great gratitude for them, none of them were anything I should be basing life decisions upon. Most of them will most likely never be anything more than they are now. That’s not an insult, that’s just their nature. Of course, they could lead to other things, but in and of themselves, they most likely will not ever grow in any way. The money hasn’t changed. The venues haven’t really changed. And like pretty much everything in life, they all had their own set of cons along with the pros. I tend to be a very nostalgic, sentimental creature of habit, so it was definitely hard to let go of all these things, even temporarily. But when I really took a hard look at everything, I knew I had to go on this journey.

It’s exciting, it’s scary, it’s likely the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m trying to just be present, grateful, and to just focus on all the positives, which are numerous. I will miss you all, I will miss my bands, I will miss acting, I will miss nature, I am almost depressed by the fact that I will literally miss all the good weather. I will leave just before it’s gets cool and come back just when it’s getting hot again and that really hurts me. I don’t know what the future holds. So I will try to simply enjoy my present and let go of the pain of the past and the fears about the future. I will use my time to read, sing, play guitar, meditate, and find other ways to better myself. There’s a Learning Center on the ship where you can learn languages or study other things. I will have internet to some degree though it may be painfully slow at times and I do have to pay (a discounted rate) for it, so I won’t be completely off the grid or anything.

My apologies to anyone I disappointed or had to bail on. Hopefully you all know me well enough to know that is not my way and this is truly an exceptional circumstance. And there is never a “good” time. There’s never a period where I just have nothing on the calendar for 6 months. I’m still in shock. There is still much to do (Medical exam, dental exam) before I go to Florida for a month for rehearsals 6 days a week before shipping out on the Carnival ship “Liberty”, sailing from Port Canaveral to the Bahamas which will be my home for six months. I’ve collected a ton of names who want me to send postcards (if you would like one, add your name and address here). I don’t think it will seem real until I’m there. I’m a believer in surrendering to the universe and letting it take you where it will. And this process has demonstrated that for me. Out of the 3 positions I applied for, I think I ended up with possibly the best one. I’ve never sung 6 nights a week so I’m hoping my voice holds up. I’m studying better habits and routines for voice health.

As Buckaroo Banzai says, “No matter where you go, there you are.” I don’t know where I’m going, but here I come.

The subject says it all. This post will contain real, raw, vulnerable talk about depression and suicide. You have been warned.

In the wake of Chris Cornell’s death being ruled a suicide, there has been a lot of talk about the subject. This great article talks about “When Suicide Doesn’t Make Sense” and really got me thinking. I realized that the Chris Cornell situation resonates with me more than usual. Because I too have felt that darkness and I believe that I too fall into that category of people where others would be horrifically surprised if I ever committed suicide. I don’t think anyone would say or think “Well, it’s sad, but not surprising. He was someone who seemed to have a lot of demons to battle,” or anything.

Now just to head off any alarm bells or concerns, I am fine and I honestly don’t think I could or would ever kill myself. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. That doesn’t mean I haven’t laid in bed at night and just wished for a quiet death in my sleep and to not wake up to another day. I have felt that darkness. The darkness that is a lie but seems so real. I have called a suicide prevention line. I have composed suicide notes in my head and once even wrote one out, not because I actually had intentions, but just to see if actually writing it helped as an exercise, or an emotional purge like many say journaling can be. I have contemplated the ways in which I would do it if I ever did. The most painless. Ways in which I would just disappear and never be found and no one would know what ever happened to me. I have fantasized about running away and starting a new life under a new identity and “Heath Allyn” just becoming a mysterious unsolved disappearance (though when followed through, this idea is laughable to me as I could never do that either).

When Owen Wilson attempted suicide, many had the same reaction as to Chris Cornell: wonder and disbelief. “But he’s rich and famous and has a great life!” At that time, I was lucky enough to also not understand. I didn’t condemn him or judge him at all, I just didn’t understand what could have possibly driven him to that. Then I distinctly remember a day not too terribly long ago when I came to the realization that I now understood. I didn’t want to. I longed for that time when it was a completely alien concept to me, but now the understanding was there.

I think a key point that people don’t seem to understand is that when people are driven to suicide, it is usually because the person legitimately feels like everyone and the world in general would be better off without them. It is a delusion but it is not out of selfishness or weakness or whatever other stigmas exacerbate mental illness and its ramifications. In fact, this is one of the key details that tells me I am not in danger of becoming another victim of mental illness. The fact that even in my darkest hours, I could never kill myself because I know how much it would devastate those who love me. There have been times I felt trapped by that, in fact. I didn’t want to be here any more but I “couldn’t do that to other people.”

