Author Archives: Mark

Powerless

Back on the schoolyard we used to be blunt

Taunting and name calling to toughen up the runt

Fun and games until it’s your turn to be the hunt

Start looking for the next victim, pass the blame and punt

Adult days we have to stand and listen to the whining

Everybody online spends all day crying

So much disdain you’d think they are dying

Take energy to the real world, stop fucking trying

Wish that we could call people out like back in the day

Take them aside and tell them hey, Take it down a notch, okay

Don’t you know it’s all a game, anyway

Irony is that trauma brought us here

Trauma a big reason I picked up those beers

Trauma comes from days of youth

Trauma dates back to your first loose tooth

Told to act right, now you questioning your truth

Confidence never built so it can’t shatter

Never realized that you don’t even matter

Don’t take control, waiting to be served a platter

Can never climb if you don’t touch the ladder

Negativity breeds negativity, that much I know

Seems like I encounter it most places I go

I’m working on myself, trying to grow

Everyone around me says it’s not my role

Don’t look from within, demand better

It’s not your fault, no one likes a go getter

Schoolyard taunts turned to group think

Peers don’t want us to feel we have the missing link

Its our responsibility to fix ourselves

Instead of challenging others, we gotta get to work like the elves

Start cleaning up our houses, fixing the shelves

Lose the word powerless if folks worked on themselves

Stretching

I woke up feeling envious of Stretch Armstrong. He was an old action figure I had as a kid except his arms and legs were made out rubber so you could stretch them seemingly infinitely.

There is something so enticing about having the range of motion to stretch far and wide. My legs and back are sore from a long weekend of moving and something tells me they are due for a nice long stretch.

Some nights I wish I was like Mr. Potato Head and could remove my limbs. My arms get in the way while I sleep. Can’t quite feel comfortable as a human.

I wonder when humans became aware of their limitations, their bodies’ deep connection to gravity, and the general design flaws. It must have been part of the greater awareness.

The physical informs the mental. My mental has been on the uptick. I am trying to redefine my stiff muscles as a representation of my strength. Hopefully it sticks.

A good cracked back and then I would be free. I just cracked my leg. Glorious.

Sometimes, I think of myself as a Sim – with hundreds of little bars I need to maintain rather than 8. Maybe that’s giving me too much credit. Maybe the point is to simplify.

Digging too deep into the specifics can burn you. That becomes a game of control. You have to remember you can’t predict that much, so just generally trying to be comfortable is better than specifically fixing that little creak in your neck. Until that creak becomes worse.

So my legs and back are sore. But my arms and shoulders feel nice. It could be worse. Spend all day thinking about what’s wrong, acutely aware of our limitations, and then everything is dark. No hope in sight.

Put things in a general bucket and all of a sudden there’s a general optimism. A general hope.

Going to work on that. Until I can stretch my legs in any direction, 40+ feet out.

Morning Fog

My free time is when I just wake up.

When my body is awake before my brain.

I feel my body. My muscles are sore; knee creaks. My back is stiff. That run I took yesterday is coming back to bite me.

This bed soothes them.

My head hangs heavy. A weight seems to sit all around me.

This bed shoulders some of the burden.

I feel like doing nothing. My body tells me how tired and worn I am.

I wake up wondering why? Why when there is more rest to be had?

This morning purgatory is when I am free. From heaven to hell I am traveling.

Soon my brain turns on and compulsion is born.

The need to be and do overwhelms the body.

I can’t be when there is so much to do. Can’t rest when time is so precious.

Thoughts of muscles turn into inventory of tasks. The pain becomes prioritization. My head now swirling with strategy.

Nurture has defeated nature.

On Sleep and The Myth of Superpowers

A few weeks ago I started waking up at 5am.

