Run, Will, Run!

I still weep when I think about Matthew Shepard. I grieved with millions when we lost Princess Diana. And today my heart aches with news of Andrew Koenig's suicide.

I didn't know him, but his death touches me at a visceral level. Different from the others, the demons that tortured Andrew were his own. I understand the pain. I know it well. I've been where Andrew stood — at the edge of a place with no hope, no joy and no warmth. And I think it's because I've felt that overwhelming, crushing, sense of sadness and despair, that I empathize so strongly with him. How sad … that no one reached him in time. 

The world seems just a little colder.

You probably know someone who lives with clinical depression. Reach out to them with a kind word or a gentle hug. And if that someone is you, and you haven't already — talk to you doctor. Find a treatment that works for you. Realize that your life can be so much more than what you've known.

Rest in peace, Andrew. Out of your darkness, may someone else find the path back toward the light. 

Gotta run,

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Last night, Trey and I were at the Broward Center, attending a performance of Holst's "The Planets" by the Houston Symphony. For this unique event, they partnered with NASA to incorporate stunning high-def space imagery that played in sync on a giant film screen over the stage. It was breathtaking and spectacular – I've never felt both so small and insignificant, yet connected and whole.

Movies and television inundate us with, and immunize us to, the presence of orchestral score. It's such a part of the white noise of our lives that we take it for granted. It was such a rich and rewarding experience to watch a live orchestra perform, to visually connect the instruments and the people playing them to the sound that was filling the theatre. The energy of the hundred-piece ensemble was palpable. Sharing the experience with over two-thousand was electrifying – an evening I won't soon forget.

In our age of digital downloads and iPods, music is everywhere. It soundscapes our homes, our cars, our offices; the places where we eat, shop and play. I wondered last night of the world when Holst composed this symphony. What did his audiences feel a hundred years ago? I'd like to think I experienced, just for a while, the same joy, the same wonder, that they must have.

I hope we'll be diligent in passing this sentience to the generations that come behind us; that we'll ensure our children and their children develop an understanding and an appreciation of how music is built, how it all began - before there was an iTunes store.

Gotta run,

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