September 2019

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Music fuels a lot of episodes around here. Today’s show is no different. It was sparked by a song that Drew and Ellie Holcomb recorded on their last record, Dragons (August 2019). Track 3, “But I’ll Never Forget The Way You Make Me Feel.”

Drew and Ellie met in college. They’re both 37. They’ve been married for about 13 years. I don’t know much more than that, except what we can discern from the music they create together. I rather think that after 13 years they’re still in love with each other and their music. It’s a pretty sweet gig they’ve got going.

I’ve got my own sweet gig going. And today I’m going to tell you all about it. Okay, maybe I’m not going to tell you ALL about it, but I’m going to tell you enough about it to spark your own reflections into your own life. Especially the most important people in your life.

I intended this show – today’s show – to be something different. I even teased it over at the private Facebook group. Love, Laughter and Levity.

The more I worked on it the worse things got. I kept getting stuck. And it’s not because those topics don’t have a heavy influence in my life. I’m not really sure why it was so hard. I started noodling around with the last topic, levity. Maybe that was a poor strategy. It’s a pretty easy subject for me really because in spite of my sober demeanor I rather enjoy snarkiness, sarcasm, and levity. And I laugh pretty regularly.

I was walking, as I am wont to do in the wee hours and listening to tunes. At some point, I activated Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors latest record, Dragons. First up, a tune called, “Family.” It’s a short little lively song. 2 minutes 20 seconds.

It’s a great video featuring many of Nashville’s musicians and their family. Well, that’s all she wrote. I was stuck now on a different course for this episode. I instantly went to the first L word of the proposed title, LOVE.

I’m a hopeless romantic. And very sentimental. Always have been. There is no cure. Warning this episode is going to lean into all this so if that’s not your thing, I get it. It’s a shame ’cause you’re really missing out on some of life’s most terrific elements in my opinion. But that’s okay. If you want to hit STOP and catch the next episode, I’ll try to understand even though it won’t be easy! 😀

By the time track 3 launched into my earbuds, a song I’d listened to many, many times before…I was a mess. “But I’ll Never Forget The Way You Make Me Feel.”

Here’s a 37-year-old couple singing about growing old together. Him, unable to remember specific details perhaps, but always able to remember the way she makes him feel.

We’re 62 now. Me and Rhonda. We are growing older together. We’re pushing hard on entering year 42 of our marriage. Year 45 of being a couple. Being 17 or 18 and in love is pretty terrific. Being 62 and just as in love is even better.

It was likely a Saturday, but I don’t remember that detail. Guess I’m a lot like Drew’s song. But that’s about the only thing I don’t remember. We were out at a park at the far end southern end of Highland Road in Baton Rouge. Flying kites. At the northern end of Highland Road is the entrance to LSU. I lived somewhere between LSU and the park off Highland Road. Rhonda had come down from Ft. Worth to visit. We were already a couple. I was mad about her and getting more so by the day.

Attending classes at LSU was drudgery except for handwriting daily letters to take by the Student Union to drop into the mail. And checking my mailbox daily for her letters. It was a habit we maintained for over 2 years. Such was life in the 70’s when you don’t have Internet, cell phones or social media.

The music that weekend was a heavy rotation of Poco’s album, Crazy Eyes. I was a bigtime Richie Furay fan, the leader of Poco. He had the talent to pull off a 10-minute title track song in what we then called progressive country music. My eyes were crazy for this Texas girl.

We’re at this park flying kites and I’m supposing my sister or somebody else is with us because this picture I’ve posted isn’t an old school selfie. It’s the old Kodak Instamatic camera I used. Very old school and as you can very low resolution. But I’m glad we had it or today we wouldn’t have any pictures. Kids today have no idea. They take being able to whip out their phone and take thousands of photos every month for granted. Not to mention how spectacularly detailed the photos are today. At the time I just felt lucky to have a camera that took a film cartridge, which meant I could pop in a cartridge with about 16 picture capacity and I didn’t have to spool the film through the camera, which is what you had to do with an SLR camera. I wasn’t rich enough to afford one of those. Besides, I wouldn’t have known how to work it. My camera was just a black box, point and shoot camera. Then you put the cartridge into an envelope, wrote your name on the outside, sealed it and gave it to the person at the counter of the drug store where they shipped it off somewhere to be developed. Within a week or so you had hard copies of your photos. And you usually got a second set of prints at no charge. Such a deal!

Nobody had to tell me to wear a collared shirt in the 1970s. 😀 Look at that hideous monster of a collar worn under that polyester leisure suit. I don’t know if I’m more ashamed of the outfit or my hair. Or those sideburns. It’s all atrocious. But look at that gorgeous girl under my arm. Are you gonna question her taste? Well, okay, maybe. But you can’t question my taste. Not when it came to her. So what if I wasn’t able to stylishly clothe myself? Or find a barber capable of trimming those sideburns? I had found a girl in Texas, put my arms around her and I was NOT going to let her go.

Well, the way she makes me feel started on July 2, 1975. Our first date. I won’t get all mushy and tell you how stupidly, head over heels in love I was, but I was. By January 2, 1978 we were walking down the aisle. If you think this garb was embarrassing then you’ve not seen our wedding photos where I was attired in a white tux looking like a big polar bear with a mustache. And you didn’t think I could top this leisure suit look! You idiot…my lack of style knows no bounds.

