Book Club Bonanza

This week has been a book club bonanza. In order of the riches:

* On Tuesday, my own club - now in its 8th year - met to discuss This Is Happiness, a 2019 novel by Niall Williams. Pleased to report the book - the first home run I finished in 2024 - was universally well-received. One charter member of my club - a serious reader - called it "...the best book I've read all year." 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: This Is Happiness

* On Wednesday, I attended my first meeting of a club that reads only non-fiction. My tenure in this group is officially off to an auspicious start with The Spy and the Traitor (2018 - Ben Macintyre), the best non-fiction book I've read in months. Spending time with a new group of people bonded by a love of reading is an almost surefire way to keep my mojo buzzing. I'm now pleasantly anticipating next month's discussion.    

* The Return by Hisham Matar was the subject this morning at my smallest club; just two of us have been meeting every month for ten years. Although memoirs have been a lower priority for me for a long time, Matar's 2016 account of his quest to learn of his father's fate in a notorious Libyan prison is worth any discerning reader's time. Muscular prose, riveting story, significant cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked political power in the modern world.  

And there's more soon to come. When we re-unite tomorrow with the fourteen folks with whom we've been travelling since 2016, one of our first evening's activities will be spent discussing The Meadow.  James Galvin's 1992 moving meditation on the majestic Colorado landscape and one man's relationship with the land is an ideal choice for this group given we'll be spending a great deal of our time during this eighth reunion in and around Rocky Mountain National Park. What a week for this bookworm; I'm a lucky guy. What have been some of your most recent reading riches, book club or otherwise?  

" I used to think the greatest gift you could give a person was a book, but now I think it is to have a conversation about a book." - Will Schwalbe     

Thank You for Being a Friend

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.": Anais Nin

Though I've always been someone who has made friends easily, acknowledging how much value each friend adds to my life can never be overdone. How about you? If you could rewind your tape, would you do as I wish I could and make sure every friend you've ever had knew for sure "...a world was born when they arrived?" 

It's fitting that Anais Nin's words came to me many months ago via a friend who reads my blog enough to know how little treasures like this often find their way into my reflections. After thanking her for sending me the quote, I copied the words into my blog journal with little idea how they might later be useful. 

But my life is rich with friends. Months later, a different friend suggested a visit to Swaminarayan Akshardham in nearby Robbinsville, N.J. Although I had heard of this Hindu mandir (temple) - the second largest in the world - had this friend not suggested a trip there, I might never have visited it. I was awed by its majesty, ennobled by the history, and grateful for my friend's suggestion. I think I remembered to thank her and made a note in my blog journal about the experience. 

The most recent link to Nin's words then occurred to me soon after returning from guitar camp at the end of August. I was perusing my blog journal and catching up with e-mail when I noticed one from another friend. This friend has been sending me great music links and lectures by trenchant cultural critics for many years. I knew it was past time to acknowledge how our long friendship has aided my development as a musician and a thinker. I wrote a torturously lengthy e-mail doing exactly that. Inspiring words, ennobling experiences, transcendent music & incisive social commentary; a few of the worlds that might not possibly have been born had these friends never arrived. Thank you all.   

   

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Three

"There's a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in."

One of my genuine pleasures in life since initiating this series in 2017 has been the search I've been on for timeless kernels like the one above. I owe this particular re-discovery to the guitar camp I attended last month. In one of the discussions following a morning meditation, a fellow student reminded me of this profound lyric from Leonard Cohen's 1992 song entitled Anthem. Context: We were discussing the value in embracing the flaws we all have as musicians. 

Not long after, I was further reminded of the wisdom of Cohen's words when I had cause to re-read a post I'd published in early August a few weeks before the camp. A reader's comment from that post brought back a mantra I've long repeated to my own guitar students, i.e., "when improvising, there are no wrong notes, only notes you didn't intend to play". Which is not far from what Cohen was getting at in Anthem, albeit with more poetic finesse.

 Reflections From The Bell Curve: Taking a Third Swing

What are the cracks in your life or experience that have allowed light to get in? And, do you have another Leonard Cohen lyric you'd nominate? I'd welcome hearing something you unearth that stands alone, is brief enough to be easily recalled, yet still reveals a universal truth. Given Cohen's substantial body of work and poetic sensibility, I wouldn't be surprised if several of you came up with a different lyric of his that could reasonably be called words for the ages.          

Still on the Job

Which national holiday would you cite as the least celebrated? Put another way, when did you last propose a toast to organized labor? Or, when you got up today, who were you most anxious to contact to wish them well? 

The last time I recall actively thinking about Labor Day was years ago when someone much younger than I declared that unions were an "obsolete" concept. Like many past conversations, I've since re-played that unsettling one in my head, persuasively and articulately demolishing the wrongheadedness of that simplistic statement. Wouldn't it be great if real life worked like that? 

What actually happened was less dramatic and wholly unsatisfying. I found myself getting emotional and had trouble putting a single coherent sentence together. Perhaps the word fairness crossed my mind. I do recall thinking of my father's life as a working man and the importance of unions for him. But recounting that piece of ancient history would not have helped me deconstruct the word obsolete for the clueless individual who'd used it. 

That bad-tasting, long-ago conversation had faded from memory until I got up this morning and noticed the holiday. When the memory returned, I discovered I was no longer disappointed in my inadequate response. Instead, I welcomed the memory because it broke back thoughts of my dad as well as the importance of this under-celebrated holiday. Any day I remember to honor my dad is a good day, holiday aside. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: What Holiday?

The Magic in Words

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

When did you most recently allow yourself to wander? What did you discover when you did so? What prevents us from wandering more frequently? 

Like most people, I'm a creature of habit. I practice my guitar a certain way, I do similar exercise routines, I often read in the morning. But months ago - after hearing Tolkien's words cited by a composer I admire as he described his process - something shifted in me. I decided on the spot to begin integrating a small dose of wandering whenever I picked up my guitar. How could doing so possibly hurt?  

After several weeks, a small but noticeable effect took hold. Some of my improvisational ideas began to feel less predictable to me. Though I'm sure no one but me would notice the difference, something definitely opened up as I allowed myself to wander more in the musical unknown. Fresh songwriting concepts soon presented themselves. It's been magical and thrilling.

This morning, more magic. I decided it was time to share here what I've discovered about wandering and the connection to that composer's use of Tolkien's words. As I began typing, I mistakenly inserted the word wonder into the Tolkien quote. Isn't it intriguing how the words wander and wonder share five letters? I can't recall ever taking note before of the magical connection between those two words. Have you? 

A Better World

I'm confident saying each of us has fantasized at least once over our lifetime of one thing that could make the world a better place. In this moment, what one thing comes to you?

Although I've indulged in this harmless fantasy more than a few times, the one thing I seem to come back to most predictably is empathy. Imagine if every one of the over eight billion people alive today had even just a little more empathy. How could the world not be a better place if all of us more routinely took the time to walk in the shoes of those we encounter? 

Reviewing my bumpy journey, my lowest retrospective moments are often connected to instances when some base instinct - judgment, spite, envy - displaced my empathy. Often, I re-play those instances in my memory until I'm the person I wished I'd been. I want to believe that this strategy - i.e., re-inventing moments when empathy was not my automatic response - has helped me be more mindful in parallel situations when they later occurred. 

What are some of your strategies for continuing to expand your empathy? Who in your life most embodies this noble instinct? And what's another thing in short supply that you think could make the world a better place?     

Repayment Day

Over the thirteen-and-one half years I've been blogging - aside from my wife and daughter - there have been perhaps three dozen other regular readers who have made more than a handful of public comments here. Though I disabled the "followers" widget from my home page many years ago, I also know there have always been some other regular non-commenting non-family readers. I know that mostly because those folks have frequently communicated with me offline, in some fashion, about posts they've read.  

I'm grateful to everyone in all three groups - frequent commenters (past & present), infrequent (past & present), and non-commenters. And, if you are what I've come to call a "passer-by" - comment or no comment variety - thank you for reading me today, although you can stop now. Almost everyone else: Feel free to skip the next paragraph. It is pertinent only to one person from group #1, present tense variety.   

Thank you for taking eighteen minutes out of your life this morning to make comments on four of my posts. Although this is not the first time you have written more than three comments in one day, and it's not even your record for most comments made in one day, because I happened to be writing a post on a different subject as your comments arrived, I was able to notice how much time - at minimum - you spent today on a task that rewards me but gives you nothing in return.  

Back to everyone from all three groups and any passers-by who ignored my earlier suggestion. If there is a way I can re-pay any of you for reading or commenting, please tell me what that is. Connecting in a small way with anyone who has taken precious time to read or comment here has been - since March 2011 - a powerful and affirming experience for me. If I'm able, I'd like to reciprocate. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Maiden Voyage

Here I Go Again

What did this camper/student take away from a week spent with eighty-nine other guitarists, not including the faculty?

* From his fellow students, he re-learned that the people he gravitates toward are those who are genuinely good listeners in a non-musical context, e.g., sharing a meal. Since good listening is a critical skill for any musician, it follows that some of those same people are the ones this student wanted as jamming partners, technical skill aside.

* From the faculty, he re-learned that kindness - in demeanor, in language, in delivering critical feedback - trumps all. How well someone plays, how many famous people someone has played with, how much praise is heaped on someone by their talented peers, matters far less to this student than if that someone appears to be a kind human being.    

I need more time to fully process what I learned about guitar and what I learned about my playing this past week. Periodically reviewing my notes will help me with those things. But what I learned about myself as a person this past week is how much work I have to do. Not terribly profound or unique but clearly true. Fortunately, every day I'm alive gives me time to practice, both my guitar as well as all the other stuff. Here I go again.