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.)

Translation (from Chinese): This playing is wonderful. It made me think of sitting on my father’s shoulders when I was little. Back then, my father felt like a mountain. I was small, always used to hiding behind him. Slowly, slowly, I grew bigger, and I became someone else’s mountain. Then I suddenly understood that being a man sometimes means that at certain moments, you can only walk forward alone and face everything yourself.

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.

Tab Books! Come and Get 'em!

Over the years I've assembled a few tab books for bluegrass and old-time banjo.  I've offered them as print copies for several years, but recently I've had requests for digital downloads.  So, here's my official debut into the digital download market.

My Musical Misadventures: My first tab book from the 1990s has a bunch of melodic tabs and a few guitar, mandolin and ukulele tabs.

In the mid 1990s I bought a copy of TabRite and began converting a bunch of my hand-written tabs.  Pretty soon it turned into a book.  I made a couple dozen copies and just sold it locally.  Banjo Master Bill Keith bought the last of my stash in 1996 and I figured that was that.  Recently. though, I found a copy tucked away in a briefcase, so I've scanned it and now I'm offering it to you here. It includes the following:

Banjo Tabs

Arkansas Traveler, Banjo Signal, Beaumont Rag, Bill Cheatham, Canadian John, Cherokee Shuffle, Clinch Mountain Backstep, Dixie Hoe-Down, Farewell Blues, Fireball Mail, Good-Bye Liza Jane, Ground Speed, Londonderry Hornpipe, Old Joe Clark, Open Faced Reel, Redwing, Salt Creek, Shady Hollow Bounce, Soldier's Joy, St. Anne's Reel, Sweet Georgia Brown

Guitar Tabs

Grey Eagle, Amazing Grace, Old Joe Clark

Mandolin Tabs

Crazy Creek, Cripple Creek, Durang's Hornpipe, Leather Britches, Liberty, Old Joe Clark, Whiskey Before Breakfast

...and a bonus Ukulele Tab: Old Susannah

You can buy your copy here: 

My Musical Misadventures

Buy Now

Three Finger Banjo Tunes: Thirty Two tunes in TAB for 3 finger Banjo. Tunes include: Ain't Gonna Work Tomorrow, Banjo Lounge Theme, Banjo Lounge, Breakdown, Banjo Signal, Barlow Knife, Bob the Builder, Bonanza Theme, Buffalo Brain, Can't Help Falling inLove, Coo Coo's Nest, Cora is Gone, Cotton Eyed Joe, Cripple Creek, El Cumbenchero, Footprints in the Snow, Frosty the Snowman , Heffalumps and Woozles, I Have Decided to Follow Jesus, I'll Fly Away, Jerusalem Ridge, Last Chance, Life's Railway to Heaven, Little Sadie, Okie Dokie #5, Rabbit in a Log (Key of G), Rabbit in a Log (Key of D), Red Haired Boy, Rose Connely, Sunny Side of the Mountain, Up On the Housetop, Watching Scotty Grow, You Win Again, and The Zipper.

You can buy your copy here:

Three Finger Banjo Tunes
Buy now

Clawhammer Banjo Tunes: 18 Tunes and Chord Charts for G Modal, Double C, and F Tuning.

Includes the following tunes: Barlow Knife, Buttons and Bows, Cluck Old Hen, Cripple Creek, Last Chance, Leather Britches, Mississippi Sawyer, Old MollyHare, Old Joe Clark, Rock the Cradle Joe (2 variations), Sally Ann, Shortening Bread, Sleepy Eyed John, Soldiers Joy, Sandy River Belle ( 2 Variations), Sugar Hill, Wave the Ocean, and Way Lazy Hop.

You Can buy your copy here:

Clawhammer Banjo Tunes
Buy now

Wild Jimbo's Banjo Ranch Tab Store

Seriously, Why Scouting?

There's not much I've done right as a parent. Oh, I try, but there's so many things I know I could do better. There is one thing, however, I got right - that was signing up my son for Cub Scouts in 2006.

Actually, truth be told, his mother signed him up. I was just the agreeable dad. I did, however, go to the first meeting.  The boys started learning to play chess at that meeting while parents filled out applications. Samuel had a great time. Little did we know how much this adventure was going to change his life.

He attended weekly Cub Scout meetings where he learned games, how to use a pocket knife, and even had his first camping trip (his mother camped with him).  We built several pinewood derby cars and he built several other useful items like a toolbox, picture frame, ring toss game and a recipe holder for the kitchen. He learned a lot of other things too, like to always do his best at whatever it was he was doing. He learned to be responsible and even began to learn his duty to god and country. And this was all as a Cub Scout.

