Chipper Dreher

Category: Blog Posts

  • River on a rock

    River on a rock

    There is a toxic poison that goes unnoticed by the FDA today.

    Technically there are a lot. But this one in particular has destroyed the health and spirits of great men, kept untold thousands bedridden, and, if left untreated, destroys from the inside out. It is gradual; the effects aren’t seen immediately—rather, they slowly mold and form and contort until they determine how best to eliminate their target. It is a river on a rock. 

    The poison, of course, is disappointment. To be more explicit, this refers to disappointment and the way by which we respond. 

    To begin, everyone in life will face disappointment. It is a common, uniting characteristic of being human. At some point as a child, you will be let down. Your birthday won’t go the way you planned, that kid you like won’t like you back, your parents will do something to upset you and cease to be perfect gods. However it begins, the inevitable start will quickly snowball into larger, and more grand, disappointments.

    The worries and issues become more pressing and more intense. The stakes get higher as one grows into adulthood and beyond; resultantly, the feelings and disappointments grow more intense. 

    And it works on a person like a poison. If one never fully recovered, or at least processed, the last disappointment, the next one that occurs a day later isn’t going to suddenly restart the count and begin anew.

    Instead, the bitterness amplifies and augments to include another heartbreak. Soon, without reckoning with the past, a fully grown man will find that they have so much anger residing within that the idea of another letdown becomes too much to handle. They find they would rather shy away from trying anymore; it’s too much. It seems that anytime they attempt to find happiness or accept that the best possible scenario could occur, reality comes striking down with more bad news. Maybe they weren’t meant to be happy. 

    So it goes, a downward cycle of what they consider lost potential. Disappointment strikes and the affected fellow becomes fixedly nostalgic for times when the lucky break did occur. For when life felt easier and more simple, when life was seemingly rational and logical. This, of course, is another fallacy, for life is absurd at its core. Life itself has no plan for us. 

    This is when many turn to religion or predestination. It is easier to put one’s trust in something larger than life, something that has a plan laid out for us, rather than try to do things ourselves and face another potential heartache. Life is so much easier when one gives up their “free will” in acceptance of a way of life that determines all will be okay in the end.

    The disappointed person becomes institutionalized by this thought process, similar to a prisoner who begins to crave the rigidity of a schedule, the career army man who can’t imagine life without orders. If life is all working out according to a predestined plan, that’s more room to take the foot off the gas and try to enjoy life.

    The crazy part is that this oxymoron can actually work in a backhanded way. Once the fear of choice and disappointment is seemingly alleviated, many will feel as though they can relax and enjoy themselves. This allows them to begin to make choices regarding their future again, but this time with the authority of a higher power—if it goes bad, it is just fate or God saying no. That is easier to bear than the thought of failing from your own devices or inadequacies. 

    Nothing I’m saying is new, Camus discussed this in The Myth of Sisyphus: “As in all religions, man is freed of the weight of his own life.” While he took his view toward religion, he still recognized and empathized with the need for it. He saw it as a method for man to make decisions without the burden of their self bearing the consequences.

    While appealing to a higher power works occasionally, I still feel as though this fear of disappointment can seep through the cracks that religion or predestination so hastily tried to pave over. Until we find ways to process failures and setbacks, we will never be truly happy or courageous, no matter what band-aid solution is used to alleviate the sting. 

    I am twenty-seven years old this year. In all honesty, I don’t feel I have much to show for my quarter century on earth. I embed myself in new jobs and industries, hobbies and interests as often as I can to learn new things and become more rounded as an individual—whether I do this out of fear of actually having to commit to something could be debated—but I still feel I don’t have much of a grounded, secure life.

    I haven’t found a long-lasting, meaningful career. I haven’t started a family. I don’t even have much money in the bank to show for my wandering ways. Last year, I thought, not a few times, that I finally found my way. Each time, I was let down. The gold in the rough turned out to be more rough. 

    I gained confidence in strange ways and lost it in stranger. I felt as though I could do anything for a while but found that most of the things I started up just fizzled out. I give myself credit for trying. I wanted to edit books, so I became an actual, professional editor. I wanted to start a company, so I did. I wanted to be a journalist, so I got a job with a local newspaper. I wanted to be a PM in construction, so I became one. 

    Unfortunately, many of those things have come collapsing since inception. I want to give myself more credit for doing it anyway, regardless of result, but I find it actually makes me sad. Here I sit at a coffee shop, a MacBook to my name and a job as a bartender as my only occupation. Close personal relationships let me down a lot last year and it feels as though I have less friends and inspiring people in my life this year than at the exact time last year. 

    As a result of how I perceive my current situation, each step becomes harder to take now; how much easier would it be if I played it safe. Remain a semi-broke bartender without insurance and hope that fate would come and rescue me specifically from the clutches of unhappiness.

    But how egotistical is that to think that fate would care about me. Nothing predetermined my path and nothing is coming to rescue me. I cannot sit back and say “oh well, whatever happens will happen” because nothing will happen until I myself move it into action. 

    At its core, disappointment is a spiritual problem. One that cannot be cured by physical ailments or mechanisms. Some turn to the bottle, some to exercise, some to retail therapy, some to actual talk therapy. No amount of talking, walking or drinking will cure the bitterness and fear inside that results from disappointment. It is an issue reckoned by spiritual movement and resolve. If the decision is never formally made to accept the doubts and fears and proceed regardless, to put aside the past and consider the future, happiness and freedom from anguish shall never be felt. Like sour candy on the tongue, the piquant feeling shall remain perpetually. 

    Bitterness from disappointment is river onto a rock, eroding any sense of self-worth or self-confidence. With each passing heartbreak, the torrent grows stronger and faster. It cuts further into land and becomes harder to stop. Soon, one may find their entire inner selves dictated by the current of the water rather than the foundation they used to stand on. Bitterness begets more bitterness, the water flows stronger. 