But I could look half-way decent. Even moderately cool. Even if it was in a plaid shirt with an over-sized collar. Here’s proof. Me outside of Rhonda’s house in Ft. Worth with car keys in hand. I’m likely about to head out and begin my 11-hour trek back to Baton Rouge. There was only four-lane Interstate between DFW and Shreveport. After that, it was mostly 2 lane highway dodging sugar cane wagons. Don’t let my slight smile fool you. I was dying inside knowing I’d have to spend a full day driving home alone leaving my heart and most everything I cared about right there on Nancy Lane.

I kept a journal log in my car where I tracked all my gasoline fill-ups and my mileage. So I’m sure I knew how many trips I made to see her, but I’ve long forgotten it by now. I can tell you this – it wasn’t nearly enough to suit me. And we’re talking about taking off work when the stereo store closed Friday evening – after begging the boss to let me off on a SATURDAY! Retail’s biggest day. I’d blitz out around 7pm and pull onto Nancy Lane where Rhonda lived around 6am Saturday morning. Thus would begin a 30-hour-weekend together before I had to load into Sundance, my 1972 Pontiac “hot rod,” and hoof it back to Red Stick. Here’s another pic of a good-bye – us standing beside Sundance and me not wanting to let her go. Those trips back home sucked. 😉 I was saved only by playing loud music all the way home!

This went on for over 2 years. All the while my life was in turmoil at home because I hated school, had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and the girl I loved was 11 hours away. Nothing would turn around until we got married because then I jumped into journalism school where I fell into what I felt I was meant to do. Write. Create. Fulfill curiosity. Communicate.

Selling stereo gear, too. Well, selling it was mostly listening to music to show it off. I loved that, too.

We’re now 3 years or so down the line from that first date. It’s been an arduous 3 years. A lot has changed. A lot had changed in me.

Oh, this picture of me taken the week of our first date shows that I was quite cool, hip and handsome – none of that changed, of course! But most everything else had changed. All because this girl from Ft. Worth was making me feel different than I’d ever felt before.

Over the year I’d lose the hair and the mirrored sunglasses, but not much else. 😀

Okay, I’d lose a lot more. Or gain a bit. Come to think of it I lost and gained at the same time over the years. Stop laughing, you’re doing it too!

Let’s go back to the Drew and Ellie tune that prompted today’s show and even serves as the title. It’s early in the morning, the song is playing in my earbuds and I start to cry. I admit it. I was crying. And not just barely. Largely. Not quite weeping, but close.

I keep walking and listening. The song ends. The next song starts to play and I hit STOP. I don’t want to listen to it. I go back and listen to this song again. I’m embracing this weepy moment. It ends and now I’m ready for silence.

I keep walking.

Now I’m trying to figure out what I’m feeling. It’s a symphony of feelings. Grateful. Thankful. Happy. Sad. In love. Remembering. I’m thinking of these Kodak moments. I’m thinking of all the moments not captured. Mostly, I’m thinking of how I need to do more. Be more. For her. I’m wondering if I’ve given her a life she wanted. A life she expected when she first said, “Yes” to being asked out on a date. I’m wondering in this moment if she has regrets. If she feels like she got it right by agreeing to be my side all these years.

Me? I know I got it right and life has been largely not what I had ever planned. But mostly things had worked out. Some things have gone very wrong, but most things have gone very right. There’s only one major thing that went wrong and it’s enormous, but not suitable to talk about. Except to let you know our lives are very imperfect. We’ve suffered heartbreak and sorrow. But there’s one important detail you should know – mostly our heartbreak and sorrow haven’t come at our own hands. That is, we’ve not intentionally hurt each other.

I keep walking. I keep thinking. Trying to figure out why this flood of emotions is happening.

I’m sad and happy at the same time. Sad that so many years have passed and happy to have experienced so many. I’m thinking of Drew and Ellie, 37-years-old. 13 years into their marriage. I’m remembering our life together and I’m thinking of those first years in married housing at LSU. Life inside 540 square feet.  I’m thinking of riding my bike to classes and all over the campus before heading to work in the afternoons. I’m remembering our joint cleaning efforts of our little apartment every Saturday morning. I’m thinking of how two kids, married and in love, can feel so free inside such a small space. Mostly, I’m thinking of how terrific that space was and wondering if I’ve ever been as happy. When life was simple. And most of our existence was the campus of a major university. I had gone from loathing the place to loving the place. All because that girl in the pictures made me feel very differently about it all. And about my life!

Then it happened again. Just as I’m getting my emotions under control I lose them again. I’m thinking, “Where did the time go?” Mostly I’m feeling I didn’t seize every moment as I should have. Nobody does. It’s impossible. Life would be precarious if we could. Life has to be routine or we’d all go crazy. But I’m regretting the ordinariness of it. I’m regretting that sanity demands habit and routine. I’m wishing life could be – could have been – as adventurous as those early years.

