Chris Preston and New Aquarius Online

I had a birthday this week. (Aquarius) I enjoy birthdays and believe that we all have a right to make the most of our own personal holiday once a year. I’ve always felt that way. I was surprised that no one picked up on this fact when I was in high school and was absent on the same day every year. In fact, staying home on my birthday was probably the only luxury that being an honors student ever afforded me. It was the only time that I assumed some sense of entitlement with my mother, who never objected to my refusal to waste a birthday at school.

I spent this year’s holiday quietly with my family. I used the time to be my usual introspective self. After some consideration, I’ve determined that still, in a rotating sense of perspective, I want out, I want in, I must stop and I must begin. I won’t detail the specifics of each item here, but I was pleased to discover this time that I also have a number of things, as I scream headlong into a lifetime spanning two score years, that I have absolutely no desire to change. This is a departure from the customary list of resolutions that often stares back at me post-birthday and it pleases me a great deal. It shows that I’m living with purpose and enjoying the rewards of my conviction.

Having tacked on another year, it occurs to me today that to live a memorable and remarkable life requires not greatness but engagement. To be involved. The greatness that I long believed was the goal is merely the result. Engagement is the goal. Action. The goal must be pursued daily, even hourly. It is folly to aspire to engagement over a long period of time, such as a year. It makes greatness elusive, something for which there will always be time. In truth, a lifetime of countless moments of engagement is in and of itself one of achievement, value and greatness. These moments must be countless. Their numbers are our only defense against time that cannot be frozen and hours than can never be relived.

I thought of this while watching a video of Todd Rundgren performing one of my favorite songs. I believe the clip to be a sublime piece. For a moment, I allowed myself to become melancholy about it, since no performance by Todd at which I’ve ever been present has come close to what this clip seems to capture. I’m too young to have been there in 1978 and a great number of things have changed since then. However, I don’t believe that the moment in this video could have been planned. It only exists because of engagement, the pursuit of significant moments that, however unexamined at the time of their occurrence, as a gestalt may amount to something that can be called great.

My birthday gift to myself then, is greatness that defines itself. In realizing that I have things that I would not change, I’m already in motion. I have only to pursue the small piece of ground illuminated by my headlights, the precious few feet that in time will surely add up to a remarkable life’s journey if I do not gaze beyond, and miss them.

Rush hour music, indeed.

As humans, we learn to do many things that I consider to be “unnatural.” Consider the ways that one has to move and contort to play a musical instrument. Sometimes I wonder how human hands can be expected to reach around piano keys at certain angles, but eventually I find ways to play crazy chord inversions. People can adapt to performing amazing or even shocking feats with their bodies. I have a friend who enjoys freak shows. He took me to the Meadowlands Fair to see the freak show once. I still remember the guy who could make a screwdriver disappear into his nose. How do you get the hang of that? Probably by the same process by which the electric bass became an extension of my hands. After so many years, I couldn’t tell you how it is that my hands fall on that instrument the same way every time. Each finger of my right hand comes to rest on its own string every time I pick up the bass. No sound comes from that instrument unless I choose to make it. If I had half that control on the piano…

If you’ve ever learned to play a musical instrument , you might be familiar with the experience of mastering of a physical task. Playing a musical instrument becomes very instinctive over time, but when many people first attempt to make a sound on a new instrument, it can feel as if their hands are not even their own. Even after becoming proficient, playing something new can feel the same way. What always fascinated me was a phenomenon that I still experience. After choosing a single musical passage and playing it repeatedly, I might get my hands to do it, but it won’t be effortless. However, if I stop practicing and do something else, or go to sleep, the next time I attempt the same passage, it seems to come from anther place within me and it flows. The mastering of that movement begins to take root. The fascinating part is that I’m not really doing anything differently. It’s just that suddenly my subconscious starts to own it. I’ve heard it called “muscle memory.” I think there’s something more to it though, because a similar phenomenon often occurs in my life from a spiritual and emotional perspective. I feel like that’s happening now.

I write often about living well and living better. I feel that one of the best parts of who am is how motivated and active I am in realizing my ambitions and reaching my goals. Still, despite my lifestyle of productivity and results-oriented attitude (whatever, man), there are times when I feel I’m getting nowhere. It can happen with music, relationships, health, just about anything. It’s a dreadful reminder sometimes that I’m actually human.

Then, for no reason that is immediately apparent to me, I feel that I’m turning a corner. It’s like practicing a tough riff on the piano. I go to sleep and the next time I sit down, there it is. Similarly, I work as diligently as I can at achieving my goals, doing the same things, but I wake up one morning and everything seems more focused. My goals become more achievable. The way to success seems clearer. I’ve done nothing new, but somehow in my sleep, I’ve crossed an invisible boundary that leads to a turnaround. The frustrations that I may have been experiencing no longer weigh on me. I get new energy seemingly out of thin air. I have to believe that it’s from that same place, the one where new riffs are stored until they can flow without effort.

I’m eager to reap the rewards of my perseverance. But even during these positive periods, I must stay focused on the task at hand. I know that if I start daydreaming about the finish line, this mysterious new energy will float away like smoke.