    Until a dam is erected to stand against the stream of hatred, no progress will ever be accomplished. Body and spirit must be in accordance if there is any hope to build the structure. The water will always be there, the disappointments will never stop. What we choose to do with the water is what determines our future. We can allow it to flow harder each day, accepting the futility of life and dreams. We can sacrifice and resign ourselves to a lesser fate than the one that is deserved. We can believe things are predestined and give up on making independent decisions entirely. We can skate by without ever truly attempting something again, better to live safe than get our hopes up and have them let down again. 

    Or a spiritual dam can be built.

    The thought of making decisions, while scary, can still be put to good use and eventually lead to a better future. We can put aside the bitterness of the past mistakes and grievances to try something new. Humans, throughout history, have always been dreamers. Our society has come this far because every generation has those who refuse to acknowledge disappointment and, instead, dream of better, finding ways to substantiate their ideas and keep the ball rolling. Until the fear of disappointment is alleviated, nothing will be accomplished. But once it has been handled, anything is possible. 

    And, admittedly, the fear is never truly gone. What determines character is the movement beyond fear and the perseverance of spirit. So long as that is held tight, life becomes a litany of possibilities.  

  • The Mirror

    The Mirror

    I looked in the mirror today

    Dec 2024

    Tears are steadily running down my cheeks. It is Christmas, a day I have been dreading.

    Yesterday, my Grandmother passed away. Very suddenly. Just two days ago she was here; this whole month it felt like she was doing pretty well and then, out of the blue, I get a call from my mother saying the ambulance is coming. No warning really; her health just failed all at once. 

    I was at work when I get a text from her. “You have been a wonderful Grandson, I am leaving you and your mother all my cookbooks. Come down soon to get them. I love you.” That was it. She texted while heading into the ambulance and I didn’t see it until a couple hours later. I broke down behind the bar and had to go home early. This was the day before Christmas Eve. My mother called me early in the morning, no earlier than 4 a.m., telling me she had passed quietly and easily in her sleep, surrounded by her sons. 

    I knew the call would be coming and, being too numb and tired to process it, just went back to sleep. 

    Today is Christmas Day. I am five-hundred miles from any close family; my friends have returned home to be with their people and no one is around today or tonight. Worse, I still have to go into work. This was the kind of circumstances you hear about only in movies, I had never heard of the holidays being quite so depressing, yet here I was.

    Crying on Christmas without support and without the woman who played a big part in raising me. 

    I was fairly drunk the entire day. I woke up with some whiskey. I went to work and had a few. I went to sleep after a lot. There haven’t been many days as bad as this one. I would be heading back to Florida soon to help my family pack up her house so thankfully I wouldn’t be alone for much longer. 

    But today, as I look at my reflection, it is hard to see behind all the tears. 

    I looked in the mirror today. 

    Jan 2025

    In the small hotel mirror, I wipe off the steam from the shower that I ran to keep myself warm. The polished white, marble bathroom has a thin layer of condensation tenanting across the slick surface while the exhaust fan roars steadily above. 

    It is early January; the city of New York sits encapsulated in a frozen sheath of ice, wind and snow. Blustery gales streak between building blocks, chafing any exposed skin raw and pulling soppy tears from sensitive eye ducts. Below, the East Manhattan streets are somewhat quiet; the tourists have mostly gone home to avoid the brutal climate and so we feel as though the city belongs to us. 

    After this trip, reality will once again settle upon me as I am going back to school and work; the business and pleasure of the holidays is reaching its eclipse.

    After returning home a few days after Christmas, I revisited my Grandma’s house and was allowed to view it one last time before it would likely be sold. I stayed in Florida for a week before my family and I embarked on a short cruise down to some areas in the Bahamas. We all agreed we needed to get away for a while and their solution was to disconnect on a boat; I couldn’t argue the logic this time. 

    It was actually quite a nice time, I felt sick and worn out after the events of the last few weeks but still managed to enjoy it. My dad seemed to be having some trouble relaxing, seemingly having health problems more than usual and looking extraordinarily tired. My mom was obstinately, deathly worried about both of us. But the cruise passed without incident, I won $500 in the casino and felt gratified; this would be my spending money in NYC. It was really quite relaxing when it came down to it.

    We returned home and, after a day or two, I was headed up on my Southwest flight to LaGuardia.

    Today is the last day of my trip. 

    In a word, magical. That is how this trip has felt. For the first time in years, I feel returned to new heights, to a feeling of normalcy and fulfillment. Each day presented new wonders and experiences. I had never been to NYC before this but I am keenly aware that, now that I have witnessed it, I could not forget it. I would have to return permanently. 

    While we are staying solely in Manhattan, we found we had no shortage of things to see and do. I finally was able to patronize the MoMa, a dream of mine for years. We mixed touristy things with off-the-beaten-path experiences in which we just walked around the streets until we found something that caught our eye.

    It seemed each street corner was a new world, each block the zenith of wonder and imagination. It was a place in which jazz ran through the streets and romance danced along the sidewalk. The smells from warm, intimate restaurants wafted gently from the buildings to our noses and captivated our attention. We drifted along and along, walking to no end. 

    Up on the tenth floor of this Marriott, I feel hope. I see myself and I see a light in my eyes that hasn’t been seen burning for quite some time. This is a new year, a chance to reawaken my passions and finally embark upon the next chapter of my life. If I can put everything behind me, I think I have the strength to rebuild from the ground up.

    I looked in the mirror today

    Feb 5, 2025

    It is the second week of the semester; I’m not doing well. 

    My excitement to return to school turned sour. My one saving grace in this program were the cool, understanding professors who were very hands-off and results driven. This semester, already, it was the opposite. I was back in Freshman year classes it seemed; mandatory attendance, creating LinkedIn profiles, building resumes, group projects and overall a lack of trust in me as an individual and a sense of micromanaging. I am twenty-six. I am considering dropping out and just simply leveraging my current degree into a job in the field instead. 