I am generally a truly, genuinely positive person who strives to be a shining light in the world. I constantly work on myself and have come a long way. It’s not a front or a happy face I put forward to the world, it is truth. Few see, experience, know, or hear about the darkness I’ve experienced and that’s why I think my suicide would fall into that category of shocking and unexpected. I don’t write this for sympathy, pity, or because I need help or anything. I write this for everyone out there fighting their own demons and battles to let you know you are not alone. Every single person you see is probably fighting some degree of unknown, unseen darkness. People that you would never expect have anything in common with you. It’s a tragedy that help is so hard to get in this country and usually the hardest for those who need it most. I love therapy, but I can’t afford it (Update: I can now thanks to the amazing organization, Health Alliance for Austin Musicians and The SIMS Foundation). That’s probably a pretty common situation, but keep fighting. Keep searching. There are many avenues. Talk to friends. Call a hotline. Try yoga. Read Eckhart Tolle. See a psychic. Read a book. Listen to music (that battles the demons, not that feeds them). Watch movies (again, seek out material that helps support you, not that helps you spiral).

Another very insidious aspect is that when you need that help, you don’t want to reach out for it. I know there are countless people I could call and who would want to be there for me, but when you are in that darkness, you often do not want to reach out for help despite all the people who have offered to be there or all the postings about suicide prevention numbers (800-273-8255 for the record).

One thing I find so interesting about the human psyche and depression specifically, is that it is self reinforcing. It makes you avoid all the things that would help (out of protection for itself, I suppose) and seek out that which feeds it and strengthens it. I don’t care who you are, the world is not better without you. It needs you. If we can each bring even a tiny, dim light, together we can be a supernova. We can defeat the darkness, though it will try its hardest to convince you otherwise.

I don’t usually do these year end summary things but someone said they liked reading them and it seemed a particularly eventful year for me, so without thinking about it too much, here is a quick summary.

• Had $4000 worth of work done to my car.
• While that car was in the shop, got rear ended so hard it totaled the borrowed car I was in, spun me 180 degrees into an intersection, and I didn’t remember anything for a few minutes.
• Elly moved in with me while the condo she bought was being renovated.
• Got to use my acting and musical talents in the great original play, 100 Heartbreaks, which I loved with a passion. So much so, I’m pretty sure the director hates me because of my impassioned opinions.
• We then both moved into the super sweet renovated condo which we love so much.
• On the 4th of July, narrowly avoided getting hit by a truck that was t-boned and flew right at me landeing inches from me on its side as detailed here.
  

  My view of the crash that nearly included me.

• About 45 minutes later as also detailed above, I was hit by an oncoming swerving car that luckily hit my back left side, causing me to swerve across the oncoming lane, through a ditch and fence and stopping in a field, totaling that car which had just had $4000 worth of work done earlier in the year.
• My grandfather, Dr. James F. Cooper died. He was a amazing man and beloved figure in the community and the tributes from all over including so many former patients, friends, etc. (such as this one), really drove home what an impact he made. It also inspired this post from me.

  On Thursday, I paid tribute to the life of Dr. James Cooper on the House floor. Dr. Cooper was a veteran of World War II and the Korean War, a physician, and an active VFW member .Posted by Rep. Bill Flores on Saturday, October 3, 2015

• The day after my grandfather’s funeral, I went to visit my dying father for what would be the last time. On September 16 he died from pancreatic cancer and I wrote this eulogy for him.
• I played many gigs with 3 different bands, one of which I’ve been with since 1994.
• I had the pleasure of acting in many different films, commercials, plays, projects, etc. and work alongside many amazing people including a short film with Lance Henrikson!
• Got out and auditioned (and was cast in) Control Issues, an amazing improv show at The Hideout with some of the best people you could ask to perform with.
• I started a new journey with a new agent, Jason at Acclaim Talent is the best!
• I made my living doing only what I love with no day job.
• I battled a lot of frustration, depression, envy, negativity, etc. as we all do.
• I started up my yoga practice again and am on 564 consecutive days of meditation practice.
• I tried my best to find gratitude in every day for all the things in my life.
• I was lucky enough to have the best, most supportive, amazing partner through every day of highs, lows and all the in betweens. Everything is better and easier with a team, even if you sometimes feel like it’s just two of you against the world.
• I continued the incremental (sometimes imperceivable) progress in my career and in my lifelong journey to be the best me I can be. And I look forward to the journey never ending.

I love you all and wish you all happiness in the new year. Thanks to those who love me back regardless of my flaws, May we all enrich each others’ lives and the world at large together. Light and love will always prevail even if it sometimes feels otherwise. Happy New Year!

Up until recently, if you asked me “Are you depressed?” I would have said “Absolutely not. We all have our ups and downs but I’m not depressed.”

The more I’ve learned about depression, the more I’ve realized that maybe I am. The thing is, it’s such a vague word. There’s so many levels at which it can exist. And, unfortunately, it’s kind of a dirty word. Most of don’t want to say it, especially in relation to ourselves. We think of it as this huge thing. Like if you’re “depressed,” that a big, giant, serious issue. That’s not to say that it isn’t, necessarily, but not always. It can be insidiously subtle.

I just thought I was lazy. Uninspired. That I have no willpower to do the things I know I need to do. I’m unproductive. I’m in the worst shape I’ve been in in over a decade. My career isn’t what I’d like it to be. And yet, I often act counter-productively. there’s things I know I could do, that I need to do, and I don’t, or feel that I can’t. I continue to eat crap and want to sleep a lot.

One day Elly (who battles depression herself) said “I think you might be depressed,” and my gut reaction was to resist. I’m not depressed! I’m just in a slump, or lazy, or tired, or just down this week.

The point of this post is not to get comfort or reassurance or virtual hugs or support. The point of this post is to let everyone else out there know, you’re not alone. More people than you know are probably in the same boat. It’s hard to talk about. It’s hard to admit. Every time I thought about making this post, it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk about it. Or admit it. Or be seen or judged as a “depressed” person. Or be a depressed person.

Now I’m lucky in that my depression (if that’s what it is) is fairly mild and just makes me think I’m a lazy person with absolutely no willpower or discipline (which may be true as well). I truly am, in general, a very happy, silly person with a wonderful life and tons of gratitude for all that I have. That’s not a mask or a front. And that’s what makes it complicated. How can that co-exist with any form of depression, no matter what the “level”? We are complex beings, my friends.

So if you are or have ever been depressed, let me assure you, you are not broken, you are not a freak and it’s not a dirty word never to be spoken. You are in the company of some of the best, brightest, most talented people in the world and throughout history. It does not devalue you as a person. There are so many people fighting battles you know nothing about. Be assured that we are all a community. We are all on our individual journeys but also a collective journey together. Stay strong friends and always remember this: The opposite of Love isn’t Hate, it’s Fear. Love is light. Love is always the answer. Love is my religion. Well that and Jedi. Love Jedi.

Sounds like a band. Or a really bad movie.

My father, Paul Allyn, died peacefully today after a brief battle with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

My mother, Kathie, and my father met and married at 16 and 18, respectively. They had me at 17 and 19. I don’t have many memories of my father actually being part of my daily life as my parents split up when I was around 3, I believe (I’m sure mom will correct me on any facts I get wrong…I’ve never been good with dates).

Dad gives me my first microphone at 6 months old.

Not too long after that he moved back to New Jersey, where he’d grown up. Growing up, I rarely saw him. We would fly up to visit every so often, and we would always talk on holidays and such, but for the first 30 years of my life or so, I probably only actually saw him in person enough times to be counted on one hand. I think this typifies the unconventional relationship that we always had which was that we were never “estranged” or anything but sometimes years might pass with minimal communication as we all get wrapped up in life and time flies faster than we realize, but we would always remain close and pick back up like no time had passed. We had a very low maintenance, guilt free but great relationship. After a visit when I around 16 (I think), I wouldn’t see him again for another 13 years or so, and yet somehow there was nothing “weird” about this.

Paul was born in Japan (his father was Art, an American soldier, his mother Aiko, a Japanese woman). From a very early age he became involved in all manner of martial arts. By the end of his life, he was a recognized master in many of them at a level akin to his idol, Bruce Lee. He even had devised his own system, Sento Kunren Ho, or “combat training method.” The family would eventually move to New Jersey. After his stint in Texas where he met mom and had me, he returned to New Jersey where he eventually became a police officer which amused many of his acquaintances back in Texas since, at least as I’ve heard it, he had a bit of a reputation as a hell raiser. I have no idea how much is true and how much is “fishing stories” embellished by time, but I’ve heard he used to like to walk into bars and start trouble just so these rednecks could be surprised at the ass whipping delivered from this 5’7″ lithe man. Back in NJ, he got married a second time to Cathi and had 3 more kids, Kymberlea, Karlea and A.J. He eventually retired early as a Lieutenant, separated from Cathi and moved to Florida to be near his parents.