Once he was old enough to be a Boy Scout (middle school) he began to learn a lot of outdoor skills. He learned to use an ax, and learned to build a fire. He learned how to pack a backpack and how to pitch a tent. He learned how to make an emergency shelter and spent the night in it. He's survived extreme heat and extreme cold. He learned to cook and feed himself. He knows how to navigate with a map and compass and knows how to ford a river. He can tie more knots than a sailor and even knows when to use them. His first aid skills are admirable and he can find other people that might be lost. What I find most striking is the amount of confidence he has to do all of those things and more.

He's done so much in scouting too. He climbed a mountain. He slept under the stars without a tent, sleeping bag, or shelter of any sort. He has hiked miles upon miles and backpacked to remote locations.  He helped build bridges and trails. He has traveled to events where he represented his unit. He's taken on responsibility too by working for the council at summer camp and other events. He gives freely of his time to recruit and promote scouting and is always quick to volunteer. He works with younger scouts and dedicates a couple of days a week to work with Cub Scouts.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.  There's so much more that scouting has allow him to learn and experience. The merit badges he has earned are representative of over seventy career paths or life skills. There are just too many to list. Earning each rank in scouting took effort on his part and earning the Eagle rank helped him learn how to manage a big project. There were leadership classes and opportunities for him too (and more to come).  Each of these classes and opportunities have helped mold him into a confident leader and problem solver. He has learned to be very prudent and balanced.

So, while it looks like I'm bragging on my son (and maybe I am) I've written all of that to say this. As a parent, I can think of no better program to have my son in than Scouting. I can't imagine our life without Scouting. I'm always puzzled when other parents of young boys don't have their sons in Cub Scouts. Honestly, to me, it's important. I've watched my son grow from a timid kid into a confident young man willing to take on whatever the world throws at him. Wouldn't you want that for your son?

I'm almost done, but before I sign off let's look at the Scout Law.  A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent. Wouldn't you like to be able to say that with your son's name at the beginning?

Look, I'm not saying my son is all of those things all of the time, but he does try, and that goes back to the Cub Scout Motto which is "Do your best."

Please give scouting some serious consideration and check out https://beascout.scouting.org/

My Son the Eagle Scout

Obviously, like any parent should be, I'm proud of my son. Last year was a big year for him in scouting; he began planning and working on his Eagle project early in the year and had his Eagle Ceremony in December.  

Samuel planned every moment of the ceremony, with the only exception of what I wanted to say, and my introduction of him.  Here's what I had to say (with some minor edits to make it work for a weblog).

I remember reading Boys’ Life Magazine when I was a Cub Scout.  I would read those articles about older boys that did great things, and about boys that became Eagle Scouts.  I knew, even at a young age, that I could never do those things.  I could barely swim.  I couldn’t remember any knots or what they were for (still can’t).  I’m not sure where my focus was then, but if we could draw a Venn diagram of my interests I’m pretty confident scouting would have been on a separate sheet of paper.

Even still, I often thought of those boys in the magazine.  I didn’t know them, but I knew they were special.  Even now, I think of those boys from time to time and wonder what became of them.  They were real life heroes - not like heroes on television or in a comic book, but honest to goodness real life heroes that did good things and helped other people.

I remember going to a scouting event once where there were other packs and troops.  I saw boys in American Indian regalia, and I remember thinking it was awesome - and maybe just a bit scary.  I was impressed (or perhaps intimidated).  Those boys seemed really special in my young eyes. 

Now here we are - forty some odd years later.  I read Boys’ Life online these days.  I still see stories of boys achieving things which I could barely even dream.  Those boys are still heroes - real heroes doing good things.

I still admire, what I’ve since learned is, the Order of the Arrow - a Brotherhood of Cheerful Service.  These boys are truly the best of the best.  Someone said recently - describing these boys that they were like “Maverick and Goose” from the movie Top Gun.  I’d say that’s a pretty good analogy.  

As his dad, it’s my wish that he’ll always, on his honor, do his best to do his duty to God and his country and to obey the scout law; to help other people at all times; and to keep himself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

Samuel Pankey is: trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. 