    Worse news, yesterday my mom called me. With a shaky voice, she slowly revealed that my father was in the hospital. He collapsed in the bathroom one night after trying to take the trash to the curb. He was standing normally then suddenly he woke up to find himself lying on cold tile. The doctors were running tests but, at the moment, were unsure of the exact problem. I could sense the colossal weight of worry upon her back and I tried to fly back down to take care of them but she wouldn’t let me.

    So here I sit, just returning from MTSU and staring at my haggard face in the bathroom mirror while there my father sits, helpless in a hospital bed, strapped to monitors. 

    So much for a good start to the year. I just lost my grandmother and now it felt as though the rest of the family was slipping through the cracks. 

    I looked in the mirror today 

    Feb 2025

    Feb 18 to be exact. A day of extreme highs and lows—they seemed to occur a dime a dozen this year. Let me breathe for once without the other shoe dropping. 

    In the last month, a lifetime had occurred. My father, in the hospital, was diagnosed with multiple Pulmonary Embolisms and put on blood thinners and other medications to flush the blood clots from his body. One had occurred near his heart, the rest gathered lower in his legs.

    He was exceedingly lucky that he made it to the doctor when he did as this is an extraordinarily deadly diagnosis for someone who does not seek help. No surgery was necessary and, after a few days in the hospital, he was released and relegated to bed rest; a sentence he did not particularly enjoy, rather, outright raged against. He refused to sit and heal, he was back in the gym after a couple weeks. That is the man who raised me and I couldn’t help be a little proud, even though what he was doing was incredibly dumb. 

    I quit school. Without much of a lifeline I might add. I talked to a professor that I had really trusted, one who felt more similar to a mentor than a formal teacher and asked him if he agreed with my idea of dropping out and finding a job anyway. He did. More than that, he offered advice and references for other jobs and made it clear he was looking out for me. I was touched and feel forever thankful to him. 

    Today, Feb 18, I had an interview with an employer that I had met while bartending.

    I was originally slated to begin an internship with him in the summer, but I laid my story out to him and asked if I might have a permanent spot within his organization, rather than just an internship. I wanted to speed up the timetable and work now in lieu of spending thousands more at school for another Bachelor’s. I would be learning on the job anyway, I am more useful if I learn the ropes from personal experiences, I argued. 

    I was convincing enough and he agreed with my argument. I had secured a job with my first contact in the industry and would be starting at the end of the month. I would still bartend on weekends but the weeks would be spent working in commercial construction. 

    Today, Feb 18, I got a surprise call from my mother late at night. 

    Originally I let it go to voicemail as I wasn’t able to answer. But she called again. Two consecutive calls are usually reserved for emergencies and I knew this probably was not going to be a fun talk, especially seeing the hour of her calling; it was late, probably around 10:30 or 11 pm at least. The night was completely quiet, it had started snowing and a thin layer of white powder dusted the skies and grass. Small, diaphanous flakes blanketed the ambient noise—no sound emanated from the world. 

    Bracing, I dialed back. My uncle had suddenly passed. In the hospital while simply waiting for a routine surgery. The doctors say it was a heart attack. She relayed all this information calmly and delicately, an unsteady peace surrounded by chaos. In the back of the call, I heard the shower running. With a queer voice, my mother said that my father had been in the shower since getting the call himself and refused to come out. It was the greatest shock to all of us. Two members of the Dreher’s gone barely two months from each other. Who could predict such a thing. The small family was a bit smaller.

    Thick flakes slowly transposed atop the thin ones and sat whispering on the window’s ledge. I opened the door and stepped outside. Within the confines of a streetlamp, I let the steady snowfall cover me and color me with a pure white.

    I looked in the mirror today 

    April 2025

    It is 5:30 am What am I doing up? Oh yeah, working construction. What do I do all day? Collect panic attacks. 

    Staring at my reflection in the dark, morning air, I don’t see anything good. In fact, I see only sadness and turmoil. I think my hairline is receding. My skin looks gray. The stubble on my face forms a haggard beard.

    Construction has been the opposite of what I hoped. I’ve been in it for a couple months now and it has been a steady downhill trajectory. I was thrust into a position in which I was given no training, help, or guidance. I stepped on a nail yesterday that went right through my boots. I have almost been hit by falling debris more times than I can count. There was a hole in the ground in which I almost broke my ankle, I only noticed it at the last second. And still, my bosses deem it fit not to help in any capacity. I could speak for hours about this job, but I am sick of talking or thinking about it. Read my other blogs for my experience in construction.

    Rest assured, this was not my answer. I felt bad for wanting to quit but I felt even worse contemplating staying here any longer. I need to get out while my hair still has its color.

    I looked in the mirror today. 

    June 2025

    Summer is just beginning.

    I’m back at my bartending job, for now at least. It was a hard transition though, if only due to my ego and pride. I had just led a team of seven workers and we had accomplished quite a bit, looking back. While I hated it, I will acknowledge that I was effective in reaching the goal laid out for me.

    The contractor groups had liked working with me and gave us extra leeway with certain things, we made a ton of money and the team had said they liked working with me—even if they had said it in Spanish. It was a T&M contract project I was working on and, before leaving, I noticed we had made well over what the management had expected. 

    In some twisted form, I was proud. I had been well-liked among my crew and had finally earned the respect of upper management due to the money I was making them. I proved to myself, if nothing else, that I had the potential to be an actual leader one day. It was a good feeling to solve problems and I realized that I was capable of more. I could do more. I don’t know how I want to capitalize on this yet but I want the pride to remain. It is the most valuable skill I picked up on site.

    However, the environment was not for me.

    I was so incredibly unhappy that it became impossible to ignore and I had to step back for my health. It was an amicable sendoff and, now, I find myself back at the place I was bartending before. Except now, I had gone through an unbelievable, permanent transformation over the last few months.