My schedule was as follows:

5am – Wake Up

5:15-6 – Journal

6-7 – Make Music

7-8 – Workout

8-9 – Morning walk with my wife

9 – 5 – Work

5 – 6 – Wrap up work/Make dinner

6 – 7 – Eat dinner

7 – 8 – Relax with wife

In bed by 8

Asleep by 9

It was an aggressive schedule, but for the 2 weeks I was doing it consistently it felt great.

It felt great to have completed all these tasks before work started, great to have the evenings to just decompress with my wife, great to make music every day, great to know exactly when I was going to work out. I felt like I was on top of the world.

So what happened?

Well, work got busy and I got thrown into a new project. My equilibrium shifted and my schedule paid the toll.

I couldn’t make music everyday, which stressed me out and made me feel like a failure. The morning wins I was stacking for disrupted and I got emotional about it.

My routine, which was a way for me to maximize my happiness turned into a new way for me to be perfect.

The shame spiral started.

Disruption led to guilt, which led to using food to cope, which led to sleeping in, and then the schedule got abandoned. The guilt of not following it stayed though.

My wife made the point, while I was lamenting about how frustrating it was that my body wanted to sleep until 6:30 lately, that perhaps this schedule was fool’s gold from the start. If it was so precarious that one thing could throw it out of whack, then how could it actually serve me.

Said another way, how often is my life predictable versus unpredictable.

I think CEO’s get to wake up at 5 and have a very tight schedule because CEO’s are in control of their life fully. Their life and jobs are demanding, but they have designed it.

Most of us, do not have control or flexibility over things like work. Our schedules, and through it sense of peace, can easily be disrupted when new projects land, responsibilities shift, and work just generally increases.

We have an idea that if these extremely successful people can craft a meticulous schedule we should be able to do the same. But these people have minimized the variables in their life.

They don’t live in apartments where the fire alarm could go off at 12am at any point. They have chefs making dinners and meals, balanced precisely to their needs. They can take extravagant vacations to make up for the short windows of time they dedicate to their families.

In short, they have designed their entire being to be productivity superheroes and have put all of their resources into it. The same way LeBron James spends millions on his body yearly, these people spend their waken hours obsessed with maximizing their usefulness.

Life is unpredictable. We are human. Complex creatures constantly reacting and absorbing and digesting new information around us. The likelihood that we will be able to have a perfectly consistent day is low. Something or multiple things are going to get in the way. Sacrifices will be made. Recalculations and prioritizations will be needed.

I was upset about the inconsistencies. The things that were throwing me off the stable, productive path I outlined. In doing so, I was upset about being human.

On Icarus, Limits, Growth, and Boundaries

I woke up this morning thinking about the story of Icarus. You know the Ancient Greek myth about the boy with wax wings who flies to high in the sky despite being warned by his father. The higher he goes, the closer to the sub he gets until the wax melts, and Icarus plunges to his death. Charming.

Unrelated, the fact that we still have these stories from pre-printing press days is pretty fantastic.

But this morning, I was thinking about Icarus. I was feeling like Icarus. I had a big meal for Friday night and had some acid reflux this morning. Powered by guilt and shame, I felt like Icarus, flying too high to the sun on my cheat day and now feeling my demise.

The story of Icarus details a fine line to walk. Something which I fundamentally struggle with. On one hand, there is a concept of stay in your lane I agree with. Don’t concern yourself with other people’s business, focus on your own things, and worry about what you need to worry about.

That’s not quite what this story is preaching. This is talking literally about the physical boundaries of man. Something which my bubbling stomach is reminding me of right now. But there’s also a conversation of ambition.

If you push it too far and don’t know your limits, you will get burnt.

I’ve been running more frequently because running is without a doubt the best way to burn calories. An hour on the treadmill burns at least 750 calories for me, which would take about 3.5 hours of walking for me to match.

When I get on the treadmill, it can quickly turn from a this is going to be a good source of exercise regardless of how fast I run to a contest against myself. Every run becomes a Mario Kart time travel and I’m racing my own personal best. Get a little further, go a little faster. Burn a little bit more.

