What does it mean to Bend in the Middle?

If you’ve been anywhere near my socials lately, you know that I just released a new song. It’s the title track to the new album, “Bend in the Middle,” which comes out October 18th. But this single, or “buoyant new release” as one reviewer called it, starts things off on purpose. Yes it’s high-energy, catchy, and makes a groovy dance track. But the reasons I led with it are much different than that, and have more to do with my ongoing career as a licensed therapist.

On the path to becoming a professional counselor, I was required to undergo many hours of my own therapy, digging in the dirt as it were to better understand what made me who I am. One thing I discovered then and continued to learn in my role as a therapist for others, is that we all tend to receive feedback from the world about the parts of us that don’t quite fit. This is especially true in our upbringing - hello middle school - but begins way earlier than that. We often internalize these messages that we are too this, or not enough that, and we mistakenly come to believe the story (which, for the record, is a narrative rooted plainly in the discomfort of a caregiver who, instead of tending to their own dysregulated nervous system, tried to enforce a different behavior from the offender so they wouldn’t have to feel their feelings). We, being little humans, typically prioritized this feedback, because who wants to upset Mom (or whomever)? So we created a split. We cut ourselves off from different aspects of our being, in the hopes that we would then fit in a bit better, and therefore receive all the love and affection we require.

As you can imagine, this split, coupled with the ensuing years of a now-contorted posture, has long-term implications for our health, sense of wellness, our ability to engage in healthy relationships, to manage our own nervous system, and to generally assume a sense of autonomy and responsibility as an adult in the world. It stands to reason that most us who survive into adulthood had to manage the transition from listening to our parents (or teachers, grandparents, nanny’s, whomever had authority) to listening to our own inner voices. Some of us learned to do that quickly, and assumed adulthood in our 20’s. Some of us (late bloomers) took longer, waiting until our 30’s, 40’s and beyond to start feeling like full fledged adults.

This is all the context for what it means to me to learn how to Bend in the Middle. It starts with getting our eyes off of what other people are doing, and what they think about what we are doing. Let’s keep our eyes on our own paper, so to speak. Work on our own sense of being in alignment with who we really are, instead of so focused on the perceived “ills” of the world.

Bending in the Middle means being flexible. Going with the flow, trusting that the Universe is working on your behalf, even if the present circumstances make that difficult to believe. It means training ourselves to look for the beauty, and to talk about it. Take more pictures, witness more sunsets. Breathe. Life is magical.

Our problem’s our disconnection
Our well intended split
But we can tune back into the goodness again
By loving all the parts that don’t fit
We’ve got to work it out from the inside
We’ve got to pull the sheets from the bed
Like everybody else I have the typical fantasies
But then the battle comes, then the battle comes
If we don’t start to Bend in the Middle

Love in the Pacific Northwest

I grew up in Issaquah, Washington, just east of Seattle. Knowing that helps explain my lifelong devotion to the sports teams the Mariners, Seahawks, and Sounders, despite now having lived in Colorado for the past 24 years. Each year I make the return trip home, where my family still resides, and soak in the sweet nostalgia that comes with a return to one’s roots. It’s wild the way that works. Driving around the old town brings up all these distant memories that hadn’t risen to the surface in decades…somewhere around here I got that speeding ticket…over on that exact field I played hundreds of hours of soccer eons ago…I remember so many things, many of them pleasant.

And while this trip was highlighted by my opening act at the famed Triple Door (opening for the Jacob Joliff band who blew my mind!), and picking blackberries right outside the front door of my brother’s house, the real gift of the trip, as usual, included humans.

My family of origin is relatively small; my mother lost her only brother when she was a teenager, and my Dad is one of four who have not stayed close. Growing up it was my mom, brother and me, plus weekends with Dad after they split. But there’s something about quality over quantity, and when there’s only a few of you (at least in our case), you lean on each other, becoming extraordinarily close.

My family is awesome, and I say that knowing how many people don’t feel that same way about their own families. But when I’m around my brother, especially and family in general, we laugh a lot. The love is palpable, the inside jokes go way back, and the wittiness among the clan never ceases to amaze me. Even our collective kids - now 18, 21, and nearly 23 - have taken up the baton and have razor-sharp senses of humor. And as much time as we spend laughing together, the reservoir that is my heart is simultaneously filling to capacity. The family love, the nostalgia of the area, coupled with the sheer beauty of the surrounding forest and hills, there’s nothing like it. I don’t know that I want to live in that area - the traffic alone is enough to dissuade me - but it sure is nice to come home.