As the walk continues and I feel like I’m settling down emotionally I settle into the practical reality that life is largely routine. In fact, I gave a sermon at church Wednesday night about Samson. For some reason, I was inspired to mention how my maternal grandmother – Marie – behaved with tremendous predictability. We all, including me, called her “Re” (that’s her in the pale blue dress in the picture above; that’s me in the white jacket on the other side of the table). Her life was extremely routine but in all the best ways. She tended to folks, cooked and baked for folks and was pretty much a woman of service her entire life. It’s just who she was and what she did. Every day. Nothing amazing. Nothing award-winning. Nothing the world would describe as grand achievement. But to the lives she touched, she made a difference. My point, in my sermon, was that her daily routine was a dedication to righteous, spiritual pursuits. Samson was daily pursuing selfishness. Our lives are largely defined by the ordinary, daily pursuits of our life. Our routine.

I’m not regretting the routine so much as I’m now thinking about how I may be able to improve engineering something more. If only now and again. Adventure is the word I keep dwelling on. But simplicity is the other word that’s dominating my thoughts. And my feelings.

Rhonda has a sewing room. Coupled with my Yellow Studio the two rooms are almost as large as our entire first apartment – that 540 square foot apartment at LSU. But man was it terrific. Cozy. Not cramped. Unfancy, simple and perfect in many ways. Okay, the washer and dryer in the bathroom were less than ideal. And the kitchen had a pretty rinky-dink refrigerator and stove. But I’d go back in a heartbeat. And likely find that my memories are more sentimental than reality. But I don’t think so.

The moon is not nearly as high in the sky as it was just a few weeks ago. I used to be able to walk in the wee hours of the morning and the moon would be almost directly overhead. When it was full, the light would be bright enough to easily see where you’re going. But now, it’s darker. The moon isn’t full tonight and if overhead is 12 o’clock in the sky, tonight…the moon is sitting around 10 o’clock. But directly overhead is The Big Dipper. Even here in a suburban neighborhood it’s easy to see.

I stare at the sky and keep walking. It’s quiet. I remove my earbuds to hear only the sound of my own steps. No traffic. No dogs barking. Some birds are out roaming the ground for food. I’m guessing insects, but what do I know? Not nearly enough…about birds anyway.

I’m thinking of the Yellow Studio and all my books, CD’s and stuff. Rhonda has been looking for some sewing patterns for 2 days. She can’t remember where she put them. It’s been driving her crazy. We both acknowledge that we’ve got so much stuff…we can’t keep up with it. It wasn’t always that way.

From LSU we bought our first little house. And life really got good. I missed the campus, but we had our own 2 bedroom place now with a full kitchen and felt like we now had a mansion. And Zeke, our first pet – a black Lab – joined us in a big back yard with BIG trees. The house was just a simple frame house, but it may as well have been a multi-million dollar estate for us. We had a new maroon Toyota Corolla hatchback named Roony. Monthly cost, $122. And our new mortgage was $222. We both worked and went to school. It may have been the financial zenith of our life. 😉 Not that our income was at a zenith, but our cost containment sure was. Yet, we had anything we wanted. Not too tough since we’re both practical people who have never been impulsive with money.

There was one major element of our life that wasn’t so terrific. Some won’t likely understand it, and that’s okay. But spiritually – that is, our church life – wasn’t very good. We knew we needed to elevate that part of our life and for us, that meant we needed to move. NO small thing since it meant leaving school. Rhonda is smarter than me. Certainly a better student. She was accustomed to making all A’s. Top scores. Until I got into journalism school my college career was marred with mediocrity. I had been a good student all through public school, but frankly, I hadn’t learned how to really study. At least not a subject I really didn’t care about. I was a great listener and note-taker. That worked for me all through public school. It stopped working when I got to LSU and discovered that self-study was mostly required. Cutting lots of classes didn’t help matters.

Once I entered the College of Journalism my grades shot up to the top across the board. I was into it. My interest and curiosity drove me to excel. But…

I knew I was never going to enter the world of professional journalism. I didn’t know how the skills would help me, but they did. In business. In life. The problem, at the time of our dilemma, was that I was closing in on my degree. I was about 18 hours shy of graduation when we moved out of town.

Was it a regret? Yes and no. Leaving town for the reasons we did? No. Not earning my degree? Yes. Rhonda not earning her degree? Even more so. She’s so smart she deserved to earn it. More so than me.

We had no way of knowing at the time, but it had absolutely no impact on my career. Well, to be fair — how can you ever know? That’s the thing about decisions. You only know the outcome of the choices you made. You never really know the outcomes of those other options – the paths you didn’t take. You can speculate all day long, but you just don’t know. I never cared about not having it until the last few years. Likely just the result of growing older and wishing we both had achieved something we were plenty sharp enough to achieve. Crying and spilled milk leaps to my mind.

By now the sky is still dark. I’m still walking. Listening to the sounds of the city come alive. The sounds of traffic in the distance are picking up, but it’s still very quiet. I click PLAY and listen to the song a 4th or 5th time.

“But I’ll never forget the way you make me feel.”

Now I’m wondering how I’ve made her feel. Have I made her feel as good about her life choices as she’s made me feel? I hope so. But as I walk I wonder.

Fast forward our lives and by the time we’re 25 we’ve been married slightly more than 4 years. Our son was born when we were 23. The daughter, who bore a middle name of the grandmother I loved so much – Marie – came quickly after. We were having to figure things out very quickly, but we were at long last where we knew we needed to be spiritually. We were in Edmond, Oklahoma where an older preacher whom I had great respect for lived. Church was always the priority for us. And our family. Rhonda and I had met at church. We shared the Faith. We shared in our devotion to the Faith. We were raising and training our children in the Faith. That’s what took us to the OKC area, specifically Edmond.

Being part of a congregation was important to us. I was always active in church work having delivered my first “talk” (not sure how much of a sermon it was) when I was 11. I never aspired to be an evangelist, but I wanted to be the most competent congregational teacher possible – a public teacher delivering sermons in a local congregation. An elderly evangelist was in Edmond and I began to study with him weekly.

Eventually, my career took a solid turn for the better, too. I was running a retail company. Still in consumer electronics.

And we were both burning the candle at both ends. I was working about 80 hours a week and spending significant time in church work, preaching about four times each month while studying with my mentor. Rhonda had her hands full with two toddlers and her own work. I don’t know how either of us did it, but we did. When you’re young you have no idea what’s possible or what’s impossible. You just do what you have to do. Well, come to think of it – nothing changes much when you’re older. 😉

Fast forward past some very tough times. Some very good times. Some ordinary times. Much like your life. And everybody else’s. Life happened. We made the most of it mostly. At other times we struggled to figure out what was happening. Unable to make the most of anything because we felt like we were fighting just to remain alive. But we did survive. Life gave us lines, wrinkles, blemishes, and bruises. The other day I picked up two grandsons from school and Jake, the 10-year-old was showing some scar. I said, “I’ve got a million of them.” I only showed him three – all created from orthopedic surgeries. Most of mine aren’t made by a surgeon though. And they’re not all visible, or physical.

I’m meandering my way back home. I’m thinking of what we’ve accomplished together. I’m thinking of the millions and millions of dollars I’ve managed through the years of running businesses. I’m thinking of the doctors and surgeons she’s served. I’m thinking of our church work and the people we’ve tried to influence for good. I’m thinking of Re and all that she missed. I’m thinking of Rhonda’s mom who died shortly after we were married. She was only 43. I’m thinking of all she missed. I’m thinking of all our stuff – the physical things that at some point seem important. Even urgent. I’m back inside that little apartment at LSU. I’m thinking of how all our possessions would fit in one of the smallest Uhaul trucks you could rent. And how happy I was. How happy we were. And I keep thinking and walking.

In spite of the heartbreaks and sorrows, it’s still impossible for me to forget the way she makes me feel.

With all the joys, laughter and victories, it’s still impossible for me to forget the way she makes me feel.

I know our lives are horribly imperfect. I also know I’ve let her down more times than I can count. Not because I planned it or intended it, but because I’m often lame like that. I’m remembering the promises I made when we were young. Promises I’ve tried to keep, but in youthful exuberance didn’t realize some would be impossible for me. She made me feel confident though. So confident I thought I could give her the world. Time proved me wrong. Overly confident.

Part of me is wishing I could have just an hour with my future self 45 years ago. Then I smile, realizing an hour wouldn’t be anywhere near enough time. My smile widens as I realize my future self would have likely scared me, making me fearful of even going outside. And the result would have been no adventure. No drama. Just blandness. And neither of us signed up for that.

I’m resolved to fix some things. Work on myself more deeply. Work on making her life better in any ways I can. I don’t fully know how – not at this hour – but I’m confident I’ll figure it out. I’m a smart guy even if I am 18 hours shy of a degree. 😉

I’m over an hour into the walk. I know my body needs rest, but my mind won’t permit it. Not now. Not with these new preoccupations about the girl from Ft. Worth.

Jake, that same 10-year-old grandson, and I were watching a Charlie Brown cartoon on TV after school the other day. Charlie Brown was smitten by the “little red-headed girl” and was too embarrassed to even speak with her. I had found my little-blondish-red-headed girl, had the courage to ask her out and here we are four decades down the road together. As I head toward home, walking in the dark with only the moonlight, starlight and illumination of my iPhone I realize there are many things about life I’d love to improve. Burdens I’d love to remove for her. Burdens I wish she could remove for me. But I’m heading home knowing that we may never be free from worries, burdens, and failures. I just know the girl grabbing my arm sometimes still grabs my arm. And just like I did when I was a teenager, I’m holding onto her for dear life. Because that’s what it is. A dear – a very dear – life. Because I’m never going to forget the way she makes me feel.

 

Project #CravingEncouragement – Dave Jackson

The maiden voyage of this project kicks off with a good friend, a long-time supporter of Leaning Toward Wisdom, Dave Jackson. Dave is a professional podcast coach who helps people launch and grow their podcast.

Dave’s main website is at the School of Podcasting

He and Jim Collison also co-host a live-streaming and podcast show at Ask The Podcast Coach

Thanks for the support and the stories, Dave!

Randy

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 29:55 — 27.6MB)

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It only took one day. To dismantle the Yellow Studio.

It took a small generous community of podcast supporters. To help make it become a reality.

The donors are now on a special email list where I’ve been keeping them updated. This group will continue to remain special and enjoy some inside updates. It’s just one small way I can thank you for making the Rode Rodecaster Pro possible.

Now, let’s geek out just a little bit for those of you interested in the technicalities of podcasting. For the rest of you, bear with me.