Of course, leaving the treadmill having left it all on the floor and all of a sudden my day’s changed. Energy is depleted, muscles are tight, heart is still recovering; what went from just a simple run turned into a whole thing. Only because I don’t know how to pace myself and my hubris.

So the goal of losing calories becomes negligible as all of these other things come into play.

So in that way I do understand the concept of Icarus. Pacing yourself. Marathon not a print mentality.

On the other hand you still have to jump. Icarus would have made it if he didn’t go too high.

To grow, change, succeed, there is a certain amount of pressure that you need to apply. Pressure creates diamonds. All that stuff.

And I believe that too. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Putting the right amount of pressure in the right situation leads to growth. I was reading a psychologist who said that the only way for humans to learn is through stress.

And learning is good, right?

So where is the line? It feels good running faster. Running further. That pressure allows me to improve. But I don’t want to hurt myself.

Self-awareness is key. But it’s a lot of pressure to operate with those expectations.

Do I always need to improve? Do I always need to succeed? Can just doing be enough?

That’s the constant question.

What’s the point if I don’t get better? But why is everything about tangible progress? Why not just about the joy/love of doing it?

Venting Vs. Asking for Help

One of my biggest frustrations in life is that I don’t know when people are venting vs asking for help. Let me rephrase and put the responsibility on me. I often hear people venting as them asking for my help. This causes friction and frustration in my life.

I am a people pleaser. It’s something I am aware of and am working on.

I don’t like to see or hear about people who are uncomfortable. Their discomfort makes me uncomfortable. Their tension makes me tense.

I also know how to do things or have a tenacity to learn. I take their complaints as a challenge, ask, or expectation to help and support. I burden myself with their responsibilities and make them my own.

Have you ever gone in so deep into people pleasing mode only to come up for air a few days later realizing you are know focused/doing on something you don’t care about or just don’t want to do?

It’s not even learning to say no, it’s learning that a complaint is not a suggestion box.

Why am I feeling this way though? What is the deeper issue?

Sometimes you get a reputation as a doer/problem solver. Sometimes people know that you will help them and they come to you for help.

And so they come to you and throw stuff on your plate hoping you can help make sense of it. And so you dive in enthusiastically, ready to support and people please.

But what then happens is you realize they don’t even know what they want. They are just trying to have you solve a problem that exists without even learning about the problem or solution.

To take a step back – I feel like a general contractor for problems. People come to me because shit is broken and they don’t want to, know how to, or feel empowered to fix it.

And that’s a shitty feeling. It feels enabling.

Yesterday I was talking to someone about a problem I was helping them solve for them. I showed them my solution and it wasn’t what they were looking for. When I dug in a bit more and asked what they were looking for, they said they didn’t know.

That is what is really rubbing me the wrong way today. I didn’t like that exchange. I didn’t like that in the moment I listed out a myriad of other ideas or solutions. I wish I held my ground more.

You don’t know what you need? Fair enough. This is what we talked about before. If this doesn’t help you, then let me know when you know what you’d like. Talk to you later.

Punt the issue back on them. It’s their problem anyways.

Or just learn to listen. Learn to hear them and say that sounds hard. Suppress the need to help. Live in the discomfort with them. That’s more powerful than solving the problem and enabling them anyways.

Otherwise, they’ll get used to it and keep coming back for more.

Perpetually Sore

I’m in the best shape of my life right now; I don’t mean that as a brag, more as a fact. I have never been stronger, leaner, and had healthier than right now. I run long distances again, like I did when I was in high school, but I also have gotten into weightlifting and salads. I am in so many ways healthier than I have ever thought I could be and am very proud of it.

On the other hand, I am in my early 30’s now. I am acutely aware of my age and wonder how long this can truly last. How many more gains can be made?