Golf is Life

Much like my older brother and nearly all of our childhood friends, I grew up playing all kinds of sports. It’s just what you did. Baseball, basketball, football in the yard, and especially golf and soccer in my family. When we weren’t playing sports, we were watching sports on t.v., and even though the Seattle pro sports teams were mired in mediocrity during my formative years, they provided a constant source of connection, giving us something to talk about, win or lose.

I was older the first time I heard someone wax philosophically about sports as a metaphor for life, but something in me understood. And the other day, I played a golf hole that was the perfect metaphor for my entire life.

It’s a par 5, a nice long uphill hole with a huge wide fairway, but with a bunker left and garbage out right. I hit my drive well, but pulled it a bit, and it was headed for the trap. I was miffed. And in the ensuing two minutes that it took me to walk up to my ball, I spent the time mentally kicking myself for pulling the drive, likely putting it into the trap, when there’s such a huge wide safe landing area on this hole as long as you aren’t a doofus. Which I was. Because, although I hit it well, I was pretty sure I was going to find my ball in the sand. What an idiot. Ugh. Why do I do this? Such as easy hole. And on and on.

But guess what? When I finally walked up to my ball, I noticed I wasn’t in the trap at all. In fact, I was in the short stuff, right there in the fairway. Just on the far left side. But 100% totally fine, with an unobstructed shot to the green. Oh, I thought. Ok. Here we go. A simple three wood, right up the middle. Hit it well and I’ll find the green. Hit it not so well and it’ll be a little short. Sweet.

But I did’t hit it that well. I pushed it way off right, into the rough on the right side of the fairway, and what looked to be directly behind a tree, 60 yards short of the green. Fudge! I screamed at myself, although it was only internal and it wasn’t fudge.

How the hell could I leave that out to the right that like? What a crappy swing. And right behind that tree? Ugh, you dumbass. You suck at golf. And so began the next three minute trudge to my golf ball, mentally berating myself for my inexcusable idiocy, and clear sucky-ness at this sport. Never mind that I’ve played two times all season. My high expectations are immutable.

Quick sidebar: My grandparents taught me to play golf as soon as I could swing a club, but it was years before I learned to control my anger on the course. This unfortunate dynamic had two major aspects for me as a kid: First, my own sense of perfectionism, which makes me hold myself to impossibly high standards, and two: my constant comparison to my beloved older brother who happens to be a truly exceptional golfer. In the hundreds (thousands?) of golf rounds he and I have played together, I have beaten him a sum total of one time. And what a glorious time that was! But back to my story.

As I continue my walk of shame to approach my third shot, I once again realize that, despite my dark assumptions, my ball is actually, once again, ok. I am behind that tree a bit, but I still have a look at the green, and it’s not nearly as dire as I had believed moments ago. Once again, things were just fine the whole damn time, but I, in my head, was a wreck.

And this is my life. Not that I’m always a wreck. But that during those times when I think I am indeed a wreck, it’s actually all just fine. Better than fine, even. Things are always working out for me. Even when I hit my second shot near that tree. Or miss the putt. Or didn’t land that gig I wanted. Or whatever.

By the way, I hit a crafty third shot to fifteen feet, and two-putted for par.

And walked off the green shaking my head, laughing at myself. And endeavoring to do better. Not in my golf game, but in my mental game. Which, of course, is my golf game too. But that internal talk is so much more important than my golf score. It’s everything.

I caused myself so much unnecessary suffering in the span of those 15 minutes, and all for naught. But I’m glad I can notice it, laugh at it, and learn from it. On we go.

The Myth of Hard Work

I’m sure that you, like me, were raised on some form of a family motto: My family’s version was simple, straightforward, and difficult to argue with: Work hard, save your money. This righteous path, the motto goes, will lead to success - financial and otherwise. And truth be told, my self-made grandfather loomed large as testament to this motto. And seeing as how he was my hero already, I was a quick and willing devotee, and for decades applied the family motto as well as I knew how - at least the work hard part. Saving money was another thing, but for now let’s focus on the hard work.

