Writing
I have never been a great writer. There have been times in my life when I have written some good pieces, and been productive doing so. But I have also had some great thoughts and concepts of an idea that would be great in the hands of someone who knew what to do with them. As I transition into a role supporting an academic institution, and contemplate where my career will take me, I am going to try once again to work on these writing muscles.
I am fortunate in so many way to have the father that I do, who in addition to a number of other one of one qualities, is a great writer. I’m additionally fortunate to be joining a department headed by someone who is an amazing writer himself, writing seemingly as a way to work out his own thoughts. In my limited exposure to him, I am extremely impressed.
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This all brings me to Charlie. What an influence on me, and what a writer. Here is a snippet of his eulogy for McCoy Tyner:
Heard today, Trane’s initial, tenor solo seems to transcend melancholia. It feels suffused with grief — not just from three-and-a-half centuries of subjugation, but as a premonition. Africa was in liberation, the Freedom Rides were in full swing, Martin and Malcolm were at the height of their powers . . . yet in the tenderness of Coltrane’s improvisation there is almost a foretelling of the suffering to come. Through his horn, Coltrane seems to be singing, “Hear me, listen to me, abide with me.”
I will write about some music, some urbanism, some gardening, some construction, some travel, some soccer, eventually maybe some organizations, but, this writing above, this is something else. And here is what inspired it:
