When I was in high school, I was a part of the men’s choir, Only Men Aloud or OMA for short. It was one of my favorite parts of my time as a teenager. It was a real constant for a good time. It may as well have been a fraternity the way we behaved and the games we played. We’d dub the freshmen with descriptive nicknames (except one kid who we just decided to start calling Doug despite the fact that was not even remotely close to his name). If you ever see me, remind me how we played a game called “All In”.

I remember a young man by the name of Jeff once ripped his pants in the middle of class. Our fearless leader, Mr. Watt, decided to take the moment to create a unifying memory and placed the the ripped pants above the classroom for all to see. There they hung, a symbol of rebirth from death. We even pledged allegiance to those khakis a few times. They stayed up there until the school flooded during Hurricane Harvey. Long live Jeff’s pants and what they represented.

One of my favorite traditions was after each concert, my better half in the widely acclaimed acoustic guitar duo Band Sanitizer, Aaron, would hop on the piano and lead us all in a rendition of “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed. We’d lock arms around each other in a circle and sing the timeless lyrics in our best Scott Stapp impressions. It was probably a bizarre sight for anyone outside of the circle, but we loved it.

I would quietly think about how this is all funny to us now, but a lot of these dorks I’d aligned myself with would probably grow up to be fathers some day and the song might take on some new meaning. It’s funny how a song can change meaning to you when the song itself hasn’t changed one bit, right?

Here in the year 2025, I’ve noticed a return to form culturally with what many are dubbing “Butt Rock”, featuring Creed as a flagship of this brand. They’re even co-headlining a festival with Nickelback, the other big name in the “genre”. I think it’s interesting to note that for so long, they were often cast out and ridiculed for simply making the music they were making. Granted, all of these bands are much richer than I so maybe I’m speaking to a weak point, but I have to wonder what caused this pendulum swing? The music didn’t change, so I guess we all did. What’s up? Are we seeking something familiar? Or something simpler? What really transformed the hearts of so many that we embrace something we once mocked?

The world continues to feel like a metaphorical daily volcanic eruption, with every notification popping up to tell us another horrible thing we should know. This is certainly the loneliest generation. But does it have to be?

I’m a waiter/bartender/substitute teacher/dogsitter with a degree I rarely use these days, so I know I probably don’t have the answer. Please take advice from someone who has completed a book more recently than me.

But I see videos of men belting along to “Higher” and “One Last Breath”, decades after the songs came out and I can’t help but wonder (is this my Carrie Bradshaw moment?) if the answer lies somewhere in there. I’m reminded of the community I felt in high school, all of us gathered around the piano, singing in unison. You see the crowds screaming “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan or when a bachelorette party gets a hold of a karaoke mic for “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. Campfires with acoustic guitars, pubs singing in unison with pints of lager in their hands, children’s choirs in Africa with the brightest smiles you’ve ever seen. Community and music are often the quickest way to catharsis and the world requires that of us. Life is hard, but it’s easier together.

All I know is, music isn’t worth it if it can’t be shared and all we’ve got on this big spinning ball is each other. So here’s to ripped pants, Scott Stapp and the future.

I’d found myself staring down my first finals week in college. The frightening monster I’d heard so much about. Late nights in the library, little to no sleep, the pressure weighing everyone down. My university did seem to make a point to try and help alleviate some of the stress. The fan favorite was the therapy dogs they’d park next to the cafeteria for students to meet. I certainly loved it but I’d quietly laugh because I knew those dogs were far more interested in whatever delicious smells were coming from the next room over. Food they’d never get to try. Accidentally cruel of you OCU, I hope those dogs got some treats!

But finals week meant Christmas break was right around the corner. I sat in my little twin bed, plucking along to “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer”. My suitemate, Greg, heard me playing and popped his head in. I always liked Greg. One of those guys that was everything he always claimed to be. Honest and sincere.

Greg also had a streak of saying some bizarre things. All of them were ultimately harmless but we all got a kick out of it.

As I stopped playing to chat with him, Greg said “You know, you should just take your guitar and start playing carols in the elevator. I think people would like it”.

“That’s a great idea, Greg. I’ll make a list of Christmas songs I know!”, I replied.

