Mile Markers

Before pressing into the third question on the autobiographical search for artistic direction, a touch of contemplation is in order. The queries, 'Where Did I Come From?' and 'Who are the most influential people in my life?' arched some strong themes over what used to be strings of loose thoughts. It is too early to offer a synopsis of such themes, but I am greatly motivated as they clarity emerges from the fog. I continue on the trail of discovery today as I answer the next question on the list.

Question number three:
What are the most transformative moments of my life?
(Here are ten presented in random order)

A tight squeeze and a slap on the behind - the moment of my birth was perhaps one of the most life-changing I have experienced. I have to admit that clear memories of this day are eluding me, and I am without clever description of its specifics.

I had experienced a large volume of recorded jazz, but the first time I saw a master play live, my understanding and love of the artform skyrocketed. The show included bassist Ray Brown and his trio at Scullers Jazz Club in Cambridge, MA. Unreal.

The day my spoiled friend next door received a drum set as a gift from his parents changed my life more than it reoriented his. The serendipitous moment in time sent me chasing after something I previously had little idea existed. The neighbor quit a few years later; I rounded up two degrees on the instrument.

I had never noticed a long-haired girl with glasses in the music theory classroom. After a short vacation, she came back to campus with contact lenses and a stylish chin-length haircut. I have always had a real thing for short hair on women. When she entered the classroom that day, I had to pick my eyeballs up off of the carpet. I married her three years later. There's more to the story than that, but it was nevertheless a pivotal moment in time.

More than two years ago, my wife and I made the hour drive to celebrate my nephew's one-year birthday party. He had a grand time, but it did not go as well for me. Though that day does not hold my favorite memories, it set in motion a chain of events that led us to pursue a South Korean adoption. Any day, we are expecting to learn who our daughter or son will be, and we hope to travel overseas this summer to become a family of three. Again, there is an involved story to tell here, but this is not the time or setting.

Though I grew up in a church, hearing stories of the Christian faith all along, it wasn't until I was in late high school that it started to make any sense. This transformative 'moment' is more of a three-year period of time, but I would be mistaken not to mention it. As I grew up, all of my youth leaders and mentors were the dorkiest squarepants bunch of not cool people to roam the nation. During my sophomore year of high school, a fellow moved up to Rhode Island from Virginia Beach. He was into frisbee, Dave Matthews Band, foosball, and pretty much anything else, so long as it was awesome. He came up because he was hired to be the Young Life area leader, a sort of youth group that is unattached to an individual church. As this guy became a mentor and friend, I started to listen to what he had to say. My parents' faith, which had made little sense to me thus far, was painted from a different perspective, and my ears were truly open for the first time. This faith has informed every major decision of my life since and continues to do so.

John Riley, an internationally known drum player and teacher, made remarks that shattered my playing ability to pieces. As I made the four-hour return drive, I sobbed the sort of tears that steal breath away and leave a dry, uneasy feeling in the throat. This was the first time of many that I would be deeply humbled as a musician. It was good for the soul, but I still wince at the pain of that moment.

I lost a portfolio of big band music on a Friday during my first year of grad school, which is a major no-no. My usually irritable professor was a certified nuclear bomb when I called to tell him the news. I spent the entire weekend running around, researching music sources, buying expensive replacement parts, and even acquiring a recording and transcribing a part aurally for an out-of-print score. The original folder turned up the following Monday, but before it did, I reported to my professor that I had drummed up all the necessary replacement parts. From that day on, he treated me with a level of dignity that I had never felt from him before. There is no easy way to earn someone's respect; it is an accomplishment when it happens.

On a clear day, biking across a wide dirt road by the Chattahoochee River in Atlanta, I saw a sign with a bike icon pointing to a trail that led up a steep hill. I was up for the adventure, so I began the climb. The trail I stumbled upon happened to be an expert course with razor-edged rocks, drop-offs, stair steps, creek crossings, and sharp berms. I was convinced the little sign I saw was misplaced, until I witnessed someone of my age and build come flying down the technical mess with finesse and prowess. In that moment, I was hooked. Three years later, I spend hours each week working out my skills on the nearby trails.

A buddy lent me an audio recording of 'The Irresistible Revolution,' Shane Claiborne's autobiographical work about life decisions that form from genuine faith. This one volume led me to many others, and into countless discussions about the topic. I find myself constantly searching for expressions of my faith that will speak love and justice to my neighbors, and I continue to ask the deceptively simple question of, "Who is my neighbor?," which is proving to be a lifelong pursuit. This author has challenged me to rethink life more than any other.