Thinking Songs – Getting Inside Your Head


“Get out of your head” – that’s what I’ve been telling myself a lot lately. I’m realizing more and more how much my thoughts affect my feelings, emotions, energy, etc. Although I can’t control my feelings – though that doesn’t stop me from trying – I can pay closer attention, and ask “Why?” Is there a thought or belief that is driving my feelings? More often than not lately, fear is often the cause. And while I may not be able to remove the fear, I can reframe – rethink – and ultimately, change how I feel.

I know it sounds crazy. But it works.

So I’m a lot more intentional about what I choose to focus on. And, I realize the music I listen to can really affect my overall mood and activity levels.

So, when I’m working around the studio, I like to play music. Sometimes, I need to focus. Sometimes I need to be inspired. Other times, I need to feel energized. Sometimes, I want to feel sad. Other times, I need to know there is a reason to remain hopeful. 

So one say, I did a search for Apple Music “thinking songs” under Playlists. And I found a gold mine! I can literally get inside other people’s head – and “try their music” on for size. Some playlists help me think. Others distract me. I discover new music – some I like, some I don’t. And, in getting inside someone else’s head – magically – I find I’m no longer stuck inside mine.

Get inside Gwyneth’s head…

Get inside Jessica’s head…

Get inside Richard’s head….

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Campus Tours & Cultural Racism: 50 Years Later #truthfultuesday


I’m just realizing that I was born in June of the year MLK was assassinated – 50 years ago this year. For my parent’s generation, this assassination was on the level of the Challenger Explosion or 9/11. We all remember where we were on the day when…

I remember my mom telling me that she was taking a tour of the campus at Purdue in Lafayette when the news unfolded about the assassination. I realize now that she told me this story several times over the years – it’s etched in my memory.

But I realize now she was talking about the assassination of President Kennedy – not MLK. My dad was going to Purdue for his PhD in Chemical Engineering in the early 60’s, which is why my sister was actually born in Lafayette, IN! So, mom was definitely talking about President Kennedy when she told me that story.

In fact, I don’t remember my parents ever talking about the assassination of MLK in any memorable way. And yet, they both were on the same level in terms of national and cultural significance.

That observation struck me this year for some reason. I think it’s the turning 50 thing 😉 It helped me see things I hadn’t noticed before about my cultural upbringing. It was a stark reminder that my cultural upbringing was pretty white. Most of my cultural references are therefore related to and biased towards white American history. A lot was left out in the history books, but also in the conversations we probably had around the dinner table, at Scouts or in Sunday School.

I imagine that was a difficult and confusing time for my parents – as it was indeed for a generation…indeed, much like it is today, for my generation. I know a little about the families in which my parents were raised. We had our share of colorful characters and family stories. Like it or not, they shape who we become and how we think about the world in which we live.

So let’s be truthful. We all live with prejudice and bias. I face it many times a day. Sometimes, I’m aware of it and catch myself. Most times, I’m either tired or unconsciously aware. So, the question isn’t “Do I have prejudice thoughts about another human being?” The question is, “Am I aware of my learned bias and prejudice? How do they affect my actions and decisions?”

Bias is learned. And it can be unlearned.

I’m confronted with this almost every time I interact with another person! My life experiences around gender, race, religion, sexuality, etc. affect how I think of others – which is very subjective based on my experience. The reality is my thoughts are likely not the complete – or accurate – story! If I’m not careful, it’s very easy for me to act on my preconceptions and assume things about others that are likely not true.

And we know what they say about assumptions…

I’m better off assuming that we more similar than we are different – then acting off that assumption and not my first reaction!  Not easy, but that’s what I’ve learned is important for me.

I wish I could talk with my mom more about that day when she heard the news. I think I always let her comment about being at Purdue be the end of the conversation. That’s probably because talking about topics like race makes me uncomfortable. Looking back, I regret not opening up that up for deeper discussion. There are a lot of days I’d like to ask her about…but never found the courage or time to do so. With her gone, that ship has sailed. Such is the circle of life.

My dad celebrates his 80th birthday this year. I’ll be with him on his birthday in Florida. I have lots of questions that I want to do a better job of asking now, before the experiences and memories are lost with a generation…

#truthfultuesday

‘When You’re Accustomed to Privilege, Equality Feels Like Oppression’

My Personal Thoughts on Suicide Prevention & Recovery


Today is the last day of both National Suicide Prevention Month, and National Recovery Month. The fact that these share the same month resonates with me on so many levels. I’m a survivor of an abandoned suicide attempt – and on that same December night in 2009, entered my journey of long-term recovery from addiction. I still battle with depression and anxiety – but the hopelessness that once gripped me has lifted.