Years ago when I built The Yellow Studio there were basically two methods or workflows used in podcasting. The first was by far the most popular because it was the least expensive route, RECORDING. To be fair, all podcasts are recorded. That became the very definition of the medium – serialized, subscribable audio content. People could listen at will. On their own timetable. It was all pretty slick and we were as excited to get an email as we were to get a new episode of our favorite podcast.

RECORDING methodology just required a microphone and some software (much of it free). To gussy up the sound you needed fancier software. This also meant you spent time editing. The first recording wouldn’t necessarily be the final version. This workflow demanded significant after-the-fact work.

BROADCASTING was the other methodology. This wasn’t nearly as popular because it required hardware. And hardware was (still is) expensive. The benefits are high. The minute you hit “record” the sound is recorded digitally exactly as it will sound when listeners hit “play.” Other than editing for content – not for sound quality – it’s more of a “what you hear is what you get” process.

I instantly wanted to go the BROADCAST route because I preferred to put my work in ahead of hitting the record button. It wasn’t about avoiding work. At least not for me. It was about when to do that work. I wanted to spend time doing the work ahead of recording, not afterward.

This meant investing in gear. Thankfully, I had the ability to make the investment. And I had some expert help in figuring out what I should get.

Click here for the episode I recorded in 2015 to answer the persistent question, “What does your studio look like?”

I embarked on finding and assembling equipment that was mostly broadcast quality. Built to withstand hours and hours of non-stop operating without any problems. In short, I was building a small 2-mic station with just about everything other than a transmitter. My transmitter was going to be the Internet.

The microphones came first. Two Heil Sound PR40 microphones. Others picked them because of longtime broadcaster/podcaster, Leo Laporte. Leo is a tech guy who has enjoyed radio and Internet success. He used the Heil PR40.

Well, I didn’t know of Leo when I got the PR40s. But I had heard of Bob Heil because I was very into music. I also had (still have it) a fondness for the sound of great condenser microphones, but I knew my space wouldn’t be ideal for a condenser mic because they pick up EVERYTHING. My space was going to be pretty solid for recording, but it wasn’t going to be like a professional voice booth (commonly used by voiceover artists) or like a professional recording studio with extensive sound isolation. Enter the PR40. Its large diaphragm has condenser mic qualities in a dynamic mic.

Two Heil PR40s, each on its own boom arm and mounted inside its own shock mount. Those were the first items purchased.

Next came the coveted Aphex 230 microphone preamps. Radio people and voiceover artists alike have run to the Aphex sound for years. Microphones have to be plugged into something that can provide enough gain so you get sound. Enter the preamps.

The Aphex 230s – one for each mic – came next. They were among the first items installed in the six-unit gear rack. These units included things like noise gates, compressors, limiters, deessers and all sorts of sonic goodies to make your voice sound outstanding.

The Aphex units were great for making me sound terrific, but what about people coming through on Skype or some other Internet service? I had a TC Electronic Finalizer Express which put a nice bit of compression over everything going through the system. More knobs, dials and light than you could shake a stick at, but it’s a terrific piece of gear.

Phone calls? What about taking phone calls? I wanted to do what radio stations do – patch phone calls directly into my recordings. Enter the staple piece in every radio station in the land (at the time), a Telos One. One button activates it, but the electronics inside the box provide telephonic magic. It was connected to my landline, but we went VOIP, then it was connected to that.

All of that went through a small broadcast quality mixer made by Broadcast Tools, a Promix 12. Built like a tank, the Promix had long-throw faders (that means they’re large and the sound range is more subtle than short-throw faders). The Promix12 is a 2 mic mixer, but has some cool broadcasting features like built-in mix/minus so I could patch my Telos One into channel 4 and not fret about the person on the phone hearing themselves echo. No special engineering skills required.

But my system was a fully balanced audio system. That meant, it was professional-grade and used only XLR or insert cables made with coax and professional connectors. What about connecting output from a laptop, or a phone, or an iPad? I had no way to do that until I invested in a Yamaha MG124c mixer, another 12 channel mixer that had RCA inputs (something the Promix12 lacked). Now I could take the output of the Yamaha and patch it into the Promix12 (using a single channel on the Promix12).

To route all that into my computer required an interface of some sort. I had two different versions of a firewire interface made by Presonus. Firewire was more commonplace when I began. It has since declined in popularity, but I went that route at first because the speed was much faster than USB.

For headphone management, I got an Aphex 454 Headpod. Sounded GREAT! It provided ample volume to 4 separate headphones, each with a dedicated volume control.

Cable management was a challenge right off the bat. And figuring out the cabling was a chore all its own.

I never did figure out the sheer footage of cables used to connect all this stuff, but it was RIDICULOUS. The number of connections was also ridiculous because the signal chain was anything, but straight, short and simple. Cables going into one thing, out of that thing and into some other thing.

I figured that’s how it would always be. There just wasn’t any other way to have the workflow I wanted. BROADCAST.

Heat.

Let’s not overlook the heat produced by a rack of gear like that. Temperatures here inside The Yellow Studio were likely 2-5 degrees hotter than any other room. Fine during the winter. Not so great during the summer.

Power.

We’re not talking BIG power suckage, but everytime there was a thunderstorm or risk of power going out…I’d scramble to unplug the rack (even though it was all going through good quality power management to protect it). I wasn’t going to risk a brown out or black out from wrecking any equipment.