Greg had just changed my life. He followed up with…

“Yeah, and you’d definitely get mad pu**y doing that”

(I did not)

But I went into the elevator and started playing Christmas carols. I’ve always loved Christmas, and the music is the best part.

People were either shocked, surprised or bothered by me but I just kept playing. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was essentially busking.

Some students even made a point to sing along or gift me with candy. The Christmas spirit was alive and well in Walker Hall that day.

This eventually became a regular thing. I was even hired by one of the campus complexes to do it during orientation week. They paid me with a blu-ray player.

I had garnered some kind of reputation as the “Elevator Caroler”. Someone even wrote an article about me being an OCU cryptid. I’ve always loved Bigfoot and other cryptids so I was highly complimented.

In the midst of all of this, I was still an insecure mess. We don’t need to dwell on it, but despite my best efforts, it was more noticeable than I’d realized and the more I tried to hide it, the worse the reactions from others seemed to be. I would advise not living life like that.

I say this because during my final days of drama school, the seniors got one night to sit down and chat with our professors and get real about life after college. I stole a friend’s idea of asking the question “What advice would you give ME specifically?”. I received varied answers from the elders of our tribe. One professor looked me dead in the eye and said “Matt, not everything has to be funny….”.

I didn’t like how correct he was about me. When you don’t like yourself very much, you’re really afraid of someone knowing you, especially when you don’t remember giving them permission.

“How could he know that about me? Was it that obvious?”

(It was)

Another professor gave me traffic advice for LA. To this day, I can’t remember what he said but he was probably right.

I sat in the office of one professor who had influence among a lot of my peers. I didn’t enjoy her classes very much because it forced me to confront things about myself in front of others or just simply sit still and be with myself. Combine that with the fact that for a semester I was the one singular man in my class and you’ve got a real problem on your hands, folks.

I was pretty convinced she didn’t think very highly of me. To be fair, I don’t think I’d given her much reason to think otherwise, but I asked her the question anyway.

She thought for awhile, really taking her time.

I appreciated that.

She replied, “Matt, you know how you play guitar in the elevator? I’ve seen videos, it’s really fun that you do that. I think you’re gonna need to do something like that. Find your thing. Whatever it is. I certainly don’t know but it’s gotta be from you. Find your thing”.

I couldn’t believe it. How could she have known about that? And to care enough to remember? Had I somehow made an impact?

It certainly impacted me. Years went by and I’d be reminded of that little nugget of wisdom from a source I would have never expected to be given a chance to receive.

You have no idea the things people notice about you. You have no idea the compliments they haven’t given you or the things they want for you. I try to tell everyone now to consider the idea “What if all of the nice things people say about you are true?”.

Despite what the world tries to tell us, a good amount of humanity is actually rooting for each other. Why shouldn’t we? Isn’t it great to see someone succeed in the pursuits they really care about?

All of this is to say

1. Cheer on the little sparks you see in others. You have no idea how much they might need it.

2. Kate, thank you for that and I think I found it.

When I was in 4th grade, I really began feeling confident in my abilities on the guitar. So much so that I decided it was high time I show them off. I begged my teacher, Mrs. Hoover, to let us host a talent show. Somehow, whatever I said or did convinced her (I think the truth is adults got involved) and suddenly everyone had to have a talent ready in a month.

For some reason, I had an orthodontist appointment the morning of the talent show so I arrived late to the very event I’d begged my teacher to put on. Very rock and roll. Artists and creatives aren’t exactly the best at keeping up with their own schedules which is why managers get their percentages. I was also in 4th grade. But I was there, with my guitar and a cowboy hat and boots.

I wanted to be a country singer at this point in my musical journey. Brad Paisley is the reason I picked up a guitar. I’d sing along to his albums “Time Well Wasted” and “5th Gear” and Kenny Chesney’s live album while I showered before bed.

But this was the day I’d try to emulate my newest hero, Johnny Cash. I’d gotten a hold of his greatest hits and it quickly became part of the rotation of shower songs. To this day, I’m not convinced my parents ever noticed the lyrics to “Delia’s Gone”.