Our culture values exhaustion, and many among us wear our fatigue like a badge of honor. Couple this inherent tendency with my own very high energy level (think: Energizer Bunny…keep going and going…), and I was primed out “outwork” anyone around. Arrive early, stay late, study extra, whatever. If hard work was the key, that was something I could (and would) control. And then succeed!

What I know now that I didn’t know then was the importance of tuning-in: that twofold process of first quieting my mind through daily meditation, followed by a conscious lean towards pleasant-feeling thoughts. This type of daily tuning is nearly all that’s required to set my day off on the right foot, which often becomes its own type of positive momentum, leading from one new and joyful moment to the next. And when I’m in this “allowing” mode instead of my “hard work” mode, sometimes the things on my to-do list happen magically. Yesterday was a perfect example.

I woke up, meditated, and tuned in on purpose - in this case by journalizing in focused ways that helped me tune into the feeling of my prosperity. When I was done with this minutes-long exercise, I felt great. I was buzzing a bit. Then I compiled the day’s two-do list, which included “Book a Show.” But then, instead of working to book my show, I instead went about my joyful and fairly open day. I ate, I took the dog for a hike, I basked in the beauty of the wildlife, etc. And before I could set about the “work” of booking a show, I received an email from a music contact, asking if I wanted to come perform at any of these available dates. And without lifting a finger - by simply replying to an email - I booked not one but three shows over the coming months. Just like that.

My life these last few years has countless examples of this - the universe yielding to me in surprising and delightful ways exactly what it is I’d been asking for. All I had to do was tune in - get in my happy place first before the conditions themselves really solidify - and let the rest unfold.

There are countless unseen forces, coincidences and magical happenings waiting right around the corner to assist you. The only question is - are you tuned in enough to let them in? Or are you like me for so many years - working too hard to notice the perfection?

Like Jumping Out of an Airplane

For many people, the idea of skydiving lives on the anti-bucket list: things you know for certain you’re never going to do. Well, for me, it’s on the hell yes list, and I just did it for the second time recently. The first was thirty years ago in college with some buddies, and this time was with my former spouse and our now 18-year-old daughter. Whether it was the company, the perspective that comes with my now-gray hair, or something else, this time was way, way better!

We all did tandem jumps, which means that we were hooked into an experienced professional. This also means that there is very little you have to do, other than keep your arms in at first, and scream once you catch your breath.

The plane reaches jumping altitude rather quickly, which means that your once you take off, you begin circling and climbing at a breathtaking pitch. The ascent, much of which occurs with the jump door open, gives you ten minutes or so to really come to grips with what you’re about to do. Watching the world recede into a patchwork quilt of farms and neighborhoods, all laying in the shadow of the spectacular Rocky Mountains, above which you just soared.

Now it’s go time. The door is open, the plane is in position, and one by one you watch the other jumpers take their turn disappearing out the door as you and your jumping partner march steadily towards the exit. At this point, I expected more fear and resistance, but all I felt was eagerness and joy about what was occurring.

Those first few seconds are a literal blur. You’re wearing goggles, but it takes a second to get your bearings and realize that you’re actually still alive, despite doing the thing your primitive brain was certain would end in your demise. But now you can breath, and scream! And actually fly! The guide shows you how to use your hands and arms and steer yourself this way, then the other. It’s magical beyond reason. And loud! The rushing wind is as intense as the emotion.

A few seconds later and you can really start to look around, noting the landmarks and how spectacular they look from this 12 thousand foot vantage point. What a rush. And then, with the pull of the cord, and a substantial but not uncomfortable jerk, life slows down significantly, as you begin the parachuting portion of the event.

The transition from free fall to parachute is nearly as wild as from plane to jumping. It’s a drastic change, especially in the volume, and the adrenaline you just built up has a chance to course through your now shaking body. Holy shit! is the phrase I think I uttered a few dozen times. Interspersed with “Fu#k yeah!” It was that kind of a rush. And something I think everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime.

More and more I aim to embody the kind of “go for it” ethic that skydiving requires in all aspects of my life, caring less about what other people think (isn’t that always the task?). When I really do give into the flow and go for it, things always tend to work out so well, it’s a wonder I ever entertain doubtful thoughts. But one thing is true: my doubt is diminishing. I’m jumping out freaking airplanes.

P.S. My daughter and ex-wife loved the experience as well, and Avery is already talking about going again.