One of my childhood visits to NJ.

Of my visits to NJ, I remember loving Great Adventure, a Six flags type amusement park. I remember all of us going to a haunted house once, and I got too scared not very far in and a worker had to radio for someone to come escort me back out the entrance while the rest of the family finished going through. I remember a trip to the boardwalk where the smell of the sea air accompanied attempts at carnival games. In one of my earlier visits, I remember a TV with no channel knob where they had to use a pair of pliers to change the channel. I remember a martial arts competition, where for some reason they also had a Garfield mirror for sale that I took home. Donut shops (sometimes stereotypes happen for a reason). I remember at least 3 of their residences and his workout room in his house. I remember him buying me a shoge (a very cool martial arts weapon) that my uncle Jim would later end up breaking. I remember playing my new Duran Duran record on the record player in Kym’s room where I was staying in the spare bed.

Paul was also a musician. In his younger years he played guitar and sang in many bands both in NJ and Texas. In fact, he played with Donnie Wilson who I would later meet in community theatre and jam with in my own youth, and then many years even later than that, I would end up in a band with that we have now been in for over 20 years. In his adulthood he let all his musical pursuits fade away. Then around 2000, a big family reunion was brewing down in Florida so we made plans for me to come visit and see everyone for the first time in far too many years. He asked me to pick out a good acoustic guitar for him and bring it along so he could pick it back up. I brought him a decent Alvarez acoustic and he picked it up like he had never stopped playing. We were jamming Beatles together in no time at all. I don’t think I saw him again until 2009.

Dad sitting on my lap at the 2000 reunion.

We had kept up our periodic phone calls during that time and one day I’m at a band gig back in my hometown of College Station when he calls me to say hi. There’s something suspicious about the conversation which leads me to believe he is here for a surprise visit. This suspicion is confirmed when he slips up and misspeaks about something I can’t remember, but says something about “here” instead of there. I let it pass without calling him on it to not ruin the surprise. Sure enough he makes a surprise appearance at our gig. It’s his first time back in Texas since he left almost 30 years prior. This begins a new renaissance in our relationship. For the next several years, calls and even visits are very frequent. I find it so amusing how alike we are in certain ways despite him never being an active part of my life. It really drives home the effect of genetics. We talk on the phone like friends, not just father and son. Amusingly, I find myself taking the role of wisdom dispenser most of the time. It’s like our roles have flipped. When he would visit, we would play acoustic guitars together, harmonize on Beatle songs (“No Reply” was a favorite), and just hang out. We would walk to Torchy’s tacos which he repeatedly mispronounced “Torky’s.”

Dad visiting with me and Donnie Wilson before one of our gigs.

Then there was another summer night in 2009 when after one of my gigs, a woman came up to me and told me that her friend wanted to talk to me but was really nervous. Why? Because apparently my dad was also her dad. I told her there was no reason to be nervous and I spent some time talking to the half sister I didn’t know I had. Apparently her mother had told her about her real dad because I was a local around the same age playing in bands around town and so her mother wanted to make sure that if we ever met, we didn’t start dating or something. The next day, I was filming a short film and started messaging dad to break this news to him. He had known of the possible existence of this daughter but had never known for sure. We all met up and instantly took each other into our respective families. She visited dad in his final days as well.

In 2010, his parents had a joint 80th birthday party. Obasan (what I’d always called hi mother) had requested, half jokingly, that I write her a song. Not just any song, but one where I sing by myself and then people can sing along on the choruses. One night during my visit, I took some (really crappy) cell phone video of Obasan and Dad singing together (videos here and here). During this visit when they were playing some of her favorite music, I learned of two songs in particular that I took note of. Then, because I’m a horrible procrastinator, the day before the big party, I sat down to finally write a song for her detailing her history with my Grandfather. And since that wasn’t enough work on my plate, I also set out to learn these two songs that were among her favorites. I got the lyrics to my freshly composed song to my uncle Marc to put on the overhead projector so people could sing along on the choruses. Here was the result:

We then stumbled through the other two songs I’d learned for her, “Sukiyaki” by Kyu Sakamoto, and “Those Were The Days” by Mary Hopkin. All in all, I’d say it went over very well.