    My shoulders pushed back confidently, my demeanor is inherently calm and inscrutable, as if I was still speaking with a hesitant or aggravated supplier. I was returning to an organization in which they had remained the same and even declined in the same span during which I had grown exponentially.

    I am proud of the change that occurred in me. I became someone that handles well under pressure and strengthens others leading by example. If I do not fold, it will be easier to uplift those who need more guidance. This is something that no one will ever take away. I felt a self-confidence burning within that had never existed before. Even in the darkest of times, I still feel a resilience of spirit. 

    Southall did not seem to notice or care about this change. I was granted an imaginary position in which I was given all the responsibility of a certain aspect of the bar program so management wouldn’t feel any need to step in or care. They were able to take credit for my accomplishments and then blame me when things failed. It was a win-win for them and, soon, I felt an ambivalence for this place that I had never felt before. 

    I had always been treated fairly before but now, it seemed things were different. I was not someone to be simply pushed around anymore and, as a result, I was being pushed out. It had turned corporate and uncaring, a by-the-books new manager taking the place of a beloved, lead-by-example old one.  Rather than acknowledge his legacy, the new director did everything in his power to diminish the legacy that had been previously built.

    It became like an early season episode of The Walking Dead, personal favorite employees were being fired left and right for trivial offenses. No one was safe.

    This was not the outlet I had left only a few months previous. This was an uncaring, indifferent beast who relied on the numbers game; surviving only on profit margin and rearing wildly when reservations were low. The hunger became insatiable, profits weren’t high enough. Eat more. Fire more. The numbers went higher, it became an addiction. The belly had to be fed, the wills and personalities of employees irrelevant, only earnings mattered. Slow night? The beast attacked, more firings. More lies. More pay cuts. Increase the service charge taken by the house on every ticket. Continue to feed the machine. Push out old workers, they cost too much. Hire those with less experience, they work cheaper. Busy night? Cut anyway, they just get in the way of margins. 

    I have to find a way out. 

    I looked in the mirror today. 

    August 2025

    A summer spent and wasted. I can’t recall a single day at work over another. Pride wouldn’t let me accept just any bartending position. I had been a leader, how could I be a simple cog in the wheel again?

    I was spoiled by my experiences and knowledge of my potential.

    I hated that place more than I hated the idea of being a lowly employee again. While I know I had more potential than just being a bartender, I would have to find another bartending job if I wanted to pay the bills right now. Even if it felt like starting over and being low on the totem poll again, it was worth it to me.

    I found a job that I know is probably not for me, but it is a distinguished bar in the Gulch area of Nashville. A bar that has made it to magazines, articles, blogs, awards and “best of all time” lists.

    That seemed fair to me; at least I would grow in my knowledge of something and continue to learn. So I put in my two weeks at Southall today. I will not work the full two weeks, but they don’t know that yet. If they can lie to me, I can lie to them. 

    After this summer, I feel emotionally stunted and, quite frankly, empty. One day after the other of the same dull routine has thwarted the light that was burning in me in the beginning of summer. I no longer feel excitement; I need something totally different. Every door that opened in my route to Nashville has closed on me and I consider my future life here. My lease ends in January and I don’t think I want to extend—it’s time to reignite my passions that I once had long ago. I want to again enjoy life and the things I do. 

    I looked in the mirror today

    Dec 2025

    It is December now. The leaves fell from their posts and collected on the frozen earth, drying and crunching as the brumal night air siphoned away the moisture. Soon thereafter, the mowers and the landscapers arrived for one last scything before the winter. The cold grass clipped, saplings pruned back, and weeds trimmed while the blowers gathered the refuse into large piles, ready for pickup and collection. Large, black trash bags are filled, one at a time, with the remnants of the summer season, the life which once brilliantly shone now being stuffed and packaged, either to be burned or composted. Now, the streets are once again as barren as the trees. Cold wind whistles through the skeletal branches. 

    And yet, I’m finally happy. 

    Where I once felt myself ready to leave and begin anew, I’ve now found a home in the country music capital. It’s as though fate were just waiting for me to accept it and let my guard down for once; I feel reborn and the secret lay entirely in one undeniable fact: I surrounded myself with inspirational people.

    In my life, I have a history of flocking to comfortable, but rather uneventful and damaged, friendships and relationships. I think because I’ve always been so ill at ease with who I am as a person, it felt affirming to find others who could validate those feelings and commiserate with.

    And while that has been nice in many ways as I allowed me to ground myself within a emotion that was not quite happy but not quite sad, I was never being pushed to actually grow as a person. It was a middle ground that felt safer than reaching for better.

    Rather, they almost seemed to hold me back mentally. I could be content to acknowledge how sad I was, but that was the extent of the growth allowed with many acquaintances. They wanted me to remain on their level and we could lament together, but only so long as trauma bonding remained the nucleus and gravitational pull between us. 

    I never felt I had the strength to fix myself or take anything about me seriously, and it’s no wonder; I was with people who didn’t take themselves seriously either. In the last couple months, my life has been one dynamic, world-bending change after another and, along the way, I have had the absolute grace and luck to meet incredible people who choose to remain around me and continue to improve my life.

    Along the way, I made a promise to myself that I would never again speak the words “one day”, words which have ruled and dominated over me my entire life. Since having free will as an adult, every big life goal of mine was subjected to a “one day” mentality in which I would get to it one day down the road.

    For one reason or another, it seemed to be impossible at the moment but in the future, somehow, it would be completely feasible and easy. It took me until this year to realize that is simply not the fact, but I’m grateful I discovered that so soon. I believe some people go their entire lives before comprehending their lives will not magically improve. Dreams will not suddenly be handed to them when they are ready. 

    Something I have always wanted to do was get involved in the literary world. This October, I decided to hit the pavement with publishing companies, reaching out to as many local houses as possible to try to vie for their attention and prove that I had some sense of knowledge within this realm, seeing as I’ve been reading and writing since I was two years old.