I wanted to be Johnny Cash. I certainly wasn’t dressed like him but I wanted the spirit all the same. And I knew “Ring of Fire” would be a winner. Catchy, fun, recognizable and clean enough for 4th grade.

The problem was a 2 parter.

1. I wasn’t as good a guitarist as I thought myself to be. I still couldn’t quite play a G chord with confidence so I settled for playing two strings hoping it would have the same effect. It didn’t.

2. Johnny Cash has a very low register. You get that kind of gravel with age and experience, and I was nine years old and from the suburbs. So I opted to sing it an octave up.

Oh the kids laughed and laughed. My friend AJ seemed to impress everyone with his lacrosse skills (we both would end up finding success in our respective talents). One kid just recited a poem they’d learned, as if saying words someone else wrote was impressive?

How could this be? I’m the one with musical talent! Anyone can do those things, I’m playing an instrument and singing! At the same time!!

But no, I was the fool and they let me know it. Kids would even bring it up in middle school, which is when I was of course the most confident and collected person around so it definitely didn’t affect me at all.

My voice did eventually drop, and by God, if I haven’t gotten requests for Johnny Cash as a gigging musician. And I have it ready to go in the back pocket at all times. I can’t help but laugh these days.

Sometimes the fruits of your labor take time to ripen. Just be sure to give em some sunlight.

I’m a lot on the dance floor. It’s the one place I know I can let the body breathe a little more. Sometimes it feels like my brain spends all day having to lift my body up with ropes and dancing is a way to give some slack to the line hooking this little fish in a big pond. That might not be normal, jury’s still out.

I was out in Hollywood tonight. Each place I went, it felt like no one could decide how to act. It’s funny, Los Angeles is a town filled with transplants who moved here to prove something but heaven forbid someone catches them actually enjoying it. Our phones hurt our confidence, and it breaks my heart.

Except for the frat boy at the country bar who was showing some early signs of a future Hooters regular with how excited he was to pretend a burlesque dancer was dancing only for him. I wonder who he will become in 5 years.

Personally, I’ve always been way more judgmental than I want to be. I remember realizing this during my college days. I knew myself to be perceptive and I often weaponized it. I could attribute this to the environment I was in but I was the one thinking what I was thinking and saying what I was saying so the blame still lies with me. I had decided to begin my own battle of wits in life and would fire at what seemed like random because if they notice the gunfire, they’ll think I’ve got ammo. I was really just shootin blanks.

I also knew the world around me was judgmental. I’m writing this as that “married in a year in the suburbs” guy is facing the wrath of the internet. I’m not gonna lie, I laughed but I also know he’s a version of a guy I was mortified of looking like. Any white boy guitarist signer/songwriter attempting to learn self awareness is gonna know why we’re not fans of that kind of guy. But maybe he didn’t know why and here he is living out that prophecy. Poor Jake Novak had people following him to his job at Disneyland. We can be so needlessly cruel sometimes. Who has the time for all that cruelty?

I walked into work today in Sawtelle. On my Sunday shifts like today, there’s an elderly man who plays flute along to pre-recorded tracks for people walking by. He has quite the little set up, way more than my busking equipment. He sits there in the shade next to a sunny day, carefully following along to his sheet music and books. And that’s my favorite part of his entire performance.

He is not rehearsed.

He is rehearsing for the world to see. Apparently he’s been doing this for years and he had just starting learning flute when he did. Can you imagine? Ugh, opening yourself up for someone to make any kind of comment while you’re trying to just work out the song?

And he plays some pretty recognizable hits sometimes. His “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?” has been coming along. Nowhere near perfect but…who cares?

There he sits every weekend. Smiling back when people greet him and providing ambience to one of the smallest open secrets in Los Angeles.

I’ve always been told that you stop caring about what others think as you age. I think I’m probably following suit, which is healthy but I hate it when other people correctly predict my future. I had a close friend once say she thinks I’m gonna hit my stride in my 30’s. I hated that I agreed with her then but something in me knew she was probably right. I think I’m happy she was though. I wouldn’t have learned to have the courage to write a story about a musician I’ve never even talked to. I probably should.