I got dad to get up and sing and play a tune or two with my band (Beatles, naturally).

My dad was always one of my biggest fans, sharing my songs, commercials, movies, etc., beaming with pride (as does mom…I’m lucky to have such proud and supportive parents). He would be the first to tell you about the flaws he had, especially as a younger man. He never wanted to bother you with his problems. Which is why our communication was less frequent after he was diagnosed with COPD, a degenerative lung condition. He had always been a very active and fit guy but a lifetime of smoking had irrevocably damaged his lungs and now with COPD, he found himself with no energy and short of breath all the time. When I would call, I could hear how it had sucked the vitality from him, but he just kind of kept to himself and didn’t call much because that was his way when he was less than great. So I’d make sure to check in frequently and I could tell he enjoyed the outlet though he would never initiate it. I did my best to just be a positive light. Once I called and he casually remarked “You know I was in the hospital, right?” No, I had not known he was in the hospital. In his last couple of years with COPD, he wasn’t up for travel any more so the frequent visits had ceased. In the years since I’d seen him, his father had also died.

One of my favorite pictures of us being goofy with Disney mouse ears during a visit to Florida.

This last August, Obasan was preparing for her yearly trip to NJ to visit her other children, Dori and Marc. On a whim, my dad asked if she had room for him and off they went for a family visit. While he was there, he started not feeling well. Thinking it was probably related to the COPD, they took him to the hospital. He was shockingly diagnosed with stage 4 umbilical pancreatic cancer. They explored the options, but pancreatic cancer has one of the lowest survival rates and in his weakened state, chemo wasn’t even an option. It was at this point that it was decided to put him on hospice to make his final weeks as comfortable as possible. Dori and her wife, Laurie had a spare bedroom that had been used when another friend had spent their final days there as well, so I believe it was already fairly well equipped (like an adjustable bed and such). Dori and Laurie are two of the most amazing people on the planet, and took such good care of him, as well as any visiting family, and this despite the fact that Dori is on crutches after foot surgery! Obasan stayed there the whole time as well. In line with my dad’s nature, he chose to keep it pretty low key as he “didn’t want a bunch of drama over it.”

Me, Dad and Uncle Marc (Dad’s brother) goofing during a visit.

The day after my Grandfather’s funeral (on my mom’s side), I flew up for a 4 day visit to see my dad for what I knew would be the last time. He was frail and bedridden. He had aged more in the last 2 years than in the previous 60. Most of his time was spent sleeping and just trying to be comfortable. Most of my time was spent on the couch in the living room with Dori, Laurie and Obasan. When it was time for his meds every 3 hours, I would go in and say hi and then if he remained awake, I would stay for as long as it seemed feasible just chatting and spending time with him. At night, I’d borrow Dori’s car and head to my hotel 6 miles away just to sleep. It was an odd time, being that we both knew he was basically just waiting to die, but a good one that also had moments of humor and conversation and just good time together.

When I learned of his last minute whim to travel to NJ with Obasan, I asked him “So, do you think maybe you knew something that you didn’t know you knew?”

“Maybe,” he said. I still wonder if something told him to go back to his home turd where he spent most of his life. Obasan also commented on what a blessing it was that it happened there with netter doctors and with Dori, Laurie around and Marc and Kem in driving distance. She thought it would have been much worse in many ways had it happened back in Florida. On my last night there, I sat on the bed beside him watching a baseball game that was still going into the 12th inning. Just like dad.

The next morning, I went back over to wait for my ride to the airport. When it was about 5 minutes away, I went in to say goodbye. It’s a very uniquely strange feeling to say a farewell with such finality. Dad had his eyes closed. I told him I had to go.

He asked “Go where?”

“Back to Texas,” I said.

I’ll never forget that moment when his eyes suddenly filled with an urgency and desperation, realizing I was leaving. though moving was hard for him, he rolled up to hug me and I hugged him back. Tears were shed but always through a smile. I told him that my body may be leaving but that my mind, heart and soul were there with him 24/7.