This month, I rode in Indiana’s 10th Annual Recovery Ride – with close to 100 motorcycles in a police-escort around I-465, and down 38th street to a downtown park. I still get goosebumps when I see the police motorcycles whip past our stream of motorcycles to leap from exit to exit, traffic signal to traffic signal, waving cars to pull over and wait…wait…for us, a group of former addicts and alcoholics, riding past in a victory celebration of life. I go back to remember – to celebrate – to show my gratitude to those who stood by my side and have loved me through my shadows.

I lost my mother to untreated alcoholism and have attended several other funerals for those who lost their battle to hopelessness and addiction. So for me, having National Recovery Month and Suicide Prevention Month are personal reminders of the how grateful I am for my life today – for each precious day. They aren’t all peachy keen, rainbows and unicorns. But, had I not paused for that one fateful moment and reconsidered my decision to end my life on December 21, 2009, I would have become another tragic victim of addiction.

As I reflect back on my darkest days of addiction, I clearly recall the shame and stigma I felt for being a meth addict. I had a middle-management career at Eli Lilly – I “had it made,” by all external signs. But, I can remember the fear that gripped me on many occasions when I thought about getting help. I literally was worried to get treatment, because I thought insurance would then know about my addiction, and my employer would find out, and my parents would know – and that fear of rejection held me back from getting help. Sounds stupid to write today – but it was very real for me. I had already faced years of rejection and shame around being gay. For me, that paled in comparison to what people would think if I told them about by rampant and self-destructive “double life” as an addict.

I had tried to “get clean” on my own several times. I had even tried NA once – I still remember my first meeting on 30th Street at the Bethlehem House. But, in my experience, meth isn’t something you just walk away from. So, when I chose life on December 21, 2009 – I called 911, because I wanted to put into motion a series of events that I couldn’t stop. I wanted to get into Fairbanks for help – and having just turned away from ending my own life, that fear, shame, rejection from “what others would think” fell away. I made essentially what was a “call for help” – a call to a suicide prevention line. And it opened up a whole new life – a life of family, friends, community, and most importantly – hope.

I could have chosen to be Arvin – or I could have chosen life.  Thankfully, I chose life…

Since then, I’ve found nothing but an amazing outcry of support.

  • My pastor and 5 friends drove from Indianapolis to Greenfield that grateful night to meet me at the hospital and make sure that for the next step in my journey, I wasn’t alone. I shared my story at church, and received a standing ovation from the congregation at Broadway.
  • My dad and sister came and stayed with me for several weeks, overlapping to ensure that my dogs were taken care of when I was at Fairbanks, and helping me “re-enter” life after in-patient treatment. My dad even came to two IOP sessions at Fairbanks with me. I’ll never forget that gift of time he shared with me.
  • For several years, friends joined me on January 1st for the New Year’s Resolution Run/Walk in downtown Indianapolis – a tradition that helped me brave each new year with sobriety, surrounded by friends.
  • In June of this year, my fiancé came with me to pick up another year token in my long-term journey of recovery from addiction. He held my hand, put his arm around me, and kissed me on the cheek. I wasn’t alone.
  • Just this week, my sister sent me a thank you card for her birthday present – and in it, thanked for me “choosing life” that grateful night.
  • Because of that choice, I’m able to celebrate my nephew’s birthday next week. I was able to take senior photos for my niece and nephew this Labor Day. And, in June, my three siblings and I all celebrated my dad’s 80th birthday together. The last time we were all together was for my mother’s funeral in 2013 – so it was a momentous occasion of family.

None of this would have been possible if I had given up – if I didn’t somehow believe, deep down inside, that somebody else cared for me more than I did at that moment of desperation. When I couldn’t love myself, others loved me with abandon – they met me in my home, invited me to brunch, allowed me to crash at their place so I wasn’t alone. For those friendships and family ties and acts of generous compassion, I’m thankful.

I chose to write this because I wanted to do something more than copy and paste a chain letter about Suicide Prevention Month. On December 21st, that wouldn’t have made a bit of difference – if anything, it would have been insulting. “You don’t even care enough to pick up the phone, to stop by and hold my hand, to sit with me in silence as I just sob.  See, I am unloveable and useless in this world.” For me, those posts are a slap in the face to my struggle – and more importantly, to those simple acts of grace and compassion that so many have shown me over the years – the time they took to stop, to care, to show up, to be present.

Instead, I hope someone reads this and finds a little hope from their struggles – and realizes that reaching out to ask for help will bring relief. “Everything will be alright, maybe not today, but eventually.” Or maybe someone else reads this and calls their friend to ask how they are doing today – or visits their brother, just to be with him, hold his hand and listen. Do something with your time and presence to plant a seed of hope – to help us see there is no shame or stigma in whatever struggle we are going through. And the more we talk about this, as my friend Mike always says, the more we give others permission to tell their story…

I also chose to write this so on those days when I struggle with darkness, I’m reminded of the light that shines through – that bells still can ring…

Lesson in Light

Keep tellin’ the story!