When Music Is Answered With Poetry

I've been posting music online for a long time. Long enough to recognize the usual shapes of response.

In the U.S., comments tend to sound familiar:
Great tone.
Nice playing.
Thanks for the lesson.
Occasionally a technical question is asked. Sometimes people joke. Often, various emojis get left.

I value all of it. I don't say that lightly.

Over the past year, as I've been sharing music on a Chinese platform (小红书), I've noticed something different.

People don't just respond.

They reflect.

One listener wrote that my playing was "as gentle as a lover, and my singing as calm as moonlight." Another said they listened on their walk home from work and felt their mood settle almost immediately.

One person wrote at length about how a song reminded them of sitting on their father's shoulders as a child — their father like a mountain — and how, slowly, they grew into becoming someone else's mountain, until they understood that adulthood sometimes means walking alone and facing everything yourself. (That reflection hit me right in the feelings.)

Those sorts of comments aren't just feedback.

They represent memory, responsibility, and tenderness — and they're offered without apology.

I sat with that for a while.

⸻

Two Ways of Listening

I don't think this difference comes down to taste or temperament.

It has more to do with what people are taught to do when they're moved.

American responses often translate feeling into evaluation. Approval stands in for articulation. This was good becomes the container for everything the listener felt but didn't quite name.

In the Chinese comments, the feeling isn't summarized — it's rendered. Moonlight instead of calm. Mountains instead of strength. Even just the feeling of walking home has depth that I just can't put into words.

One way asks whether something worked. The other answers the question: What did this touch?

Neither is wrong. They do, however, lead to very different kinds of speech.

⸻

Permission Matters

I don't believe American (or Western) listeners feel less.

I think they're simply less often invited to linger.

In much of Western online culture, emotional language is expected to be concise, efficient, or lightly buffered. Earnestness can feel exposed. Tenderness often needs a reason.

What I see in these Chinese responses is a comfort with indirect expression. Feeling is allowed to arrive through metaphor and analogy rather than explanation. The language gives people a way to say things that might otherwise remain unspoken.

A comment about music becomes a reflection on memory, emotional weight, solitude, or care.

That kind of response doesn't emerge from enthusiasm alone. It requires a culture that knows how to hold it.

⸻

The Role I Didn't Know I Was Playing

There's another factor I didn't anticipate.

In the U.S., I'm usually received as a teacher or an expert. Those roles shape the exchange. People thank you. They ask questions. They keep a certain distance.

On the Chinese platform, listeners seem to place me in a different category — something closer to an elder musician, or simply a calm presence passing through their day.

That shift changes the conversation.

Instead of asking how something was played, people tell me where it took them.

I didn't set out to occupy that role. It emerged because the environment allowed it — and because people felt free to answer sound with story.

⸻

What This Changed for Me

Reading these responses hasn't made me want different praise.

No, what it did was change how I listen.

I've found myself paying more attention to what my playing expresses rather than what it demonstrates. I'm trying to be more aware of silence, pacing, and restraint. I'm finding myself more interested in whether it gives the listener space to feel something unspoken.

I'm thinking less about whether a performance lands cleanly, and more about whether it allows someone to remember something they may have hidden in their memory.

⸻

A Quiet Gratitude

I don't expect American audiences to suddenly start responding to music in metaphor. Cultures don't shift on command.

I'm grateful, though, that these listeners have shown me what art can sound like when people are allowed to respond without compressing the experience into approval.

Moonlight.
Mountains.
Walking home.

Those images have stayed with me.

They've changed how I hear.

What I learned about myself through a relationship

Where, What, and Who I Am

What I learned about myself through a relationship that mattered

It was more than just a passing affair. It was important. Sure, all relationships carry an aspect of importance, but this one… this one was different. It forced me to reflect on many aspects of myself over the past few months. The challenges we faced helped me to see where, what, and who I am. Hopefully I can explain all of that in a way that'll make sense. I hope you'll stick around while I try.