“As they always have been,” he said. He told me that when he got to the gate, he’d tell them to save a special place for one hell of a guitar player someday. He told me that if I wanted to, I could always go by his place in Florida to see if there was anything I wanted as a keepsake.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Dad,” I said as I squeezed his hand, a tear rolling down my cheek. “You’re still here now.” I left a glow-in-the-dark alien guitar pick on his night stand. We exchanged “I love you” and I left my father for the last time. As I waited for my plane in the Newark airport, it was actually familiar and I could remember being there with him and Cathi

He held on a lot longer than most thought he would, but it wasn’t much of a life towards the end. At least not one I know he’d want to live, so I knew he was ready to be at peace. Today, I decided to change my Facebook cover photo to a tribute to him. About 20 minutes later, someone inquired how he was doing, and we got the word that he had passed peacefully about 10 minutes previously.

You’ve all probably heard me say it a thousand times by now, but in times like these, I always take great comfort from the scientific Law of Conservation of Energy that states energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only change forms. We are all made, quite literally of stardust, and when our bodies are returned to and recycled by the universe, our energy, including whatever energy makes up our “souls,” or the synapses in our brain or anything else can only change forms. It is not destroyed. Dad and I were very similar spiritually. We tried to concentrate on the positive and would never want to burden anyone. I know he wouldn’t want anyone being sad or devastated by his passing (but would also understand that it’s inevitable to varying degrees).

I always choose to celebrate a life rather than mourn a death, and while many would say 63 is far too young, my father still lived a hell of a life full of love and many wonderful adventures. This is the closest death has ever hit me (I mean I guess you don’t get much closer than the source of half your DNA) but I am at peace, as I am happy that he is as well. Please save any condolences and instead hug your loved ones and celebrate life. Do something that brings a smile to your face and try to bring as many smiles to others as you can. You don’t have to be sorry for my loss, for my heart is full of everything I gained from my father. I hesitate to stop writing this, as I’m sure time will bring a million more things to mind that I wanted to say but for the moment I’ll just say, “until later.”

Golden Slumbers, Dad.

“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make”
-The Beatles “The End”

Yesterday, in one of the eulogies at my grandfather’s funeral, I heard a term I had never heard before: living the dash. Meaning that in the end, there will be your birthday and the date you die, and in between them is your dash. And how you live your dash is the most important.

This also got me thinking about perspective. There seems to be a lot of really bad mojo going on at the moment for a whole lot of people. I often hear people curse a particular year for being so horrible. However I truly think that if you look very closely, there’s always just as much good to be found. Sometimes you’re so focused on the negative that you blind yourself to all the good.

Let me use my own life as an example. You could look at my 2015 and see this: 2 automobile accidents, one totaling a friend’s car, one totaling my car. I’m in the worst shape I’ve been in for the last 12 years. I’m frustrated at some of my career obstacles. My grandfather died. My father is on hospice with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I could probably find a lot more to bitch about as well. And there’s plenty more apparently going on in other people’s lives that I know.

But you know what? That’s not how I see my 2015. Amazingly, I emerged from both accidents almost entirely uninjured when both could have easily been fatal if any of a thousand details were different. I moved in with my amazing girlfriend into an amazing place in an amazing neighborhood. I couldn’t ask for anyone more loving or supportive of me. I am basically pretty damn healthy, now have a gym membership and both she and I are prosperous enough to lead a pretty great life, and I’m not working some soul sucking job but doing things I love and am passionate about.

My grandfather led an amazing and long life and in his death I heard so many stories and learned so many things about him that I never knew. I saw a humbling outpouring of people talking about how much he’d affected their lives. 2 hours of visitation with a line out the door the entire time of people waiting to give their condolences and memories of this great man. I saw many relatives I rarely get to see.

Even now, I marvel at our technogical world beyond what scifi imagined not all that long ago as I use the airplane wifi. I joked that this is what is feels like to be a god. A slow, lethargic God. I’m on my way to see my dad, and to put it totally bluntly, probably for the last time. But I have the luxury of doing do. And had to pass up a callback audition to do so. I have a choice in how I feel and view the world and my life. And as much as possible I choose love and joy and gratitude. Because even as I sit here now, I could easily come up with far more good things to list than bad. The universe is going to throw things at you that you don’t want or feel you aren’t ready for or can only see as “bad things” but nothing is inherently good or bad. There’s always Yin to Yang and vice versa. We are all human and will not always succeed at our endeavors or efforts to live how we want to live or be who we want to be. And that’s just fine. Just do your best to make sure that once that final date comes, that the dash in between was what mattered. Have a dense and well-lived dash.