Kindness is contagious but so is courage. A lot of times they go hand in hand. I’m not so scared of the dance floor but I’m afraid of plenty of other things. And some of those things are things the people afraid of the dance floor aren’t afraid of at all. Fear finds its way in through memory and experience and unfortunately that’s the most unique thing about all of us. How could we ever really know why someone is afraid of something without them telling us?

But I think we could all learn something from “Flute Guy” as the restaurant workers all call him.

You do not have to be perfect to perform and you definitely don’t have to be perfect to be happy. You simply don’t have to be perfect to be.

In college, I believed myself to be a potential Broadway star. I entered hoping to learn how to take the mantle from Norbert Leo Butz or Brian D’Arcy James. That dream has been dormant these days but isn’t totally extinct. If we ever revive “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” here in the States, I think I’d end up on an FBI watchlist for what I’d do to play Freddy Benson.

I decided to take an Acting in Musical Theatre class from the highly revered assistant department head of OCU’s MT department. To me, she will always be the kind and considerate person everyone said she is and this story is a great example of why.

This was a class in the music school, which received way more funding than the acting school. And because of this, it felt like higher stakes.

There was a bit of a stigma of acting students trying their hand in musical theatre and vice versa. One of those unspoken rules that was broken so often, you’d eventually wonder why anyone really gave a shit. But I knew the stigma.

I was lucky to not be alone in my affair with the music school. Another acting major I knew from improv was in there. I always felt a telepathic connection anytime we’d read something in our textbook and I’d think “Duh, I already knew that”. Remember when you also thought you knew everything?

The actual musical theatre students were all a class below me. Frankly, they were all lovely peers. The silent battle in my head remained that because I was the only one fighting it. But I still felt as though I had something to prove.

I would rarely feel like I nailed it when it came time to perform, usually because I was much more caught up in how I was perceived than actually completing the assignment. I would eventually learn I wasn’t completely at fault for my mental blocks but they were mine to deal with all the same.

It came time to perform for our final. I knew this was my chance. Make an impression and everyone would applaud and cheer and give me the approval I so greatly desired.

I chose to perform “Free” from “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum”, Sondheim’s great comedy.

And I gave myself the weekend to learn the whole thing!

Now, if you’re someone who knows anything about musical theatre, you already know how doomed this plan was. It didn’t help that I opted to play Xbox with my roommates while I should’ve been rehearsing.

“I’ll just play the song in my ear on repeat so I can get it in my mind and body”.

The day came. Those who went before me were damn near Broadway ready. It began to creep in that I was screwed. But up to my mark I went.

I started well for about 32 bars. My acting was awful but I got the words mostly right! And then went the words. And there went my brain.

I tried again, only this time not only had my mind shut down but my body too. I saw the concerned looks in everyone’s eyes, especially my professor’s.

Oh God, they’re not belittling me. They pity me. Is that worse? I can’t stop thinking about it now.

One more try. Nothing.

The accompanist, another professor I’d eventually play along with as a peer for a close friend’s recital, looked at me with grave eyes. He knew what I knew. I was a castaway only I was the also somehow the one flying the FedEx plane.

“Why don’t you sit back down?” my concerned professor muttered.

I could barely squeak out “Yeah” through my cotton mouth. Now even my voice had given up on me.

The class went on, everyone else up to the task, everyone else better than the idiot who thought he could master the work of Broadway’s greatest composer while playing Rocket League.

I stayed after to talk it over with my professor. She simply asked…

“What happened?”

“I thought I could do it.”

“Did you know this song before we assigned the final?”

“Not really”

“So you chose a Sondheim song to learn over a weekend?”

Somehow I was able to switch my brain from tears to laughter quickly enough to fool her.

“Yeah. That was a really stupid idea”

She laughed too and spoke with the kindness of a shady tree in July.

“You know I have to fail you, right?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t want to but I have to”

“I understand”.

“Well, I just hope you can have a great rest of your week. It’s been great to have you in this class. I know you’re better than this”.

Oh I couldn’t have felt worse. How could I ever look this person I respected so much in the eyes again after this? How could someone ever respect me when my pride had pulled me down to a new low?

Luckily I didn’t actually need the class credit to graduate but I learned something despite my GPA plummeting.