---

Where am I?

I've asked that question before, but it usually involved a roadmap. This time, there wasn't one. Instead, I was exploring parts of myself - much of it a wide expanse that, despite having lived for decades and being in charge of my own adventure, I had never truly explored.

I discovered I am not good with ambiguity if it goes on for a bit. I mean, let's face it, this section is asking the question "Where am I?" You've been on those roads that just seemed to go on forever - where the signs are few and you begin to doubt that you're even on the right one. That's how it feels for me when there's uncertainty about a relationship. Sure, I can manage for a little while, but I need a sign every now and then for some reassurance.

I've also learned that emotional stability is important to me. Oh, I can be flexible, but I certainly prefer stability. I need something I can point at, and count on. And with a relationship? Oh, I just can't stay in the grey areas just to hang onto a connection.

What am I?

I'm a banjo player not a "p-sy-chologist". Seriously though, this may be more about how I'm made - wired up, if you will. After unboxing myself and scrutinizing the contents I find that I'm a lover that bonds through presence, consistency, and intimacy. I also found that when intimacy is real to me it carries very deep meaning. I prioritize the other person, and I feel that there's a responsibility that we should have for one another. Some of that I like, and maybe you see something there of value.

I also learned that intimacy creates attachment for me, and attachment without clarity has the proclivity to bring up jealousy. Sure, I'll take ownership of my jealousy. It's a trait I've been trying to understand for a while, and I'm finally starting to see where it comes from. It's that time when closeness is real but the relationship isn't clear, jealousy shows up for me.

Who am I?

This is a tough one. In this context I guess we'll have to just look at who I am when it comes to a relationship; the entire "who" is immense.

I've only recently learned that when I care about someone and things begin to feel unstable, I tend to over-function. I've noticed that I will soften my language, carry extra emotional weight that isn't mine to carry, and try to absorb someone else's discomfort — and sometimes all of that at the cost of my own clarity. I didn't realize I was doing those things, and it took a good deal of self-reflection to finally make sense of it.

Oh, another thing is I've too often confused patience with growth. I didn't like seeing that or the over-functioning in myself, but I needed to see them. Just like I tell my students, being aware of the problem is where we start making the change.

---

The affair did end as many do, but not because either of us was wrong. It ended because we each had different needs, a different sense of pacing, and definitions that didn't line up. I figure we both needed to be true to ourselves. I can honestly say, despite my desire to fast forward to some version of "happily ever after", it ended before I made too many changes and lost myself.

Yes, maybe I've also begun to learn the difference between growth and self-erasure. Obviously I should work on how I react, and learn how to regulate my emotions better. Looking back over the past few months I've found that I can express my wants and needs a little better than I could previously. I've got a better idea of the sort of relationship in which I can thrive -- and that might be the most important thing I've discovered so far on this adventure.

This relationship taught me a lot. Oh sure, most of what I learned was about myself, but I certainly got a lot of new perspectives from my lover. I'm not bitter about any of it. It's as if this affair held up a mirror to me and let me take a good long look. Only because of it I have a better idea of my edges and my limits. I also got to see the places where I need to stand strong and not bend. I needed that!

I'm not leaving this affair feeling smaller - not at all. If anything, I'm leaving it feeling more defined!

The Unaimed Arrow

"Goals are deceptive. The unaimed arrow never misses."

I saw this quote recently and it sparked something in me. I'm not sure how I feel about it. On one hand I can totally relate. It's pretty much how I learned to play. I worked on the tiny bits and pieces that I had learned without much regard to structure or any future goals. I practiced/played in the moment. I did the things I could do. I did the things I enjoyed. By doing that I found myself practicing more, but I never considered it practice.

Let's face it; practice isn't fun. Oh, it could be, maybe, but really? Nope, I'd rather just do fun things. Playing the banjo is fun! I want to do that - a lot. Learning is fun.