I had just finished playing a great private party with my band. There’s were tons of people, food and a fireworks show as big as any you would ever see, all at someone’s house. It was now time for my 2 hour drive back home to Austin. Before I had even got out of town, I was stopped at a stop light with no one in front of me. A pickup truck was driving through the intersection in front of when suddenly it was t-boned by another car. The truck went up on its side and came hurtling directly at my car. Now, I tend to be very calm and in control in crisis situations, so I wanted to throw it in reverse but I didn’t have time to assess what was behind me and didn’t want to end up plowing into someone, so I watch as this hurtling pickup skidded to a stop on its side…inches from my front bumper. I then reversed a little (I’m not sure why at this point, other than to get a little distance from the carnage). Everyone poured out of their cars behind me, as did I to call 911, and assess if anyone needed immediate help. When I could see there was nothing more I could do, I figured it was best to just get out of the way and got back in my car. While I was waiting for the police to clear everyone and for the people behind me to get back in their cars and re-route so that we could all leave the scene, I took this photo from my car.

My view of the crash that nearly included me.

Eventually we were cleared and I drove on, stopping briefly to get a drink. A guy in the store wondered what was going on with all the police, fire and EMS folks, so I told him my first hand account. He was not expecting such a vividly detailed answer. I then hit the road back to Austin, delayed by about 20 minutes or so by the accident. About an hour later, I was on Highway 21 in the middle of nowhere. There was hardly any traffic as it was 1:30 A.M. I noticed a car coming toward me from the distance. Then I noticed that it was swerving. Back and forth. A lot. I went into high alert and could not tell is this was someone out of control or just being an idiot goofing around. Faster than I expected, the car was upon me and swerved directly toward me, smashing into the left rear of my car. The side airbags deployed, and my back end swung wildly around pointing me across the oncoming lanes (which were, thankfully, empty). It was one of those moments they talk about when everything went into slow motion. I remember as I got hit, thinking (and possibly saying out loud) “FUCK! GODDAMMIT! SERIOUSLY?” I remained calm and tried to get control of the vehicle as best as I could. I had stopped spinning and was now headed directly across the oncoming lane toward a ditch. I though ” Oh, shit, I hope this ditch isn’t too bad and that this doesn’t hurt too much.” Next thing I knew I was over the ditch and through a barbed-wire fence, pleasantly surprised at the lack of impact or pain. It was then that I realized that my car was still in drive and actively propelling forward in this, thankfully, large and empty field. I came to a stop and gathered myself. I seemed to be fine. I got out and immediately called 911. Where was I, they asked? I told them to hold on, put them on speakerphone and pulled up Google maps (thankful for both the phone signal and internet connection). I couldn’t read the tiny county road number, but luckily I had long ago enabled the accessibility feature where I could tap with 3 fingers to zoom in. I did so and told them I was on Highway 21, just north of county road 402. They said they would send someone right away. When asked about the other car, I told them I had briefly seen them stopped way down the road, but that they seemed to be gone now.

I called Elly who was fast asleep at home. I told her the details and that I was fine. Since I was about an hour from home still, she got in the car that she had very luckily borrowed from a friend who let’s her use it whenever we need a second car for some reason. Not knowing exactly what would play out, she just started driving toward me, knowing she’d have to pick me up somewhere. I assessed the damage. It looked like they had hit me right around my left rear tire. It was at a slightly funny angle but nothing too terribly alarming. I had no rear bumper and the left rear tail light was broken. The left rear door wouldn’t open. I checked my music equipment in the back and it was fine which made me breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Then I waited. In a dark field in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, which, needless to say, was surreal. There was a bright moon which was nice and I could leave the car running to keep my phone charging and keep the headlights on for better visibility. I meditated. Got bitten by a lot of mosquitoes or something. About 30 minutes later or so, the highway patrol showed up. He asked how I managed this on a completely deserted highway. I laughed and said “right?” and gave him the details. He asked what I planned to do with the car and I said I had no idea what my options were. He told me to call my insurance which I did and reported everything. They said they could transfer me to someone to arrange a tow or I could just have the officer call a local tow, which is what I did. I told the officer about my other close call and he said something like “You better watch it. You’re luck is gonna run out!” (in a totally good-natured way).

By the time I was done with insurance, the officer, etc. and the tow truck showed up it must have been at least another 30 minutes. The tow truck driver was a very amiable guy who pondered how the hell to get my car out of this field when there was a ditch and a (busted) fence in the way. I told him had no idea if it was driveable but that I could certainly try to back it up to the road.