My wife and I were walking past a TV playing the Lakers/Nuggets playoff game this weekend, and they were highlighting an insane block that Lebron had. I commented that he was 39 and she couldn’t confound it. To still have that energy and feel to make plays like that, when he’s been doing it for so long is jaw-dropping.

I wake up every morning sore. Every morning. If I did something I’m especially proud of, like a long a run, it hurts to exist that much more the next day. My wife takes Advil before bed to make sure she is not woken up by a cramped muscle or Charlie Horse or just general DOMS during the night.

It’s a weird balance to know that on the one hand we are both so much healthier than we’ve been in the last decade or so and yet there is a general air that we probably did this too late. We are not in our 20’s; we left youth and now are just trying to survive. We didn’t get that time where we were in peak physical condition at 25; we weren’t taking care of ourselves then.

As much as eating clean is a choice to be healthier, it’s also more of an adjustment because eating things like sugar and bread make us feel hungover the next day. There isn’t a bigger plan or aspiration at play here, we just are realizing our body’s can no longer handle the abuse.

To know it’s close to over before it even started. That’s what I’m reminded daily. That’s what my sore muscles are telling me every morning. When my shoulders ache and knees creak. I may have felt like Superman yesterday from some workout I did, but I will pay the price today.

When you start to look at my values, vanity does sneak itself in there if I’m being honest. I want to look good. I’ve struggled with that concept my whole life. I’ve been deeply insecure on weight and looks since a child.

And when I say I didn’t take care of myself in my 20’s, I mean I lost 70 pounds last year at the age of 30. And I had no plan of doing that throughout my 20’s – I just kept gaining weight, eating and drinking.

And that’s the thing I am aware of too. With each sore muscle – it’s a reminder that my looks and fitness level are going to be different than what I anticipate. Whatever Greek god, Jason Momoa I want to be, let’s go ahead and lower expectations.

Not to say I am not proud of how I look or my progress. It’s just that for every inch I lose on my pants, I see another batch of grey hairs. While my biceps grow, so do my wrinkles.

There’s something heathy in there. It forces me to celebrate the practical things health brings me, sweating less, not being out of breath taking stairs, and just enjoying being outside and moving. It’s a blessing.

It’s also just humbling and omnipresent. My soreness has taken a new meaning. It’s a daily reminder of my aging, first thing I feel when I wake up. I’m no spring chicken anymore. And the fear appears. What happens next? How much muscle can I grow until it gets considerably harder? How long can I really run like this? I spent my whole 20’s thinking they would last forever, only to transition to my 30’s – working to strengthen myself for when I can’t anymore.

On the Move – Poem

Moving my fingers rushing my brain

Acting before I think

Used to have ways to deal, now down the drain goes the drink

Mentally young, physically old – my body I have to train

Hit the pause button, but the game kept playing

Sat on the couch, I kept aging

Years passed, I kept laying

Waiting for something to happen, still out raging

Now I’m free, wife says I need a shrink

Learning how to breathe, don’t forget to blink

Feel nineteen, last time I was clean, except now I don’t dream, instead I have to stay full steam, in this life in front of me, telling myself everything is pristine

Didn’t participate, still I’m waiting for my trophy

Just you wait, is what I tell myself hopefully

Feel unique when I am feeling down

Thinking I must be the world’s worst clown

What I want? Well I can’t quite say

Mansion would be nice, but I like where I stay

More things, but I have steady pay

6 pack abs, but I’m the lowest I weigh

Just need a voice to tell me everything’s okay

Relay it to my fingers, put my body at ease

So then my brain can take control of the seas

On Live Music: Moshing Your Way to Connection

Growing up I had a rule when I listened to albums – no covers and nothing live. I don’t know why at 14 years old I made myself a suburban Robert Christgau, but those were my rules.

Covers was an easy one. I didn’t like fun.

No, I didn’t like hearing a song I like change format. Whenever the cover came out, I had issues with the revision process. Of course, what I was really feeling was I like this version of the song, this is the one I fell in love with, not some weird cousin of hers that looks vaguely similar, but has bangs instead.

