Coming to the end of two months in Miami, I found myself walking around a pool singing “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know” over and over again. I must have been doing it for 10 minutes. My dog Teddy was waiting patiently for me to throw him a tennis ball. I didn’t. I went inside, set up a mic, and started to sing and snap, and the rest of it came out. Here we are. Almost 2018. Fires, hurricanes, deep divides, incredible support and love and abuse and war. We are constantly shattered and made whole again and again and again. And over and over, I find myself wondering what more I can do. Is it as simple as singing it out? I don’t know. But I keep trying.

I Don’t Know

“But deep inside the heart, a place without a buffer, a place that’s torn apart, a beautiful place to suffer”..

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know You asked me for some proof A place without a wall I offered up my truth While all around us falls I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know You asked me how to clear The smoke from all the fires The water churning clear The truth from all the lies I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know But deep inside the heart A place without a buffer A place that’s torn apart A beautiful place to suffer I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know

My uncle is a judge. He’s also a beautiful writer. Which goes to show that you can do more than one thing well, something I did not used to believe. He came over last night to record the audio version of his latest essay, which is soon to be published in the Superstition Review, a rarified literary mag. He came directly from court, tired, happy, tie off but suit still on, ready to record. As I was setting up, we talked a little bit about politics and the world, and what strange feelings are swirling around in the atmosphere. Then we sound-checked, I hit the spacebar, and Tony began to read. It was a story about him at 16 years old, a junior at Beverly Hills High, in love with the popular girl who didn’t know he existed, playing Risk on Saturday nights with friends instead of dating, while the Vietnam War rumbled all around. But really, of course, it was about the riskiness of life. About what it means to be becoming — becoming a man, becoming afraid, becoming brave, becoming who we will be instead of who we wish to be. Being who we are while being in the world. And how do we reconcile that? How do we learn to be okay with who we are? How do we leave the definitions and wounds of our families, our peers, and walk into the great unknown of us? How do we walk forward with determination when we sometimes want to sit on the floor and cry “Uncle”? It’s not a rhetorical question. I want to know. I have some tools I like to use — writing songs is the big one of course. It helps me figure out what I’m feeling in the world and where I fit. It helps me roar when I want to whisper and whisper when I want to roar. I mean, it’s a roar-in-training. My throat gets tight. My chest gets tight. That’s okay. It’s part of getting strong. Our muscles are sore when they get stretched. I’ve been working on a new song this last week — called “Some of Us”. And the end goes, “Some of us see it all as just a part of it all / Some of us call it growing up/ Some of us admit that we’re thirsty / Please fill up my cup”. Life is in the details. In playing games on Saturday night while we yearn for the world. In recalling it and rolling it off our tongues 50 years later, and then going out to dinner with our niece. That’s it. It’s as simple and as infinite as we want. It was a good night.  

Sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low Moon so bright like to light up the night Make everything all right James Taylor. I heard somewhere that he wrote that song when he was supposed to go to Mexico and got sick and couldn’t make the trip. Last week I did make the trip. Flew down to Los Cabos for a few days of reflection and sunburn and whale watching and surf sounds at night, so loud the waves kept me from sleeping. While I was down there I felt such a funny combination of perfectly relaxed and completely dissatisfied, longing for something just out of reach. Which sounds sort of like complaining and sort of over-the-top cliche emotional, but it’s the best way I can describe how it feels just before I start to write again. I hibernate in the winter. I only figured this out last year, after panicking for the umpteenth time that I would never write again, I’d dried up, it was all over! Then I realized, as spring approached and I got this itchy longing feeling that then started spilling out into new songs, I realized oh – I just hibernate. I have seasons too. What a relief. Why did it take me 20 years to figure this out? I have no idea. Sometimes I’m slow. So I knew, when I had that strange feeling last weekend, that something was getting ready to trickle down into a tune. What I wrote yesterday is sort of about Mexico, and sort of about everything. It’s about uncertainty, physical and emotional walls, the unknown, death, life, the fear of the journey and the willingness to keep walking. So here are the new lyrics, and I’ll debut the song next week with the boys at my show. Some Answers Hide I fell asleep and woke up down in Mexico Truth be told I don’t even know I don’t know how I got there There were fevered dreams of ripping seams and hearts that broke Thickening clouds of billowing smoke Filling up the air And there’s things that you ain’t never gonna know It don’t matter now how rough or smooth the surface of the road There’s ways that you can learn how to ride But some answers they just hide Some answers they just hide I sat out underneath the burning sun down on the beach Watched the whales dance and breach Felt the song just out of reach Yeah I waited till the air cooled down and night began to fall Saw the buzzards dive and call Heard the seagulls flock and screech And there’s things that you ain’t never gonna know It don’t matter now how rough or smooth the surface of the road There’s ways that you can learn how to ride But some answers they just hide Some answers they just hide Well you can sit for days inside your haze And wait for truth to flow It might come fast it might come slow It might never come again and you don’t know That’s how it is You just don’t know When I came home it all looked changed The atmosphere was clear Time can make things disappear Or it can make life one big test In the end we all say what we want to say It might or might not make you stay Who knows if something’s a sin anyway Until they ask you to confess And there’s things that you ain’t never gonna know It don’t matter now how rough or smooth the surface of the road There’s ways that you can learn how to ride But some answers they just hide Some answers they just hide