This was a lesson to learn in two parts. I have seen hubris get the best of many people. We’re all capable of it. Clearly I was.

But, I’ll never forget the grace she showed. This could’ve easily been a moment to rip into me, really make sure I understood how stupid and careless I appeared. But maybe she knew that I already knew. And why kick someone when they’re down?

So often I see people punish others with words when it is evident the perpetrator is well aware of how wrong they are. I have found it wise to consider that same grace she showed me. Maybe I look weak, maybe I look silly. But I know that feeling and I forgave the kid who thought he could free himself from it just like Pseuodolus. And forgiving yourself is always the quicker path to forgiving others.

And that’s what it’s all about.

I had recently moved to LA. It seemed that everyone but me correctly predicted that I would be out of money after 3 months. I was staring down a bank account that said “Overdraft” enough times that I’d  be rich if I’d gotten a nickel every time. You know the old saying, not the Doofenshmirtz version. There were a lot of problems in my head I didn’t quite know yet and they were pretty big factors as to how I landed in this mess. But it was my mess and I had to get out of it.

My friend Lily referred me to her agency that would schedule you for background and extra work. I liked these gigs. Free food, celebrities, people either going through the same struggles as you or the strangest person you’ve ever met.

I once met a man waiting outside of Kelly Clarkson who told me he was backpacking through Europe the next month in hopes of getting arrested in every country.

We are all living completely different and unique lives right next to each other.

This agency had held up their promise and I started getting booked more often. One day, they send me an email explaining that this latest booking was only a half-day so it’d be half-pay but with my profile, they think I’d really enjoy it.

It was a taping of a round table with songwriters hosted by a well-known actress/producer/songwriter. I accepted.

At this point in time, I was torn between chasing a dream in comedy or music. People would always ask why I couldn’t just combine them, and the truth is that is just not how my brain works. Comedy was something I liked being good at. Music was something that only happened because I needed to feel it.

I waited outside the YouTube Theater with the crowd until we were all lead into a studio. Tables, candles and low lighting awaited us.  In the center were 4 chairs and 3 guitars. I was sat next to a guy who looked about my father’s age. We both began reading the programs on the table, detailing the careers of who we were about to see. We both looked at each other with shocked amusement. “Is this real? These people wrote THOSE songs? “

What followed was an hour of one of the most transformative days of my life. The songwriters each played 3 songs. We all knew most of em. “Wrecking Ball”, “True Colors”, “Someone Like You”. I realized that day what a sincere song “Like A Virgin” actually is.

But the moment I want to touch on happened at the very end. Dan Wilson, a name I knew I recognized but couldn’t figure out where, was up for his final song. He began describing how he wrote this song when he was about to become a father but was still playing late nights at bars in Nashville with his band…

Semisonic

I’d always known there were some double meanings in “Closing Time” but hearing it straight from the source felt like divine intervention. Here was the guy who wrote the song I’d heard a million times at the bar. Hell, if you get curious, there’s a video on Youtube of me singing it with my first band in 7th grade. Y’know, because I absolutely understood what either meaning of the song really was at 13.

And he wrote it about the new life he was looking at in becoming a father. Songs are funny like that. They evoke a feeling that might be completely different from the source.

He began to play his iconic hit. Around the room, you could tell everyone was mouthing along to the words.

Finally the famous hostess (who might know a thing or two about Greek weddings or being unable to sleep in Seattle) turned and exclaimed “Guys you can sing along, it’s okay!”

The crowd slowly crescendo’d to the chorus.

“I know who I want to take me home!”

Suddenly, we were all there at closing time at the bar together. Suddenly, everyone was wherever they were when that song plays. We were transported. Words and a guitar did that. It was the most magical thing I’ve ever seen.

I love the world of comedy (except that time I had to follow a well known comedian who is also now a well known creep on Snapchat) but no joke has ever done that. We all need to laugh, but the ways we do it and the reasons we do it are different for each of us.

Music is much more universal. It is a sonic message from one heart to another and we get the joy of carrying that magic with us forever.

Next time you hear that song, consider how you know the feeling. We’ve all experienced change, the fear and excitement that goes with it. We’re all a lot more like each other than we realize and we’ve all been present at our own “closing time”.