    Finally, I struck gold and have had the incredible opportunity to copyedit actual, real novels soon to be published, and get paid for the work along the way. In the process, I started an LLC. Any work I do will be under its umbrella to build my portfolio and eventually expand into more ambitious territory.

    My friend and I talked about starting one for so many years and I decided it was about time to get it going; he’s on board. I am still woefully ignorant to so many things I should probably know when starting a business, but I’m taking it one day at a time and I’m finding that it is one of the most rewarding things I have ever accomplished. I wake up each day excited about new ideas that I could incorporate into my own company and new ways to make money.  A friend of mine wants to get involved in it as well to write and publish some cook books of his. 

    I am finally giving music a bit of a try. For the first time in my guitar-playing career, I’ve begun to take lessons and discover more about a subject of which I am wholly fascinated. My friend and I have begun writing songs together and the writer’s block I’ve faced for the last few months is eclipsed by the creative fever I feel today. I have played impromptu gigs with friends or just by myself since Germany and the internal satisfaction I get from it is unsurpassed by anything on earth, so I figure I might as well explore more of that side of me as well. While I won’t likely be playing on Broadway anytime soon, I do feel as though playing live is in my future. 

    Another life goal of mine was always to be a volunteer firefighter. I get intense satisfaction and fulfillment from acts of service and, as I get older, I am more concerned with giving back to people rather than remaining a one-man show that just takes and takes. Firefighting seems the perfect way for me to try helping my community. It’s rugged, sexy, dangerous and everyone loves them. I have a meeting with the fire chief of Williamson County tomorrow morning to discuss if this is really for me and I couldn’t be more excited. If I’ve always wanted to do it, why wait? Why would things be any better later? 

    I’d rather do it right now and stay overwhelmingly busy as too much of my life has been brushed with excessive free time, a quality I once doted and bragged about. But, in the last couple months, I’ve lived life to the fullest and firmly decided being occupied and getting lost in my hobbies, dreams and interests is much more interesting. Both to me, and others. If I’m a little more tired than normal, so be it; but so far, I feel only invigorated. Sadness and indolence is not a cool, deep character trait, but a defense mechanism against processing the shit that happened to you. It is a form of self-assurance in which, if you are meanest to yourself, no one else could possibly ever hurt you again. Unfortunately, it’s duct tape on a car crash. It’s a false sense of security that will make the repairs cost even more down the road. Most of all, sadness is unsustainable.

    I have chosen to remain in Nashville for another year. It makes more sense for me to continue to narrow my vision and focus on specific ways to grow, rather than try to move and start over without any resources. My new studio apartment is beautiful and, best of all, my newest tax write-off.

    It is such a new feeling: taking myself seriously. Somewhere along the way, I realized maybe I’m good for something after all and carrying myself differently has opened up so many more doors than I ever thought possible. If it’s just a mirage, so be it, I’ll take what I can and continue to learn.

    As I look in the mirror today, I am pleased with the reflection.

    Drinking less, my cheeks have thinned down a bit. Eating more protein and lifting heavier, I feel genuinely fit for the first time and I’m in the best shape of my life. Sleeping with someone I love, my eyes no longer look like they belong to a caged animal–sharp and jagged. As I look in the mirror, I like who looks back.

    After everything this year, all the hardships, the nights I cried to sleep, the loneliness and helplessness I felt, the lack of vision, the anger and betrayal, I think it actually meant something. It was leading me to a conclusion. I’ve been enough all along. 

    I have the skills to accomplish what I want, and now, I have the clarity and the confidence to see it.  

    That being said, good riddance 2025. You’ve lasted too long.  

    Thank you to everyone who has made this year special for me and helped me through some of the worst moments of my life. To those who made it an informative year, I appreciate the lessons.

  • 7 Indie Artists to be on the Lookout For

    7 Indie Artists to be on the Lookout For

    A long time ago, this used to be a music blog. I don’t know how many of you were around for that, if any, but I wanted to return to my roots for a minute and gush over a few indie artists that I feel like should more recognized than they are. 

    Most of my adult life has been spent looking for the next artist, the next song, the next album.

    I always hear people saying “music just isn’t the same these days”, “they just don’t make music like they used to”, “all music sounds the same now” and it is a bit grating. These blanket statements are simply untrue and I believe it is more a reflection of one’s inability to step outside their comfort zone more than it is an examination of the zeitgeist of musical culture. Rather than take a bit of time and dive deeper than just the current pop charts, people would rather write it all off as white noise lacking passion or sentiment. 

    Music has always been the most idiosyncratic manifestation of change in America. In the Roarin’ 20s, big bands dominated the scene with loud, boisterous ornate harmonies and bustling, fiery brass solos. America was quickly industrializing and thriving following the end of WWI and it only made sense that the music should be just as glamorous, ritzy and ostentatious as the rest of us. The Great Gatsby is the premier example of this period.

    In the 60s, of course Vietnam and the hippy movement provided a stage for anti-war musicians. Sparse, pared-down instrumentals and a darker, more intense rock-n-roll would emerge eventually. Where Beach Boys and The Beatles were essential to the prosperous and quieter 50s and early 60s, Bob Dylan, John Lennon and countless others began using folk songs to express their outrage of our presence in Vietnam.

    The peaceful ideas put forth in these songs soon gave way to anger and bands like Black Sabbath, Buffalo Springfield, CCR and others wrote fiery, blistering songs condemning the war and pushing the boundary of music further than it had ever been pushed. 

    80s was a land of future with the progression of technology leading to synths and electronic drum kits comprising the majority of pop music songs. The Smiths, Tears for Fears and Simple Minds were incredibly influential on the general direction of music toward the late 80s.

    Hair metal bands also grew in popularity before leading to the decline of rock as popular music. 90s were a revolt toward the norm both on Wall Street and in music. While Enron seemed to revolutionize modern finance, Nirvana was popularizing the revolution of rock carried on from the direction of the New York Dolls and Sex Pistols. 