Never once did we have the conversation about “sticking with it”.  His desire to be in scouting has been obvious since he was a Tiger.  He wanted this.  His mom and I did everything we could to make sure he had this opportunity.  We might have nudged him a bit here and there, but the work he did was his own - it had to be that way.  We wanted him to be able to look back and see what he could accomplish.  We wanted him to be able to say “I earned this.” 

My son, an Eagle Scout - a real life hero doing good things.   

7 ways to be WEIRD - Review

It's time for another review.  Today's choice? That's simple: 7 ways to be WEIRD by Rushad Eggleston.

I first heard the name Rushad Eggleston when I learned of a group called Crooked Still back in 2004, when I bought their Hop High album.  I was immediately impressed with the cello work on that project and genuinely enjoyed the energy and excitement.  That album also introduced me to Aoife O'Donovan and Greg Liszt - but that's a story for another time. 

Fast forward a dozen years and I thought, "Hey, reckon what happened to Rushad Eggleston?" So I poked his name in Facebook and found his artist page.  There were videos - a lot of videos.  I began to watch.  Captivated is a good word to describe how I felt.  I giggled a lot.  I know I smiled a lot, because my face began to hurt after a bit.  After I felt like I was caught up on videos, I'd make a pass by Rushad's Facebook page daily, just to see if there was anything new - there usually was.

Now, I'm guessing some of you have made your way to his page by this point and are either smiling, completely confused, or both.  That's good.  See, music doesn't have to fit in a nice tidy little box with all of you preconceived notions of what "good music" is supposed to be.  Nope.  There's a bit of chaos, musicianship and creativity that blends in those videos that keeps me glued to screen until it's over and compels me to hit the button to get to the next one.

A couple of days ago Rushad posted a link to his bandcamp page. Wait, he's got recorded music for me to download? Why hadn't I already looked for this? I must be slipping!

I decided to go ahead and make a purchase. Okay, I got everything he had there, but I won't review it all. The newest work was 7 ways to be WEIRD. It's a short "album".  It's seven songs in nine minutes.  You read that right; it's short.  Short isn't a bad thing; sometimes the chaos is better in small doses - especially if you're new to it.  Furthermore, you can set your own price that you feel comfortable paying, and you even get to sample the project in its entirety.  You really can't lose.

I spent the afternoon running errands with 7 ways to be WEIRD playing on my car stereo. I played it loud.  I know it was good, because when other people heard it they would smile, or maybe they were smiling because I was smiling.  Either way, there was a lot of smiling going on. I'm sitting here listening as I write and I'm still smiling at 2:40am.

In his own notes he said he "tried to not care, to be free, to have fun..." I've no way to know for sure if he did those things to his satisfaction, but from my perspective he did - and quite amazingly so. He also says "play it for your kids, i bet they'll understand".  I played it for my fifteen year old kid and he totally got it. I was glad.

If you're ready for "something completely different" this might just be what you're needing. At only nine minutes you won't be overwhelmed. It might just be your ticket to musical fun. Go visit Rushad's bandcamp page and buy something.  Oh, go on; you know you want to.

Three Year Update

The following text is a collection of random thoughts.  It's just a quick update that I've been meaning to do since May, but just couldn't form it up into something clever.  Consider it a rough draft.  Consider it a peek into my brain in it's disorganized state.  I just wanted to share.

tl;dr version: Despite the difficulties, I'd do it all again.

---

In May of 2012 I walked away from my day job.  I had a litany of reasons for doing it, but it was spurred by a desire to do nothing other than to play and teach music.  It wound up saving my marriage, building a relationship with my son and salvaging what was left of my own mental health.  You can read about it here: A Change for the Better

I knew it was going to be tough.  I knew our financial situation would be difficult.  It has.  We've given up a few conveniences and we've had to demonstrate some creativity in paying the bills.  Sometimes we get them paid, other times we get them paid later.  I do sometimes feel guilty about some of the things we've needed to sacrifice.  There's just not much money to go around, but that was the case when I had - what seems like - all the money anyone could ever need.  If I've learned anything, it's that I'm inclined to live just beyond the edge of my means.  I figure a lot of folks do that. 

Since leaving the day job I've learned many things.  I've learned to fix the washer and dryer; I've actually fixed bits that normally get replaced.  I've learned how to do some simple plumbing and home repairs.  I've also learned just how far I can go on a tank of gas.  I've learned to cook some of my favorite meals that I'd have normally eaten out.  I've learned to like the thermostat set to 76 in the summer and 66 in the winter.  I've also learned to ask for help when I need it.  I've learned about the kindness of strangers.  I've learned just how generous my dad is.