I promise this involves music

Living in sunny LA, I had found myself in a monsoon. When it rains it pours that is. And the part that kept the cloud over my head was that it was all probably my fault. Why ask the cloud to leave when you feel like you deserve the rain?

And this was after I felt like I had cleared the skies for myself for the first time in a very long time. How naive I must be to think I can finally weather the storm in my head!

To make matters worse, I had to go about my life as things were actually feeling like they were clicking in my musical career. Studio time, new music out, people telling me how excited they are to see what I come up with next. Exciting and validating to know I’ve got people in my corner! How guilty I felt for not feeling only joy in it. Some people wish they could do this and I should be grateful.

All of this is to say, I was having a rough go of it. I left a friend’s house after laying down a great track with the band. And all I wanted to do was be anywhere but Los Angeles. I knew I couldn’t hop on a plane and Lord knows I couldn’t afford a hotel anywhere. What to do? Where can I go to dump all of this guilt and shame I felt?

I hit the road and decided to travel up the 101 until I reached Santa Barbara. If I get there in time, I can watch the sunset. I was working out in real time how to schedule what the kids are calling a “crash out”. Don Draper does this all the time on “Mad Men” and everyone thinks he’s cool so it must be cool, right?

My best bet felt like watching a sunset in one of LA’s neighboring areas. If I could see the sun meet the ocean’s horizon and match up with it to create a million shades of color, maybe I could match up my emotions to some logic and carry on with my life. Or the moment the salt hit my dopamine receptors, maybe it’d be the drug I needed.

I texted a friend who knew the area if they had any favorite spots? They replied in record time with recommendations and I set my Google maps to what seemed like the most accessible.

The sun began going down and I worried I wasn’t going to make it. Meanwhile my Spotify had hit some of the lingering Christian contemporary music I was raised on. Caedmon’s Call in particular. I couldn’t help but notice the sights in front of me. I was a wreck but the world was becoming soft and welcoming. It may have been the sun, the trees or the acoustic guitar. “Calm down, those problems are not here”. You live here, enjoy it.

After realizing I’m actually more afraid of heights when I’m in a car on a tight gravel road on the side of a mountain, I’d found myself a spot to watch the sunset. There were others scattered around but everyone was keeping to themselves. I love the unspoken language in these kinds of spots. It’s okay to be alone here.

I walked around, trying not to kick too many rocks on accident, when I began to hear music. None of the cars were turned on and no one had a Bluetooth speaker from what I could see? Where was it coming from?

I look down to see faint lights flashing below the side of the hill. A concert? Here?

I looked below and I could see it.

Unbeknownst to me, Santa Barbara has a bowl venue of its own and I was standing above the Santa Barbara Bowl. I was getting a free concert, a sunset and a cool air from the ocean. I think maybe I’ll be alright.

I looked up who was playing that night. I saw Kacey Musgraves and Remi Wolf were about to come in the near future but it was some festival called Daytrippin In Paradise. I didn’t recognize a single band.

Good. Let’s see what they got. Maybe I’ve been missing out on something.

I could hear the faint roar of the crowd and the reggae rock below me. Of course I go seeking some solitude and reflection and I’m met with music that sounds like a vacation. God has a sense of humor. Maybe heaven is Margaritaville?

Everyone below me was having a great time and I was reminded that this kind of magic isn’t exclusive to where I live. It’s happening everywhere and all the time. In fact, the very kind of music I always sought out to make was for this kind of venue, like the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion in Houston. Good ole fashioned music. Live and colorful.

I stood there for a good fifteen minutes taking it all in. Wish I was at the concert but then I’d be missing this moment I was having just for myself. I gotta stop telling myself to enjoy it while I’m trying to enjoy it.

I may have made some choices and said things that I regret and only wish the people knew how much I knew that guy is not the guy I want to be. But the world is still wide enough for me. The ocean and the music were the reminders I knew I needed.

I have a good friend who works as a music therapist. She had a rough go of it in some spots in her life but this journey to music therapy has been one of my favorite things to see because she’s putting into effort the thing I have known forever. Music heals. And she’s got a big enough heart to share that truth. I can’t wait to hear about what comes of it.