    From the turmoil of the digital age in the early 2000s where everyone was making club hits to the transition to rap as the dominating genre in the 2010s, we arrive at the present day.

    Never before has it ever been so easy for songwriters and artists to gain exposure; the streaming era has allowed any home-musician with a microphone and GarageBand to throw their hat in the ring. TikTok and its algorithm frequently boost small, indie artists into stardom if they are lucky enough.

    Because literally anyone has the potential to get famous, many take this to mean they are not talented and rely on a catchy hook and a boost from Spotify’s algorithm. I disagree. There has always been bad music throughout its history; it was just more limited due to the resources needed to record and sell it. We have more access to the world’s discography for better or worse. 

    Music now is a representation of those who write it. We are in an isolated, introspective era as cell-phones and social media have destroyed and diminished the sense of community that we once possessed.

    All around the world, young people are drinking less, smoking less, having sex less, going out less, spending less and relying more on the comfort of their daily routine rather than a sense of camaraderie. As such, listen to what is popular in music: it has become quiet and intimate. Folk music once again is rising in popularity as we desire only to listen to something calming and not panic-inducing.

    EDM and electronic music now becomes a tool for studying just as easily as clubbing. Rap has slowly tapered off and given way to more acoustic instrumentals with Taylor Swift leading the charge. 

    That isn’t to say other music doesn’t still exist. I also believe we are seeing a resurgence in rock that hasn’t been seen since the peak of grunge. Whenever a genre dies, it reincarnates as something different.

    My favorite current artists vary greatly in their style and genre and it’s truly exciting to see how music can still be reinvented after 140+ years of modern history.

    Some push boundaries, some invent their own. Music will always remain the beacon of change in this world and if you listen closely, you’ll learn more about the current state of mind than any news station could ever tell you. 

    That said, here are 7 indie artists that I greatly enjoy and that you should listen to if you want to be reassured of the current state of music. 

    Ryan Montbleau 

    I saw Ryan Montbleau live in 2019 in Gainesville at a concert at which I was volunteering. I had no prior knowledge of him, didn’t know what kind of music it would be and overall had very low expectations. What I heard that night hooked me more immediately than any artist or song I’ve ever heard before.

    The mix of introspective lyrics, flashy, ecstatic guitar licks and engagement with the crowd made it genuinely fun to listen to him. His soulful vocal melodies paired only with the acoustic guitar on his shoulder and an intimate, visceral show was the product. I sat in the back and looked him up on Spotify and found he had very few listeners. It seemed unbelievable; this was, to me, the stunning epitome of singer-songwriter and I felt he deserved more credit. 

    I especially recommend listening to his live albums, specifically Stages Volume III to get a sense of what I mean by crowd engagement. In today’s world of short attention spans and desire for flashy, engaging content, it is hard to sit and watch a single person on stage for an entire hour. He recognizes this and allows the audience to become part of the show, frequently talking to them mid-song or encouraging them to create their only solos while he plays guitar. He executes this flawlessly.

    Playing with a band or solo, it doesn’t matter— his playful, soprano voice rings out distinctly and feels like a warm presence. It feels like a hug from an old friend. Even if you don’t appreciate singer-songwriters, I still advise you to give him a chance.  

    Essential Listening: I Was Just Leaving, Fast Car

    Personal favorite: Quickie, Bright Side

    Ruby Waters 

    A friend in Texas introduced Ruby to me for the first time and thought I was listening to a deep cut from Amy Winehouse with her alluring, raspy falsetto.

    Sultry, slinking guitars duet with a thick, heavy bass and create sensual melodies that resonate and keep you coming back for more. Listening to her lyrics feels like I’m reading downright smut sometimes but never feels cheesy or clunky; they play perfectly with the backing track and leave no question about how she feels. Ruby has some of the sexiest songs I’ve heard in my life.

    This glam-punk rock combination may not necessarily push the boundaries of rock but it reimagines it in a fun, unique way. With subject matter ranging from alcoholism and self-destruction to lust and Wet T-shirts, one is sure to hear an explicit diary entry of Ruby’s true thoughts and desires and feels refreshing to hear her unique spin on classic musical tropes. 

    Essential Listening: Quantum Physics, Flash Flood

    Personal Favorites: Liquor Run, Bucket

    Ethan Regan 

    About two years ago, I heard the song wildflowers and had it absolutely stuck in my head for months. The staccato, Reggae guitar riff paired with occasional steel drums, playful bass line and catchy lyrics gave this song so much heart and soul. It was interesting and moving, and more than that, it was fun to listen to. This white boy was doing something different but I didn’t dive too much further at the time.

    Last summer, his album timbuktu released and Spotify recommended it to me and I finally took the bait and listened. With only 7 songs, he said more than most have the chance to do in an entire lifetime. It was on immediate rotation in my house; I couldn’t get enough.

    From the quiet, humble guitar plucks on wilmington to a line-dance train beat number on fine china and ending with a quiet, solo acoustic set on like I do, Ethan’s voice rings out from the muted instrumentals and carries the tune with emphasis and sweetness. 

    His voice is never overbearing or aggressive, it projects in a humble, confidential manner that is threadbare but extremely alluring. The lyrics often resemble poetry and the carefully selected prose manages to find a home with the twangy banjo that often reverberates in the background of the mix. He is a must-listen for folk or indie listeners and is one of my favorite artists of the 2020s so far. 

    Essential Listening: Wildflowers, Peach Tree

    Personal favorites: fine china, like I do. 

    Bleach

    I can’t put my finger on the exact reason I enjoy Bleach so much.

    Billed as an alternative rock band from St. Louis, their vocal and sonic range purports more than just such a simple label. It is doubly impressive considering they are just a power trio yet produce such rich harmonies and intense, fiery punk melodies. It is a combination of ZZ Top and Nirvana. Each song borders a fine line between punk, indie and garage rock yet manages to carve out a very specific niche in itself that is fresh and original. 