Here's a big thing I've learned.  You've heard the old saying, "Time is money."  It's a trap, a trick, and maybe even a lie.  Sure, you can sell your time for money, but you can never use that money to buy back time. 

I'm also learning to value myself.

I finally got to know my son.  He's a real gem.  I never knew.  See, that's a regret.  I regret giving so much of my time to an employer that I missed being involved with him.  Oh, I was home in the evenings, but the stress of the day job made me irritable.  I didn't want to associate with anyone, so I glued myself to the banjo and the internet.  How are things now?  I couldn't ask for a better relationship with my son.  Heck, I've even taken a position with the local Boy Scout District - I never had time for that before.

The relationship I have with my wife is improving, but there's a lot of mending to do.  It's comforting to know she still supports my decision.  We're just always struggling to pay the bills.  She's not been able to find full time work, and my work, such as it is, adds to the difficulty in making regularly scheduled payments.  Fortunately we don't have a lot of debt and the other folks that expect money from us have been understanding - so far.  We're both hopeful that things are bound to improve.  Keep her in your prayers that she'll find a full time job.  We don't have much hope in her current employer ever offering her a full time position.

Would I do it again?  Yes!  I'd do it again, and I'd do it sooner; I've learned that it's important to follow your dreams and do those things you really want to do, even if there's not much money involved. 

Spend more time with the people you love.  It's worth more than any amount of money.  It's important. 

You Can't Kill the Old Red Rooster

You can't kill the old red rooster anymore.  Don't do it.  You can have chicken and dumplings, but there will be no killing of roosters.  That's a lesson I learned this week.

A friend asked me to speak at her elementary school's career day.  I was more than happy to do it.  I may not be the model independent music professional, but I guess I'm pretty enthusiastic about it.  I like showing children (and adults) that you can be whatever you want.  Doing something that makes you happy is worth more than a big salary for something you dread daily.

My day started early - much earlier than most musicians, but duty called.  I arrived in time to carry in a couple of banjos and stands, meet some folks, and get set up.  I had a full slate.  My day would be filled twenty minutes at a time with children from different grades (kindergarten through fifth grade).  I braced myself for the first group.

They were bright-eyed, inquisitive, and seemed to really like the banjo.  I talked some about how I work and earn money.  They asked questions, and I played them a few songs.  Before I knew it I was out of time, and those children marched out and more marched in.  After a few classes I was getting the hang of it.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

By the afternoon things couldn't be running smoother, until I had a class that was more interested in me playing than me talking.  That's fine, and they were younger kids (maybe kindergarten or first grade).  I asked them, "Do you know She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain?"  They screamed, "YES!!!"  I started the song.

She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes... Everyone sings

She'll be driving six white horses when she comes... Everyone sings

We will kill the old red rooster when she comes... Jaws hit the floor, eyes well up, and lips start to pout.

Wait just a minute!  Here I am, singing a song from my childhood where we killed that dad-gummed rooster every time - and with a big CHOP CHOP with hand motions!  These kids though?  They'll have none of it.  You just can't kill that rooster - not in 2015.  I immediately saw the error of my horrible rooster killing lyric.  How could I not, with the cute little pony-tailed blonde with the cute glasses and the big eyes welling up and her bottom lip stuck out?  With the help of the teacher in the room we segued to a happier song - "The ABCs" - as best as I could recall there are no roosters killed in that one.

Lesson learned: don't kill the rooster.  My childhood was horrible and I never knew it.

That's not all I learned.  No, the next lesson came with the next group of kids.  These were fifth graders - smart, with good questions.

"When you first started playing for money, how much did you get paid?" A boy asked.

"The first time I ever earned anything for playing was with the FFA Stringband in high school.  We would play for different civic clubs (like the Lions Club, Kiwanis Club, etc) and in return they would give us a pig for our pig chain." I told them.

"You got paid a pig?!?!" They all laughed.

Once they were convinced I wasn't just being silly, they had another question.

They inquired, "What did you do with the pigs?"

For whatever reason, there's this bone in my head that often just makes me blurt out the truth.  "We raised them and eventually ate them."

No sooner than I had said it the lesson of the rooster popped into my brain.  Not to mention the exclamation from the kids, "You ate them?!?!  You ate your piggies?"