On the other hand part of me wants to be all responsible and grown up and tell myself that I need goals. I need something to strive for. I feel some need to have a measurable experience.

Pfffft.... whatever. I think I've done pretty well flying by the seat of my pants. I'm doing something I enjoy; I'm learning.

Hi, I'm Jim, and I'm an unaimed arrow. I'm happy now - not when I reach a goal!

“Come Here the Right Way” — From Someone Who Tries to Do Things Right

I’m not an immigrant, obviously.

I’m just a guy with a YouTube channel, a pile of banjos, and enough real-world experience to know this:

Most Americans have no idea what “come here the right way” actually means.

People throw that phrase around like there's a line to stand in. Like there's a ticket machine with a "Take a Number" sign on it. There isn’t.

Let’s pretend for a moment… humor me, okay?

Let’s say I wasn’t born here.
Let’s say I’m still a musician who earns an honest living online. No boss. No payroll. Just hard work, consistency, and community.

Now let’s say I want to move to the U.S.
I'm not coming to freeload, or to “invade.” I just want to live and work, openly, legally, and with full transparency.

Where’s the path?

Guess what. There isn’t one.

There is no visa for online creators.
There is no category for freelancers.
There is no form for “I support myself and want to stay above board.”

Unless I have a U.S. employer, a qualifying family connection, or a pile of investment capital, I’m completely out of luck.

“Just get a work visa.”

Let’s take that seriously. Let’s say I try to do just that. Ready? Buckle up.

My friend Tony McManus — one of the most respected guitarists alive — has spent decades working and performing legally in the U.S. His visa class? O-1. That’s the “extraordinary ability” one. It sounds lofty, and it is.

Oh, and just to be clear — this wasn’t his first time applying. Tony had already gone through this process before. He was simply trying to renew the same visa he’d held legally for years, to keep doing the same work he’s always done: performing and teaching music in the U.S. Here are Tony's own words regarding what that renewal took:

“The petition is 150+ pages of contracts, testimonials, press, and proof of commercial success. Each page was vetted and revised by lawyers.

Cost to submit: $5,000
Cost for premium processing (just to get them to look at it): $3,850
Application fee: $320
Courier, photos, packaging: $60

After three months of silence, I paid for premium processing. Still nothing.
Submitted my documents to the U.S. Consulate in Toronto as instructed — and they denied ever receiving them.

My Member of Parliament couldn’t help. Immigration consultants finally traced the package — it had been delivered the next day. Only then did they ‘find’ the documents and begin processing.

From start to finish, the process took six months. Six months of silence, confusion, and relentless stress.

During the final stretch — about ten days while my passport was stuck at the consulate — I lost $4,000 worth of work. That work was covered by an existing, valid, and expensive O-1 visa. But without access to my passport, I couldn’t prove it, and I couldn’t take the gigs.

My application status went from:
‘Who the fuck are you?’
to ‘In process’
to ‘Approved’
to ‘Issued’ — but only after opportunities had vanished.

This whole process is an utter fucking disgrace.”

Tony’s not asking for citizenship; just the legal right to work. Yet even he gets lost in the system.

“Come here the right way.”

So let’s define that, clearly.

To immigrate “the right way” you need one of the following:

• A close U.S. relative: a spouse, parent, or child under 21. In some cases, siblings count. Even if you qualify, the wait time can stretch 15 to 20 years.
• A U.S. employer willing to sponsor you through an expensive, time-consuming legal process — with no guarantee of success.
• A significant investment (often six figures or more) in a U.S.-based business.

If you’re self-employed?
A creator?
From the “wrong” country?

You don’t qualify.
Not for anything.

People say “come here the right way” like it’s a matter of paperwork and patience, but most folks don’t understand the truth:

There is no way.

And no, I’m not being political.

This isn’t about left or right.
It’s about facts.

If you’ve never had to navigate this system, don’t assume it’s simple. Don’t assume others are breaking the rules just because they don’t have your luck.

