Never in my life have I experienced the feeling of missing live music. Growing up in Austin gave me the perk of constantly being surrounded by bands and musicians playing on a variety of stages. In a matter of weeks, that was all gone.

I think something beautiful is going to come out of this, and it’s going to sneak up on us and clobber us over the head. In the future, it will seem obvious, but we’ll remember that in the dark times of spring 2020, the future was a giant, neon, blinking question mark, and we never would have ended up making something so beautiful if we hadn’t all gone through it together.

Living through a global pandemic was not something I ever expected. I was not prepared at all. I have never been in quarantine. I have never lived alone in this kind of fear. I have never seen a more uncertain future. I feel bad for all of the people who have lost someone, gotten sick themselves or simply can’t handle this level of fear and uncertainty.

I’m an extreme introvert, bordering on reclusive. I’ve loved being able to stay home and create an even more beautiful space to live in. It gets lonely at times, but it’s helping me feel more resolved to live out life on my own.

I read, play my guitar, watch shows and sit around wondering, “What comes next?”

I’ve found some of the innocence I had when I wrote my first songs as a teenager, creating with no agenda. Music has always been my therapy, but I’m now leaning on it in a way I never have before: for escape, energy and hope. I’ve been reminded not to take the gift of music or the chance to share it with others for granted.

We are taking it one day at a time, and I’m navigating how to survive as a musician without live gigs. I’m an introvert, and my wife and daughter are both extroverts. They find this difficult because they like interacting with people, and I’m having a hard time because there’s no alone time to recharge. That said, we are all still healthy and getting our basic needs met, so we know we’re lucky!

As a big out-and-about type, moving into the single family dwelling inside my head was a real culture shock. Rest, reflection and growth come blundering like an unexpected house guest when all you’re used to is “produce, perform, repeat.” Largely uncomfortable and vast as the void may be, the time here has been welcome and necessary, and we’ve still got a Long Way To Go.

We’re trying to use this time to learn, relax and think. It’s a rare treat to get a chance to think! We can’t wait to travel again and play shows — definitely looking forward to that day. We believe that all of this will ultimately have a positive outcome, even when it feels impossible right now.

For me, quarantine has been a much-needed pause on life. I am thankfully still able to teach virtually. I feel very privileged and grateful to be free of financial stress (so far) and that I’ve been able to maintain a connection with my students — it’s been very good for my sanity.

All of life, all Reality, is of the Great Song. From the birthing cry of creation (that old Big Bang), through the grandest symphony or, perhaps, rock opera, which is the gift of life, to that final note that we all must let slip, when our soul shucks this mortal coil and returns to whence it was composed.

During the months before COVID-19 traumatized our community, I was already in the throes of my own emotional ordeal. A relationship that I’d seen as my end-all-be-all fell to pieces in November, and I continued treating my depression with liberal drug and alcohol use. With those detrimental decisions and my refusal to let anyone in on my self-imposed suffering, I avoided my grief as ardently as some of us have evaded the grocery store in recent months. I felt trapped in the nutrient-deficient hopelessness of the fear of my own feelings.

On March 6th, 2020, following the City of Austin’s health recommendations, South by Southwest organizers announced the cancelation of their annual conference. Confusion, sadness and despair followed.