Now, this theory has since been debunked – though I am still fairly particular with the version I like. But some times, covers are the only version I’ll listen to. For instance, LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends,” like many I only fuck with the Franz Ferdinand version. And then there are some obvious versions too – Red Hot Chili Peppers version of “Higher Ground,” Hendrix’s version of “All Along the Watchtower,” and The Fugees’ (really Lauryn Hill) take on “Killing Me Softly.”

I still am particular as to what I want to listen to, but I’m more open-minded to trying out new takes.

Live albums to me deteriorated the quality of the music. Inevitably with the mixer and sound engineer in a perfectly acoustic studio things would sound, well, live. Drums could overwhelm guitar. Vocals could be lost in the noise or not up to par. The goddamn crowd could ruin the whole thing.

I didn’t like the unpredicatability of it.

Of course, there is something further to investigate here. In some respects, live music is the most pure form of it. Up until very recently – music was only heard through a live performance. This recording thing is new. Just because that is the way we have come to listen and experience music, doesn’t mean that is its original intention.

Music is supposed to be communal. It’s the thing you play around the campfire at night to celebrate, entertain, just get by. It’s what you use in the military to move the people forward – think “Taps.” It’s what you sing to a woman to show your love. It’s how you pray.

There’s incredible documentary Amazing Grace where Aretha Franklin is singing a gospel music to a hot church full of people in Inglewood, Los Angeles in 1972. It’s directed by Sydney Pollack (left field), Mick Jagger and Clara Ward make appearances in the audience (wild), and features Aretha Franklin at the peak of her powers (yes please).

But the thing that really matters is how the audience responds to it. How special of a moment this was for them. How much they enjoyed it and how they danced and celebrated to her music. It was less about the music and more about how it moved them.

That’s how we were listening to music for hundreds of years prior to recordings. We just couldn’t listen to much. So that maybe sucked sometimes. Maybe for some tribes or groups, Gary sang Kumbaya for 15 times a night. I’m sure there were less creative tribes. They weren’t creating music every which way, they were farming and stuff.

Alright I’m deep in my own scenario, I’ll pull back. The point is you kind of need the people.

Remember Tower Records, and going in and listening to the new albums with the big bulky headphones? Remember that feeling you’d get when you would just put them over your ears and suddenly block out the world? I did it when I was a kid before they went bankrupt, I always felt so strange. Just blocking out the world to listen to some music. Now that’s all I do.

Time to go big. There’s a lot like that today. A lot of entertainment especially. Things we used to enjoy as a group that is now a solo act. Theater turned into movies , which at least were only shown in a public place, which transitioned into home videos, which at least you had to go to a store to look at, which turned into phones/streaming.

So much of our life is designed for quality of product over connection. We are getting art in some cases at its finest and most mature, but we are not watching it or experiencing it or living amongst people. Half the reason why people used to like shit was because of how the people around them reacted. Taste is so malleable and manipulated.

Think about what musicians always say, “The audience was incredible.” They provide an energy and an experience. It’s great to love the songs, but the power is taking them round town. Getting the reaction.

The fact that music allows us to be isolated is one of the big ironies of modernity.

I was driving down the freeway the other day listening to B.B. King’s Live At the Regal album, on track three “It’s My Own Fault,” where King is slowly building the audience until pure, unbridled pandemonium is let loose on “How Blue Can You Get.” My windows were down and I noticed the Tesla in front of my roll up theirs. Go back into their bubble. Choose to not experience one of the most amazing albums I’ve ever listened to in my life. But less personal, choose to retreat rather than partaking in the chaotic joy of that audience as they listen to King in anticipation. They are the stars of the show and the performance in every which way. King is incredible, but how they build and follow and engage is something truly special.

Don’t retreat from people with art. Connect. That’s the point. That’s the power.