Yes - yes we did.  Being older kids I figured I would just go ahead and let them go on that remark as time was up.  I started my last tune as they exited.  As the kids were leaving one lagged behind to tell me that his dad raised pigs to eat, and even killed them. He didn't seem to mind.  I was relieved.

Time have changed.  I'm not sure it's for the better.  I saw kids eating meat at lunch, but I'm not sure they have any idea where it comes from.  Except maybe for some of the more rural kids, they seemed to get it.  As I reflected on my rooster horror I tried to see the kids faces again and I recalled that almost none of the Hispanic children had a problem with killing the old red rooster.  We have a large Hispanic population here and a lot of these kids' parents immigrated here in the past decade, so maybe they're still pretty close to their cultures - whatever that might be. Maybe it's cultural?  I'm not sure, and I'm not qualified to even guess.

I just know that the old red rooster and pigs can roam free on the farm, and...

We'll all have kale and tofu when she comes...

Hopefully no one will need therapy.

Wind 'em up. Watch 'em go!

I've been teaching a long time - longer than I should have, most likely.  I've had all sorts of students; some good, some bad, some horrible, and some exceptional.  The latter ones are pretty rare.  Those exceptional ones are those that take what you show them, and assimilate it.  They don't just memorize an idea for a certain tune; they figure out exactly what that concept is and how to apply it.  They're the ones that modify the techniques to fit their own idea of how it works.  They're the ones that soon figure out how to play within the boundaries of their own limitations.  Sounds simple enough, but in reality that assimilation of knowledge is what separates the casual player from the ones that go on to be successful.  If I knew how to bottle that, I'd sell it.

Trevor is one of those exceptional students.  He's driven - motivated even.  I showed him some very basic clawhammer a few months back.  Last lesson he's already playing some fairly advanced stuff, and he did it on his own!  Also, not too long ago he expressed some interest in a couple of Reno tunes.  Admittedly, my Reno vocabulary is small.  I pointed him in a direction, the rest he did on his own.  I figure I need to get him to show me the Reno stuff he's learned.  ...and the student becomes the teacher.

He's my current favorite windup toy -- wind him up, watch him go!

Anyway... here are a couple of videos of Trevor (one with his brother).

the eighteen Moloney - A Review

Perhaps it was jet lag, or maybe it was the thrill of the moment, but when I heard David Power play at Dillon’s Bar in Dungarvan, Ireland I found myself holding my breath; I didn’t want to miss a single note. 

I admit it; I’m not an experienced listener of Irish music.  The only Irish bands I can think of are the Chieftains and The Masters of Tradition - oh, and Flogging Molly, but they’re from the USA.  Heck, I’ve never even seen Riverdance.  So, as you can see I haven’t the slightest clue about the music.  Sure, I’m not unfamiliar with music in general, and I have a great appreciation of musicianship.  Never-the-less, you’ve been warned.

A couple of weeks ago David sent me a copy of his newest CD the eighteen Moloney.  I’ve listened to little else since I got it in the mail.  It’s a solo recording with David playing the uilleann pipes - and what an exciting recording it is!

The title of the album comes from the chanter he’s using for the recording.  It was made before the Great Famine in Co. Clare by Andrew and Thomas Moloney.  From what I’ve read it’s been used by some pretty notable players throughout history, and it was referred to as the 18 Moloney.  So, it would be like playing a mandolin that had been used by Bill Monroe, Jethro Burns, and Dave Apollon. 

So, history aside, how was the recording?

There are places of peace in this recording.  There are places where you’ll tap your foot and want to dance.  There are, as well, melodies that energize me; I feel stronger - maybe even braver - just by listening.  It’s hard to explain, and maybe I shouldn’t try, but there are musical lines among these tunes that move me emotionally - not sadness, but it’s as if the music reaches ancient or genetic memories.  So, like I said, it’s hard to explain.  There are truly ancient tones on this recording. 

If you’re a fan of Irish music, then you will - without a doubt - enjoy the eighteen Moloney. If you're a fan of a skilled musician doing what he does best, you'll enjoy this recording. 

Check out the sample below, and then visit David's website to order your copy. 

Don't Miss Acoustic Kamp

Look, I know you're busy - me too, but you can't miss this.  It's a big deal, and I know you'll love it.  It is - in my estimation - the music camp that all others aspire to be.  Yes, it's that good.

Now I hope you'll sign up for my Old-Time Banjo Class.  I won't lie to you, I need the students.  I will, over the course of the week, share with you all sorts of ideas that you'll be able to use right away.  I'll share things that you can use later.  It'll be fun!  I promise.

I know you all don't play banjo, but there are flat picking guitar classes, fiddling, hammered dulcimer, finger picking guitar and old time singing - and that's just the week I'm there.  The next week there is even more to choose from.  Heck, go both weeks; a lot of people do that.  Really, I wouldn't pull your leg about it.

So, I'm just going to count on you being there.  Follow this link:  Steve Kaufman's Acoustic Kamp

Spot - A Gentle Giant - A Brother

Meet Spot.  He showed up one day as if to say, "Hey, I'm home."  Just a puppy and mostly just a rambunctious ball of playful fur, he was home.  He found a place to live, grow and just relax; but most of all, he found a home in our hearts.

He grew into a giant of a dog.  At three years old he weighed well over a hundred pounds and his shoulders stood almost as high as my waist. Despite being partially lame in his front left leg due to some nerve damage from a vaccination, he was unbelievably strong and quick.

He loved people, attention, and riding in the car.  He loved the other animals and once even helped a rescue another dog that was trapped in a pen once (In his mind I know he thought it was for the best).  He became instant pals with everyone he met. There wasn't an ounce of meanness in him.

Monday, though, I got a call.  Spot had been shot.  Spot was dying.

What?  Who?  Why?

None of that mattered.  We all knew Spot wasn't long for this world.

Some miserable soulless minion of evil shot Spot through the gut with what could have only been a round from a hunting rifle. Yet, despite being mortally wounded - despite losing so much blood - he made his way back to the only home he had ever known.  I'm convinced he knew his time was over. He kept his eyes on my mom the whole time - as if maybe he was worried about her, or maybe hoping she could somehow fix his horrible wound.  He died there in the arms of those that loved him.

It was truly a senseless act that has affected all of our lives - none more than my son Samuel's.  Samuel was Spot's boy.  They were brothers.  They loved each other with no conditions.  Hours were spent running, wrestling, playing hide and seek and just lying together to rest.  How is a boy that's only thirteen to begin to forgive someone for taking the life of a best friend?  Did the shooter realize, or even care, that a brave child would be the one to cover Spot's eyes when Animal Control administered the injections to release Spot from his agony caused by such a cowardly action?  Only time will tell how this horrific event will change my son.

How am I supposed to guide my son when the very core of my soul is enraged? It's all I can do to channel my emotion to remembering Spot's contribution to our lives.  He was just a big old goofy dog. He wasn't a lick smart, but he was one of us.  I also realize that no amount of retribution will bring him back to us, but I'm still angry enough to admit that I'd immediately return the action to the contemptible miscreant that took Spot's life so ruthlessly if I thought for a second that it would return Spot to us unharmed.

We're heartbroken.  

---A letter to Spot---

Dearest Spot,

I know you're happy.  I can only imagine how strong and fast you are now with your leg all fixed up.  Oh, I'm also sure you've found Kat and Nibbles.  Tell them they're thought of often.

We all miss you.  

Your little buddy Wally-Dog won't know what to do without you taking him on hikes through the woods.  Molly and Callie (those silly cats) are going to miss you being around.  Dad probably won't get much rest for a while, because you won't be there beside him, and Mom will miss your company during the day.  Tina will certainly miss you poking your big head in the car when she was coming or going.  Samuel is missing you quite a bit - I think it will be a long while before his heart heals.

Please try not to worry about us, and most of all, don't feel guilty.  I know you were probably thinking you messed up, but this wasn't something that you had any control over.  We all know how frightened you were of guns, and would have run at the very sight of one.  So it's okay.  You didn't do anything wrong.  You were just playing in the woods.

We still love you.  We won't forget you, and soon our thoughts of you will be of all the good times we had.

Oh, and Spot, next time I see you I promise that we'll take a much needed nap.  Yes, with you on my lap; I wouldn't have it any other way.

Love Always,

Jim

Preparing for a Banjo Contest

Recently I had an opportunity to judge the Smithville Jamboree.  After sitting through nearly two hundred entrants' performances I decided to resurrect an old post I had made on the Banjo Hangout.  I've tweaked it a little and cleaned it up.  Hopefully, you'll find something useful when you're preparing for a contest.

Once upon a time I had written and saved a couple of long diatribes regarding things not to do at contests.  However, because of your apparent good fortune, they seem to be lost in cyberspace.

One day I might try to recreate some of that, but until I get really bored I'm not going to even try. However, I can offer some common sense ideas that may or may not make a difference.