There is nothing more wonderful than a tune to accompany a lyric you felt like answers a question you had in your head that you didn’t even think to ask. Don’t tell me it isn’t our greatest invention.

The next time you feel like the walls are crashing down on you and you’re the one pulling them inward, do your best to find a way to remind yourself of just how wide this world is. It is wide enough for you and your mistakes. I promise.

I just returned from a long overdue reunion with a friend. We decided to meet in the middle of our respective homes and that place was Hollywood, CA. I’d pitched him on a free event with a DJ spinning songs deemed groovy. I was intrigued because they advertised that they’d play music from ABBA to Michael Jackson to Jamiroquai and I felt someone had hooked a very specific part of heart. My friend and I have pretty different music tastes but there ain’t no denying we both love ABBA. I had to go, why wouldn’t I? It’s a win-win with my friend.

We had a good time. It was fun to be surrounded by people who loved this music too. It’s nice to gather under a pre-determined understanding of each other. Let’s us all feel a little off the hook.

On the drive home, I was reminded of one of my many odd jobs out here. I spent about 2 and a half months working as a special education aide. The commute was long and far and I wasn’t very talented at waking up at that point in my life, but I liked getting out of town a bit. The world got to be wider. I like that I got to separate life a little. I should really start “Severance” soon.

I was assigned to work with a 7th grade nonverbal autistic male student who had apparently never been to school before in his life. My heart went out to him and how tough that must be, even moreso because I knew the guy they just assigned to help him along the way was feeling very unprepared and scared shitless.

“Oh you’ll be so good at that!”. I heard it a lot from people in my life. It was nice to know they believed in me. I sure hoped they were seeing something that I was not because this all sounded like a very bad idea! But it was consistent money and the hours could work. Maybe I’d finally learn some discipline in this.

First day, I received his file and met him and his mother. He had bright brown eyes and a very endearing smile. He didn’t show it much, as most days it seemed like he was scanning the room for an answer of just what was going on here. Can’t even imagine fighting off the fear he must have felt.

I saw someone in his eyes that I knew wanted to communicate with me but just couldn’t, and here I was hoping I had some kind of answer for how to help him learn something that will help him get his thoughts out.

I spend a lot of time convinced I’m not easy to understand. I needed the humbling.

The job was difficult, no way around saying it. I found myself wearing athletic wear to work because he would “elope” frequently. I was faster than him but I knew that might not last very long. We spent a lot of time outside. “I’ll get my steps in” I said, as I was once again in the California desert heat instead of the AC and comfort of the classroom.

I found myself frustrated. Not to mention, I’d realized how unprepared some of the folks near me also felt. I found two people in my exact same situation. We all agreed, it seemed like a bad sign that we were the people chosen by our company to do this job. Where were the people who were trained for this job?

(My substituting journey has shown me a lot about the current state of the education system which is…“Not great, Bob”. That’s for another time. )

But there was one thing that always made me laugh. We learned that he liked Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder. He liked the songs that make you dance. I felt connected there. I love to move too, man.

I’d often try to calm him down with Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday” and Michael Jackson’s “P.Y.T.”, his favorites. He wasn’t as into “Human Nature” as I’d hoped but I got over it.

His eyes would light up and it felt like I got to watch someone relax for the first time in a very long time, if only for a few minutes.

I could talk for hours about it (and don’t worry I will!), but I’ve truly come to believe that music is the great equalizer. Finding out someone else likes a song is probably around the same dopamine receptor that goes off when you get a direct deposit. It feels real good, comforting. I knew I’d never be able to truly communicate with him because the methods our minds had laid out for us would be forever different. But man, you like Stevie Wonder too? Isn’t it so cool when that horn breakdown happens in “Sir Duke”? Doesn’t it just energize you? Yeah, me too! And he hits that high note on “They can feel it all oooover?”.

Music does that. It can transcend language. Ain’t no way every American K-pop fan knew the language first but they liked the music all the same (I see you Callie). They felt it.

Music makes ya feel and emotions are universal, whether or not you are capable of communicating it to someone. There’s something shared there.

Don’t be afraid to tell someone you like a band or a song. You might find out how nice it feels to learn they feel the same way.