Then things changed.

It was the summer of 2015. Rode, an Australian company, acquired Aphex, one of my favorite suppliers. I didn’t quite know what Rode might do with Aphex, but I loved Rode mics (I have a Rode NTG2 shotgun mic in my mic locker) and I loved Aphex stuff.

By the time 2019 rolled around Rode blew the lid off the podcasting world with a device that incorporated Aphex sound characteristics. Dubbed Rodecaster Pro it proposed to be a full podcasting studio based on 4 microphone channels. But wait. It would also have a channel built in to hardwire a smartphone, and if that weren’t cool enough…it’d have a Bluetooth channel, too. Additionally, it would have an 8-key sound cart pad (for sound effects; something I was doing through software on a laptop, phone or iPad). And it would have a 4-channel headphone amp, each channel with a dedicated volume control.

Suddenly, there was a device – a single device – that would do everything my studio would do. One piece of gear would replace all the stuff I’ve mentioned. No, I’d lose all the knobs, lights and some flexibility in the adjustments – but I’d lose all those cables and all the complexity. One cable going from one mic into the Rode and that’d be it. One cable from the iPhone to the Rode. One pair of headphones plugged into each channel. Simple. Straightforward.

But what about the sound? That had always been my preoccupation. I wanted the sound inside The Yellow Studio to be spectacular and thanks to my set up, it was.

I watched every YouTube review of the Rode Rodecaster Pro. I listened carefully. I knew the ease of operation of the product meant I would lose all the little fine nuances of sound adjustments, but this is podcasting I figured. This isn’t music recording. And this is spoken word, not singing. How nuanced does the sound really need to be? I concluded that any loss of adjustments I might forfeit in the Rode would be more than made up for in having everything I needed in a single piece of gear!

Then there were the firmware updates released by Rode. Rode was listening to customers. They had two major firmware updates before I pulled the trigger and bought mine. Multi-track recording. And a host of other improvements were pushed to the unit via these updates.

Not Looking Back

You don’t see or hear many people talk about it, but the Rodecaster Pro accomplished what I was able to with my rack. Livestreaming audio quality is identical to the recordings. I’m just now seeing livestreaming people pick up on the improvement capable via the Rodecaster Pro.

Get me on a Skype call, or a Zoom web conference and I’m going to sound just as good as my recordings. All thanks to the Rode Rodecaster Pro.

A single USB connection to my Apple iMac and I’m done.

Four mics. Four cables into the Rodecaster Pro.

Four headphones.

One cable to the iPhone.

That’s it. And I give up nothing in connectivity and flexibility.

I can take phone calls.

I can record by myself or with a few friends.

I can input sounds via the soundcart buttons, the computer or even my iPhone or iPad.

I’ve got volume knobs for each headphone as well as a master volume control.

If the unit isn’t perfect it’s awfully close! Just like you, the listeners of my podcast. You’re not the perfect podcast audience, but you’re awfully close.

Thank you!

Randy

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:05:15 — 59.9MB)

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I pulled the trigger on the Rode Rodecaster Pro. You’re listening to it now. I’ll update you on what’s happening here inside The Yellow Studio at the end of the show.

Thanks to everybody who contributed. I’ll be reaching out in the next few weeks to get the Skype calls scheduled.

Randy

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Some nights ago. I don’t remember what day. Or night. It’s 2:15 am and I’m wide awake. Not uncommon.

I fire up Apple iTunes, where all my music resides, including the thousands of CD’s I’ve burned. And the digital downloads I’ve purchased.

I slap on a pair of headphones, one of about four within arm’s reach. I turn up the headphone amp to about 10 o’clock, plenty loud for me at this hour.

Jamestown Revival album UTAH is calling out to me for some reason. Released in 2014 it’s been a month or more since I’ve given it a go…so why not. I’ve been practically living on their newer release, circa this year 2019, San Isabel. So it’s time to dive into my catalog a bit.

This all happens because revival is on my mind. Their band name sparks it, but my love of their music is the draw. UTAH has a song entitled, Revival. So let’s do it. I click PLAY.

It’s track 6 and track 7 follows, a song entitled Truth. A theme begins to emerge and intersects what’s been on my mind the last week or more.

Vince Gill’s new record OKIE is a few weeks old and I’ve listened to it through a handful of times by now. As I’m pondering revival I start thinking of one particular song from this record, The Price of Regret. So I click PLAY and give it a go. Again.

“Everyone knows the price of regret, the things in life we never forget.”

Regret. Revival.

By the time I get to the 11th track of Vince’s new record (there are 12 tracks total), I’ve added a third R-word, reputation. The song is entitled, That Old Man Of Mine. It’s followed by the last track, A World Without Haggard. Songs of reputation. Legacy. What we remember about people. What people remember us for.

Regret. Revival. Reputation.

I don’t suppose all three are important to everybody. Some people claim to have no regrets. I think that’s foolish.

Others refuse revival. Some perhaps because their character is so low they’re nothing to revive. Did they ever have it? Maybe. Maybe not.

Some refuse revival because they don’t want to revive it. Easier, perhaps more short-term fun, to remain in sin and suffering. No going back to a time when they were more noble, more innocent, more helpful and made a more positive difference in the lives of others.