Before I start, I'd like to preface this with the information that I have, indeed, played quite a few contests. I've won a handful, and totally stunk up even more. In the process I learned some things. I've also had several opportunities to judge quite a few contests too, and hopefully I can offer you something from the judges perspective.

Choose some songs from your repertoire (four or five would be ideal). Make sure those tunes are ones you know upside down and backwards.  I know that seems obvious, but I've seen contestants play tunes they just didn't know well enough to play under the scrutiny of judging.

The question regarding what songs to play comes up a lot. There's no right or wrong here, but there are considerations. Have the judges heard this song a blue-zillion times? If so, I'd probably skip that one. Is it something you don't already know? I'd skip that too. The last thing you need is to have a tune that is "new". I look for tunes that are "different" but not strange. I want the judges to be able to identify it. There are plenty of other things to think about here - and as you get more involved you'll think of plenty reasons to ditch tunes, add others, etc.. Again, I'd hope that the songs you select are ones you're already very comfortable with.

Now that you've picked out your tunes you'll need original arrangements. No, not from that tab book... no, not that recording either - put the video away too. You didn't think you could sneak that note for note arrangement of Sammy Shelor's Earnest T Grass by a competent judge did you? The judges will know. They do listen to stuff. Most of them are students of the music - just like you. That means they're still admiring and listening to all the cool players. Uh oh, can't use someone's canned break... now what? Create your own. Sorry. No easy answers here. You just have to do it. It takes time, it takes effort.  It takes getting around players much better than you and listening to their arrangements and figuring out what you can assimilate without being a clone.

Now... do that 3 or 4 more times.

Once you've got the tunes arranged and practiced, keep polishing. Play them a lot - it's more than you think - once a day ain't nearly enough. You need to play them over and over. Record them. Listen to the recordings. Practice with the metronome. Listen. Practice, practice, practice. Play for friends, neighbors, the cat, play them for anyone that will listen. Heck, come play them for me; I'd be glad to make you nervous and critique your playing.

Day of the Contest

Sign up and get a copy of the rules. Read the rules. It's a good idea to follow them - enforced or not. I've seen players win and lose on technicalities. Don't be a technicality. Know when and where you're supposed to be. Relax - whatever it takes here is fine by me for the most part.  Hopefully you'll have practiced and played enough that you won't be worried or nervous about the songs. You will be nervous about the contest though; that's to be expected. Try not to barf.

Some people like to check out the other competitors; I never do. Last thing I need to do is psyche myself out. I generally stay by myself and warm up. If you have someone accompanying you, warm up with them.

Draw your number. Get called. Go pick. Play what you rehearsed, and try not to bore, irritate, or annoy the judges. You're done now. You can exhale. Go hangout with the other folks. Check out the jams, watch the contest, whatever.

Did you win? Did you place? Did you bomb? Who cares? What I hope you did was have fun. That's that main thing. Play the contests because they're fun. Play them because you like to play. Don't worry too much about the outcome. That sort of thing isn't too productive. There's not a contest that goes by that someone doesn't complain about the outcome. It's not always like you expect it, but if you went in expecting exact science from a banjo contest, well, shoot, you get what you deserve.

Oh, don't be a whiner - especially to the judges. I love talking to the competitors after the contest - especially when they're genuinely looking for help or advice. Do remember that judges are people - like you. (I remember an event where a mother of a player gave me serious grief because she was convinced that I didn't have a clue about music, because if I did I'd have certainly given much higher marks to her kid... sigh.)

Just be a good sport.  Make friends with as many people as you can, and practice a bunch for next year!

tl;dr - Play Something You Know!