    The thick, heavy guitar, chunky baselines and crowded drums make Bleach feel a White Stripes reincarnation but they rely less on solos and more on desperate, crooning vocal lines to carry the groundwork of their emotion. It’s incredibly soulful while remaining smooth, rugged and well-produced. A sensual, raw sound is the final product. 

    No matter the song you choose to listen to, you’re guaranteed to have fun listening. Artists like this help keep the spark alive for rock-n-roll as a genre. They are accessible and catchy while remaining bold and rugged.

    They haven’t released a new single in four years and it’s nearly impossible to find them on social media, I can only hope that one day they will return and continue to blaze a trail. 

    Essential Listening: Pull a Little Closer, The Ah song

    Personal Favorites: One Second Away, Who Do You Want to Blame

    The Criticals 

    The Criticals have fun with it. 

    I could only describe them as The Clash mixed with The Strokes with a little bit of Sum-41 mixed in.

    With spacious mixes and tinny, high-pitched guitars, punk makes a return but with a more refined twist. The production feels cleaner and more refined, the vocals are seductive, focused and smooth. Some of the riffs, as on songs like Adoringly Drunk, dip into post-punk and alternative rock with the energetic fast pace and chunky power chords. Blistering guitar solos are a mainstay in their music.

    But that isn’t what makes the Criticals so good; it is quite obvious they actually have fun making music. The dynamic between the band is flawless, the instruments fuse perfectly, the timing is impeccable and enough space is created for the vocal melodies to become playful and flirtatious. With each new single and EP, they break new ground and find the freedom to expand their sound past the typical boundaries in which most alternative and post-punk rock bands find themselves cornered. 

    The Criticals have a high chance of reaching stardom if they continue as any fan of rock will find something for themselves in their diverse catalogue. 

    Essential Listening: Treat Ya Better, Absinthe

    Personal Favorites: High Life Clinic, Absinthe

    Blake Ruby 

    Production extraordinaire.

    His debut album A Lesser Light to Rule the Night stands as one of the most impressive debut LPs of any artist. It was ambitious, vulnerable, extremely well-produced and, more than anything, engaging.

    Bless You, the album’s premier track, begins with quiet, plucked guitar strings and quickly evolves into a luscious, grandiose string accompaniment– crescendoing into an opulent chorus before dwindling back to the guitar plucks. A low, quiet organ is the connective tissue transitioning between songs and the track list is overall cohesive and balanced.

    Dirty Laundry is the noticeable highlight on the album with twinkling piano keys in the background, a pulsating bass line and eerie synths; all of which provide layers and depth that are incredibly foresighted and unique. 

    It feels as if the Villagers went electric; the sounds and vocals are typically more mellow and subdued but defy any specific genre. The production remains the highlight of Ruby’s music for me and feels like more emotional and vulnerable pop music.

    His range remains unmatched, with introspective piano ballads and intense, booming punk-rock finding asylum on an EP just as easily as the other. His lyrics are slanted and poetic which only serves to boost his image as a unique, compelling songwriter. His new album will release September 5, 2025 and I look forward to it with great anticipation. The progression from each album has been astonishing and larger in scope each time. 

    Essential Listening: Dirty Laundry, Only One

    Personal Favorites: Supernova, A Lesser Light to Rule the Night 

    Hans Williams 

    Hans Williams is capitalizing on a new genre of what I would call: cinematic-folk.

    Strumming acoustic guitars and mandolins become fused with dramatic electric elements, dazzling synths and smooth production and capitalize on Williams’ niche within a more theatrical indie sound.

    He has the richest, most tenacious voice on this list and is able to carry an emotional impact with nothing more than his rising, raspy vocals. Truly, his voice is the most significant and noticeable aspect of his music; one can feel the gravitas and the space his range is capable of filling.

    Even as his voice remains the primary instrument in his harmonic arsenal, one might expect the instrumentals to lack in diversity or composition. However, this is far from the case. Rather than write simple folk songs, entire musical microcosms are examined and delineated— marking a divergence from typical bluegrass/Americana space one might expect an artist like Hans to occupy. Everything is interesting and electric combines with acoustic in a new and refreshing manner.

    In a world where indie-pop music is increasingly dominated by indie-folk singer-songwriters, Hans Williams defiantly stands out from the crowd. The music is polished and bright while still retaining a raw emotional appeal. Catchy, punchy vocal hooks work symbiotically with reflective, acoustic licks.

    He builds on the sound from 00s Indie-folk artists— Bon Iver’s larger-than-life production, The Decembrists’ bright vocals and Sufjan Stevens’ lyrical impact. He benefits from modern day production and still manages to create a sound that expounds on and evolves from his musical ancestors. The music is mesmerizing, I can’t recommend it enough. 

    Essential Listening: Skin, Willows

    Personal Favorites: Georgia Walks, Skin

    I didn’t have the time to add a lot of artists on here but I feel these artists represent of span of genres that will soon dominate the music scene and opted to include them specifically.

    Music is constantly changing and I can’t wait to see where it goes next.

  • Why I Packed Up My Life to Move Abroad

    Why I Packed Up My Life to Move Abroad

    I wrote this for my new travel website: Chipspassport.com coming soon! Thought I would give a sneak peek.

    Travel is incredibly personal. Some are ready– some remain untouched from its grasp, content to remain at home and live comfortably.

    This, however, was not the way I wanted to go; I knew from a very young age I wanted to see the world.

    When I was a child, each day felt like it was the same. The same dull routine that just continued to recycle and spin in a flat circle, leaving me wanting more.

    It was not that I had a terrible childhood; rather, it just lacked in excitement and felt quite lonely, not helped by the fact I was an only child who moved schools constantly. 

    Senior year of high school is when the travel bug officially had me.