So reputations are largely earned. Deserved perhaps. And I’m not talking about public reputation or how the masses feel. Most of us aren’t subjected to that because we’re mostly anonymous to the world. But inside our little corner of the world, we’re known. For something. As something. What?

When my kids were quite small – toddlers really – I was spending considerable time with an old man who was an important mentor in my life. Weekly we spent hours together talking and studying. I was burning life’s candle at both ends, spending close to 80 hours working and devoting time to church and family. It was exhausting, but I was young and didn’t think much of it. Truthfully, my energy was quite high much of the time. So one weeknight each week sitting at his kitchen table – sometimes with my family in tow – wasn’t burdensome. I wanted to know what he knew and was anxious to learn all I could.

One evening talk turned to family. He was a father with grown children. I was mere years into my own fatherhood and I inquired about regret. He said he had no regrets.

Here was a man I respected. A man 25 plus years my senior. I remember thinking of my own regrets and I had many years to go to reach his age. It seemed impossible to me, so I pressed him. “I can’t think of anything I’d do differently,” he said, referencing his fatherhood. I didn’t pursue the conversation any further, even though I was supremely puzzled. My oldest was only a few years old and already I could think of a gazillion things I’d have done differently had I known better.

Perhaps he was older than me when his fatherhood began, I thought. Perhaps he was simply better than me. But I knew he wasn’t perfect any more than I was. Or am.

From that moment on I determined that any man who lacks regret must certain lack the degree of wisdom I was seeking. I confess that my esteem of him was altered that evening. It made no sense to me. That was over 30 years ago. Now that I’m old, it makes even less sense.

I’ve concluded that a life without regret is a life without introspection or wise self-examination. What other possible explanation would there be? Is it possible to live into adulthood without regrets? I can’t see any possible way. Not about fatherhood or any other pursuit. Volumes couldn’t likely catalog all of my current regrets.

Insight is required for regret to surface. Those unwilling or unable to soberly reflect on the choices of their life or their behaviors aren’t blessed with the high values that come from regret.

Regret is the stuff of growth and improvement. Satisfaction is the enemy. Contentment with the past and the present prevents a more extraordinary future. Otherwise what would drive us to change. To grow. To improve. To learn.

Regret is not the enemy. It’s a friend whose aim isn’t to destroy but to build up. But regret allows each of us to choose the course for regret. One path leads to destruction. The other to build up. You’re free to choose either path.

Foolishness is the path chosen by those who ignore lessons regret can teach.

Wisdom is the path chosen by those of us determined to learn from our mistakes, those things we regret.

What do we do with our regret? How can we best leverage it for our welfare? And for those with whom we have to do?

I can only share what I’ve tried to do. Not always successfully, but nobody succeeds all the time.

“What happened?”

The rules of journalism may help even though some are answered before we begin to reflect. “Who?” is obvious. We are the who. So I jump to “what?”

It’s too easy and too simple to beat ourselves up over what we regret. Completely unprofitable, but easy. Addictive for some. Catapulting many people into dwelling on their victimization. Were it not for others or circumstances beyond their control – those regrets might have been avoided. So they think.

Wisdom provokes us to own our outcomes. Good, bad and ugly. Not with some unreasonable view that circumstances and situations are all within our control. We’re not God. We’re not capable of deciding or behaving for others. External forces impose themselves on all of us. Our responsibility is to handle them as best we can. Sometimes we fail. Those failures are our regrets.

That’s why this question is the beginning of greater wisdom. To avoid blaming others, but to accept our own responsibilities and honestly answer the question, “What happened?” A more personal, intimate question is appropriate – “What did I do? And why did I do it?”

Much of my regret stems from impulsive behavior or the failure to listen carefully to impulses (intuition). Ironic, isn’t it?

Impulses and intuition that can work favorably or against us. I can only speak for myself. I’ve been able to mostly categorize my regrets of impulse into two boxes. One box is my own desire or lack of due consideration for others. The other box is when I sense others need help.

My selfish box can cause me to act too hastily. Regret in these cases stems from my impatience.

My box of concern for others causes me to act too patiently. Regret stems from wishing I would have acted sooner. Or that I would have acted when I failed to act because of fear.

Haste. Delay.

Action. Inaction.

These are the most common terms of my own regret. And these are the answers to WHAT and WHY.

So what can be done? How might I benefit from these insights?

The question now becomes, “How?”

It seems so clear looking back. Exhibit more patience when my own skin is involved. Allow some time to pass. Think of others who may be involved, then keep asking if I’m omitting anybody else. Then think some more.

Critical judgment condemns over-thinking, but in this area of regret, I mostly wish I had done more of it.

The flipside of regret are those times when I suspected others were in need of help and I resisted the impulse. I delayed. I hesitated. I remained silent. Or I didn’t press hard enough. I didn’t lead the charge to provide assistance. Quite frankly, these are most biggest regrets because they come with a cursed question, “What might have been?”

What problems might have been prevented? What help might have made a long-lasting difference?

Those regrets linger much longer for me. And the quest for revival begins.

an improvement in the condition or strength of something

That’s the definition of revival.