A Change for the Better

What is it that you really want to do? Where does your mind wander? What are you driven to do? Why isn’t that your vocation and why aren’t you doing it? I faced that very thing for most of my working life. I knew early on what I wanted, but I also knew that what I wanted wasn’t particularly lucrative. So, I compromised - or I thought. I found jobs that I could do that would allow me some freedom to do the things I wanted - even if it only meant being able to do those things on the weekend. All the while I longed to do something else. It was ever present in my mind. Yet, I felt trapped in job that allowed me to live somewhat comfortably. The stress of the last job took it’s toll, and even though I still had some freedom to pursue my interests, the misery of feeling obligated to hold on to a job with an employer I despised had begun to suck the joy from the very thing I wanted most. I Was In Trouble I was fighting the worst depression I can ever recall. I was on the verge of a complete physical and mental breakdown. My life was a complete mess, and my family was under enormous strain. Something had to change. I knew it couldn’t be some little change. Something big had to happen. In May of 2012, in an attempt to affect the needed change I walked away from my job. It wasn’t an easy thing to do; like many of you I needed the income, and I needed the benefits. I needed the stability. At least that’s what I thought. At first, like with many things, the job was great. I was given a responsibility and it was up to me to manage it my way. And, as the saying goes, “I had it made.” Let’s face it; I had good benefits, and the most money I’ve made in my life. Little did I realize that I was trading away my life and happiness for a lousy paycheck. At this point I could make a lot of excuses to justify walking away from a good job during a tough economy in an area where jobs are scarce. There’s no reason I could offer that couldn’t be shot down with simple common sense. How will I buy groceries? How will I pay the mortgage? Can I afford the car payment? Can I pay our utility bills? What if we get sick? The list goes on and on. Like I said... common sense. Yet, with all of those really good reasons to keep the job, I knew my family would be happier if I was happier. If that meant giving up the money and the benefits then that’s what had to happen. Truth is, living in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere would be better than the grief that I was bringing home every day to the people I loved. I did have a plan of some sort. I love the banjo. I love playing it and I love teaching it. I’m neither a world class musician nor teacher, but it’s something I genuinely love. Just how many times have we heard, “Do something you love”? With that in my mind the plan was to book as many playing jobs as I could and to schedule as many students as I could. A short, but meaningful, conversation with my Dad proved to be quite helpful. He understood my situation, and knew I really wanted to be free of a job that was poisoning my life. He offered four words of encouragement. Four little words I’ve heard him say when it was time to get things done. “Do it to it.” I turned in my notice that afternoon. I’m Not Dead Yet Since leaving the job I’ve noticed three things. First, my relationship with my wife has improved. My relationship with my son is better. And finally, for the first time in over a decade, my outlook on life is positive. Yes, I struggle. I even worry. However, the things I struggle and worry about are outweighed by the short list of things I mentioned above. No, I don’t make much money, and I don’t have benefits, but I do have my family. I have peace of mind. I feel happy for the first time in many years. The Holidays Oh, this year Christmas morning will happen with very few presents under the tree. That’s okay. It’s so easy to say (and I’ve been guilty of saying it in the past), “Oh, it’s not about the gifts.” No, it’s not about the gifts -- until there’s not many gifts under the tree. I sure wish I could have bought more gifts for my friends. I certainly wish I could have bought more for my family. But really, it’s okay. Here’s why it’s okay. I’m convinced that my little family wouldn’t have lasted much longer had I held onto that job that was making me miserable -- despite the money it provided. Because I was miserable, I was unwittingly destroying the thing we’re all supposed to hold dear -- family. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t. As difficult as it is to admit, I was tearing my family apart. What’s under the tree this year is probably the best gift I could have imagined. This year the gift is having a family. Some Words of Encouragement I’d like to encourage you to change your life, but I want you to answer these questions. What would you trade for a better relationship with your family? What would you give for a good night’s sleep? What would you sacrifice for peace of mind? What would you forfeit to just be happy? Those are the questions I asked myself. I also asked my family the same questions. I thought it was important that if I was going to make huge life altering changes they had best be in on it. I didn’t think that either my wife or son needed to make big changes. We all knew I was the problem, but whatever changes were made would effect them. We thought it over. I think we all knew something had to change. We all understood the risks. What if we make this big change and things don’t get better? That seemed like a fair question, but then we asked, “How could it get any worse?” No, it won’t be easy. But I have to ask, “Is your life easy now?” No, your change might not make things better. If you’re like I was, it probably can’t get much worse. During all of the pondering of my situation a New Grass Revival song kept coming to mind -- Sail to Australia. Here’s the verse that I couldn’t get off my mind.

Sometimes I wish things were better But most times I'd settle for different Just to know that the day that's waiting for me Ain't the same one that I just spent

That really summed it up for me at the time too. I knew, though, that finally casting off that horrible job and pursuing my dream would only be better for everyone that had to be around me. Better times are coming. My mind is finally starting to heal. I love my family. I know they love me. Are you happy? If not, let me encourage you to make a change. You can do it. Do you have peace of mind? No? Make a change. You can do it. Is your family close? No? Make a change now. Yes, you can. One more thing...

It’s better to have a short life that is full of what you like doing, than a long life spent in a miserable way. - Alan Watts