The rules are stacked. The doors are locked. The bar keeps moving.

So when you say “do it the right way,” ask yourself:
Are you giving advice?
Or are you just saying,
“Don’t come here.”

I am the Darkness

I Am the Darkness
by Jim Pankey

Do you really think you can hurt me?
Go ahead.
Bring it.
I welcome it.
I am the darkness.

No, I’m not the monster in your bedtime stories.
I’m the silence after the shouting;
the weight that never left.

I was raised in disappointment;
taught early that "no" was the only language the world spoke.

I didn’t merely become this.
I was forged -
in rejection,
in loneliness,
in places where no one saw me bleed.

Every slammed door, every whispered doubt,
every time I was told I wasn’t enough,
I took it.
I made it mine.
I wear it like armor now.
But don’t mistake my quietness for strength.
I’m not untouched.
I’m not unscarred.
I just stopped waiting to be spared.

Yes, it hurts,
But pain doesn’t break me anymore.
It builds me.
It reminds me I’m still here.

If you're coming for me -
come heavy.
Because I stand inside my own hell
still breathing.

You want to know who I am?

I exist.

And that’s not a concession.
That’s a fucking warning.

I Am the Between

I Am the Between
by Jim Pankey

I am...
Between here and there,
Between now and then.

Between good and evil,
Between loved and hated,
Between whole and shattered,
Between seen and invisible.

I am the Between.

Between the sadness and the tears,
Between the joy and the laughter,
Between the anger and the yelling,
Between the pain and the screaming.

I am...
The instant before,
The moment after
...what you find Between.

Between the question and the answer.
Between the unknown and the knowing.
Between too much and too little.
Between the voice that cries out and the ear that listens.

Between past and future.
Between silence and song.
Between what was
And what might have been.

Between the hand that reaches out
And the one that pulls away.

Between the note,
And the trigger

I am the Between.

Between who I am
And who I’ve been.

I am the Between.

Music Knows

Music is always there for me. It gets me. It understands me. It knows what I need before I need it. It comforts me. It gives me permission to be angry. It encourages me to have hope when I feel there’s nothing else for me to hang on to. It shows me my own despair. It cries with me when I am sad. It holds my hand when I’m afraid. It celebrates my success - every time.

Music never betrays me. It stands strong when I can’t. It is always quick to challenge long held beliefs about myself - good or bad. Music just knows. It knows before I do. It’s that friend that forces me to persist when I don’t have the will. I may not understand, but it’s there. I’m thankful.

Over the past decade or more I've been upended too many times, and certainly too much to attempt to explain here. Yet, for me, music knows every battle, every hurt, every tear, every test, every loss, and every win.

I tuned in years ago. I learned to listen to what the music told me. Music is my life coach, therapist, sherpa, and I can never be anything less than vulnerable with music. It won't allow it. My soul is laid bare in its presence - always.

Time to Fly!

Recently I saw a couple of young mockingbirds that had been pushed from the nest by their mother. They were on the ground and fluttering about attempting to fly. Mother was watching over them and even swooped down at me a couple of times when she felt I was too close. I was witness to how hard and cruel life can be. Those young birds have to figure out how to fly or become easy prey, and their mother can't help them. She's done everything she can for them. She built them a nest. She incubated them while they grew in their eggs. After they hatched she fed them when they were hungry, and protected them from the elements. Now, they have to fly, so she did what mother birds do and set them free.

On the same morning my son turned eighteen - an adult. He got up, showered, got dressed, grabbed a bag he had packed the night before and headed to the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) in Knoxville. The next day he was poked, prodded, measured, questioned, tested, and made to walk like a duck (look it up). After his ordeal was finished he signed a six year contract with the United States Air Force and is currently in the delayed entry program (DEP) awaiting his assignment.

I feel a lot like that mother bird. I gave him a safe home. I fed him. I protected him. I taught him everything I could, but now, he has to fly - and on his own. My little bird grew to be a man, and I have to set him free.