I must make up my mind to learn from regret. The sooner the better. For making up mind to learn, which means I must quickly commit to closer examination of what happened and why. Sometimes I need a bit of time to pass before I’m able to have a wiser perspective. Most always I rely on others – notably my wife – to provide a viewpoint for greater clarity. The bigger the regret or challenge the more I lean on outside advisors. I don’t trust myself enough in the dissection of my past to fully realize what happened or why. I certainly don’t trust myself fully to figure out how I might avoid repeating the regret.

This is where I can get wrapped up in dwelling too much on what’s already done and cannot be undone. The endless loop tape in my head goes round and round and round. It requires extraordinary effort and I don’t often succeed as quickly as I’d like. Distraction seems the best remedy. That’s another R word befitting of revival. Remedy.

It usually boils down the realization that by obsessing any longer I’m only neglecting what benefit I might be giving to my own life and to others. At some point there’s some magical switch that flips where I simply get on with it. I wish I could get my hand on the switch at will. But it flips on its own in due course. I have to endure the process.

Revival includes the most difficult chore of all for me. To move on. To leave the regret behind knowing that if I had to do it over again, I’d do it differently. I can easily and quickly embrace the commitment that I’d do things differently. That’s called repentance, yet another R-word.

Repentance is the activity of reviewing one’s actions and feeling contrition or regret for past wrongs, which is accompanied by commitment to change for the better

Moving past it. That’s the tough part for me. I’ve confessed to you before that forgiveness is currently my number one character strength according to The VIA Character Strengths Survey. The problem with our character strengths, which are those character traits that we most often deploy, is that they sometimes can work against us by becoming our weaknesses, too. I’m able to quickly and easily forgive others while finding it almost impossible to forgive myself. That’s what makes revival difficult.

It’s not impossible. Just hard. Lots of work, concentration, and focus. So it’s urgent for me to get on with the process as soon as possible. The longer I delay the effort, the longer it will take to come out the other side.

All of these components contribute to create a person’s reputation. Our behavior determines our reputation, but much of that stems from our ability and resolve to course correct our lives. Everybody knows failure. Everybody is well acquainted with regret. Whether or not we’re willing to make things right…and grow…THAT determines who we really are. In our own eyes and in the eyes of others. Reputation.

Sadly, regret is the beginning of it all.

Sad only for those who fail to feel it. Fully. Enough to determine to do better.

Sad for those of us who love people unable to find a good place of regret so they can commit to correct their course. There are many lost lives unwilling or unable to reap the positive impact of regret, revival and reputation.

Emotions.

It’s not an R-word, but emotions are very important in all this. Do you know somebody who ridicules emotion while bragging how their logical approach is much more productive? Yeah, me neither. 😀 (Boy am I trying hard to rid myself of such people!)

Emotions serve us. They help us. Sure, like many things that are strengths or assets, they may become liabilities, but we’re foolish to make negative generalizations. We’re talking about feelings.

Would you rather interact with a psychopath or sociopath? Somebody able to kill you and feel nothing? Oh, yeah, much more logical. 😉  #Ninnies

Feelings aren’t facts, but they may as well be. They form the realities upon which we act. Sometimes emotions drive us more powerfully than facts or evidence because feelings (emotions) are sparked by beliefs. We think something and it’s all the evidence we need.

Emotions have a vital role in how we think and act. Our emotions compel us to take action, avoid taking action and they influence our decisions.

Brainiacs who know about such matters tell us there are three parts to an emotion:

1. The subjective part associated with how we experience the emotion
2. The physiological part associated with how our body reacts to the emotion
3. The expressive part associated with how we behave to the emotion

For a simpleton like me it boils down to how well we can be in touch with ourselves and our emotions. One basic question can go a long way toward helping…

Why am I feeling this way?

You may not always know. At least not at first. We need time to process what has happened and what is happening. During these moments – they take however long they take – we’re likely feeling many different emotions. This is that roller coaster ride we’re on when dramatic things happen to us. Something we’ve all experienced.

During those moments we’re not able to answer the question because we don’t yet know what we’re feeling. Our emotions are settling down, finding a place to land.

This is an important time though because we could end up in a very bad place for a long time. Rather than moving forward we can easily get stuck with negative emotions. Bitterness. Anger. Resentment. Jealousy. We have to devote ourselves to avoid landing on any of these negative emotions once things do settle down.

That’s why the question is important. It fosters a focus on thinking about what we’re feeling. That tends to serve as a useful deterrent from camping out on a negative emotion because self-reflection and self-awareness promote more positive things. So during these roller-coaster rides keep looking at yourself. Don’t take your eyes off what you’re feeling and keep asking yourself the question, “Why am I feeling this way?” Take the time to answer it, too.

By now I hope you’re clearly seeing the vast difference between selfish behavior and self-reflection behavior. Selfish people don’t ask or answer the question. They just embrace how they’re feeling without regard to why. That fosters a path of least resistance way of living. It also deepens what is already likely prevalent in their life – a victim mindset. That never leads to settling on a good emotion.

It’s the difference in leveraging the positives of regret or wallowing in the negatives of it. The selfish, immature person wallows as a victim. The mature, wise person uses it to propel them forward by learning all they can so they can make adjustments in their life. That’s how revival works – we grow, restoring whatever may have been temporarily lost. Finding things we may have never yet found.

It’s the stuff of reputation. Our reputation.