    I distinctly remember the moment it triggered in me. It was after watching the TV show Master of None. For anyone who hasn’t seen it, I would recommend they go watch the first two seasons immediately, then come back to finish reading this.

    The first season is great in its own right but the second is a masterpiece of filmmaking. With outright homages to classic Italian movies from the 40s-60s, it portrays Italy as though it were magic. From rolling hills to sharp, jagged mountains, from farmers markets to Aperol Spritzes in outside bodegas, it is a fantastical land of hazy pleasure and lush beauty. 

    My first sip of wine taken in Italy– it lived up to the hype

    More than anything, it felt intensely romantic. I knew I had to find a way to remain there longer than just the average tourist. This idea is what originally hooked me. It made me realize there is untold beauty elsewhere besides just the United States and I had to get out there and find it. 

    So I made a promise to myself: when I was old enough and able to travel, I would live a life of adventure and animation— each day would be different and full of mystery and intrigue. No longer would I feel like the star of Groundhog Day. I had the power to change my fate and I had every intention of doing it. 

    In the meantime, I set to work charting a feasible plan of my future hopes and dream travel destinations and how to make it happen. It moved slowly, but my life gradually began to traverse along the path I created based on the sole aim of traveling. 

    In 2019, I had the luxury of going for my undergrad at the University of Florida and things finally began to click. I had enough scholarships and grants that, by senior year, I was able to take a year off from work to focus on school. In between classes I began to expand my adventures. 

    I took a “practice run” to Miami and other weekend destinations to see how well I could travel without the help of my parents. It turns out it was actually much easier— who would’ve guessed!

    I was not reliant on their wishes and desires, we didn’t have to stay at a hotel with free breakfast in the morning and I could go to nice restaurants without fear of their impatience toward a 20 minute wait at the host stand. 

    Miami, Savannah, Jacksonville, Tallahassee, Tampa, Atlanta, Charleston, Orlando. I began flying through the biggest regional East Coast cities faster than I could save up for them.

    Each month held new surprises and possibilities and I was flooded with a passion and drive to see more and more and more. It gave me an excitement that I hadn’t felt ever before and, of course, soon I began to crave even bigger trips.

    I needed to get overseas; I had to see Italy and the rest of the Old World. 

    The Old World in Monterosso, Italy

    Unfortunately for me, my borrowed time was soon to run out.

    I was approaching my last semester as an Undergrad and would have to either get a real job again or continue into higher education. The money I had saved up was dwindling and I didn’t much enjoy the thought of taking out loans for a Master’s degree so I subconsciously understood my year of freedom was soon to be cut off.

     All of my friends had received internships in their tenure at UF, a route I had chosen not to pursue and one, consequently, that left me without many job offers. I decided I wasn’t ready for a big-boy job, I had to find a way to make my international gap year become a reality. 

    Luckily for me, and unluckily for my mother, my dad of all people found the solution for me.

    He sent me an ad on Facebook for a ski lodge in Bavaria, Germany that was looking to hire Americans.

    This “ski lodge” was actually Edelweiss Lodge and Resort, a hotel run by the Department of Defense for military personnel or active duty members of the Armed Forces, staffed by 20-somethings who just wanted cheap lodging and good travel opportunities. 

    The actual picture my Dad sent that started it all

    The deal, according to the ad, was a free flight and free lodging in return for a fifteen-month contract of work in a department of their choosing. I jokingly applied for it one day bored during class and was astonished to wake up to a call the very next morning from their HR director looking to set up an interview with me. 

    Half-asleep, voice cracking, my girlfriend still snoring next to me, I answered the call and confirmed a second interview in a few days at 7:00am. Germany is six hours ahead of East Coast time, making this the biggest hurdle a drunk college student had to face: waking up early.

    Fast forward a few days later, the interview was very straightforward– the questions revolving around “do you have a passport” and “are you willing to work abroad”. Of course, my answers were yes across the board and, all things being equal, I was hired a week later. 

    The paperwork for DOD contract positions is insane and, luckily, I had another six months to complete it while I finished school and packed up my life. The timing was perfect and I graduated with my degree in Communications and was allowed a month to decompress before heading out. The rest is history. 

    Lounging in Campo Del Moro, Spain

    Helpful Tips for You

    My circumstances for traveling were very special, I was able to live long-term abroad and save up money while I plotted my next destination. I don’t expect everyone to be able to take this same route as it is a rarity to find opportunities like this abroad.

    But for anyone looking to see the world, I recommend finding seasonal jobs or even “volunteer” hostel jobs that are willing to work with you in terms of paying for your work. It makes things a lot easier and a lot more permanent if a paycheck flows in while living in the country of your dreams.

    That’s not to say volunteering sites like Worldpackers, WWOOF and Workaway aren’t a great tool as well, but I believe they only sustain travel for so long and can often be quite toxic based on my friends’ experiences. 

    I still believe however you choose to travel, it will be a rewarding experience regardless. If you feel that travel bug biting, the best thing you can do is listen to it and find a way to execute your plan.

    By cutting down on clutter, avoiding excess spending and remaining goal-oriented toward travel, you will find it’s actually much easier to accomplish than some people make it seem.

    Budget traveling is very attainable — even comfortable — these days and there is more than enough resources to help someone on their path to financial freedom and long-term travel. 

    While my blog will help with this, I still recommend listening to professionals speak about it so you will be better equipped when you are ready to take that first step out the door and into your new life.

    Dave Ramsey and his podcast is a great place to start, even if the advice he gives is typically just logical, common sense. 

    Great advice for financial literacy– the first step toward permanent travel

    “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page”

    St. Augustine

    Even if you cannot or do not want to travel to another country, find ways to see something new around you— to live more dynamic and engaging lives. At worst, you spend money and don’t like it; at best, you find a new home.

    If you feel that travel bug biting, listen to it and let it take you where it will. Have the courage to try something new, even if it’s just for a second