“I mean, what am I gonna do? Mess it up worse?” I said, which made him laugh heartily. I backed it up. Got stuck a few times where I had to work it forward and back but eventually got it back to road and parked on the shoulder where getting in on the truck was nice and simple. Elly arrived right at this time and we got all the stuff we could from the car and packed into the teeny tiny BMW Z3 as best we could. Now this thing is tiny. We barely fit my yoga mats and a few small things in the trunk. We stashed a small fan back by the rear window. My roller case went at my feet and my guitar was basically on top of me in the passenger seat. It was uncomfortable, but the only way to get all my stuff home.

We were both a bit on edge watching for any other late night 4th of July jackasses but we made it home and to bed by about 5 A.M. We had planned not to go anywhere on Sunday but a last minute offer from Craigslist to trade a really cool guitar for one I was trying to sell ended up with us driving halfway to San Antonio to make the exchange, and once again, I found myself on a 45 minute, very uncomfortable car ride wedged under a guitar.

Monday and Tuesday I did all the dealing with insurance, getting a rental lined up, faxing them paper work to show that I had just had $4000 worth of work done earlier this year including a brand new $3000 hybrid batter with a 4 year warranty, which is basically the biggest repair you can make on a hybrid vehicle short of replacing the engine. I am hoping this factors in to whatever decisions they make about repairing the car or totaling it.

Not surprisingly, this whole experience has had an affect on me. Especially when paired with the wreck I was in at the beginning of this year when my car was in the shop and I was driving our same friend’s (previous) Z3 to College Station and back to pick up my newly custom painted guitar as well as carrying an acoustic that was over 100 years old back to a shop in Austin as a favor to a friend. While stopped at a light I noticed someone skid to a halt and veer to the right to avoid hitting a car a few behind me. Then as I was stopped at the next light, this same person (I’m not 100% positive, but I think it was the same person) plowed into the back of my stopped (and borrowed) car, spinning me 180 degrees and giving me a mild concussion for the next month. It took a few minutes for me to get my senses back and I didn’t really remember the actual accident, or the texts that I had sent after getting hit, or calling Elly and talking somewhat incoherently to her. Both guitars, despite being in soft cases and on the front passenger against the dash and laying up the seat, were completely unharmed. As was I, in the end (though I had some soreness and killer headaches for about a month, but several doctor visits confirmed that I was fine).

So after almost 30 years of driving mostly uneventfully (a few minor fender benders like getting rear-ended twice), I’ve now had 2 (and almost 3) pretty scary crashes. None of them my fault, which is actually the scariest thing. You can be the best, most defensive driver in the world with great control, reactions and cool in a crisis but there is so much not in your control. So many idiots that can still make you a target. I’ve definitely felt the insidious anxiety deep within me. I haven’t slept well since that night, which I’m actually not sure is at all related, but I’m also not sure that it’s not. I’m a little more jumpy in the car for the moment. A little apprehensive about the gigs I have coming up and all the driving I have to routinely do for my careers as an actor and musician. My mind sometimes goes to horrific scenarios. I’m trying my best though not to let the fear win. Living in fear is never good, nor necessary. While it’s easy to think things like “Oh man, what if there had been oncoming traffic? What if they had hit me head on? What if that ditch had been deeper or worse? Or the fence was sturdier? Or there was a tree? Or instead of a field it was a lake? Or an overpass? Or I’d been killed? Or maimed and couldn’t play guitar? Or…or…or…”

But then I realize that you can also take everything I just said and turn it into something positive. Like “Wow! I really am so very, very fortunate. So lucky. Someone is watching out for me and no matter what everything will be fine and I’m going to live my life under that assumption and not in fear.” And I will. But I’m also human, and sometimes it will be a fight.

I once had my tarot cards read, which I kind of went on as a lark just for fun, but by the end of it, I was it had really had a profound effect on me. It was a really cool experience and just many of the things she said were eerie, in the best possible way. During this session, among many other things, she mentioned (paraphrasing) “You have two…well they don’t really want me to say because they know you won’t really like this word, but for lack of a better term, guardian angels. And they know you aren’t really religious and all that thus why you probably would balk a little at the term ‘angel’ but they just want you to know they’re there, and you can talk to them if you want.”

Well, great job, you two. Keep up the great work. Seems you’ve been working overtime.