The Winds of Time
The desert, rolling hills of sand, and the subtle movement of time.
I always thought of the desert as a place of stillness – the rolling hills of sand had existed a million years ago and will still be there long after we're gone. Despite its tranquil appearance, the desert is a dynamic environment constantly reshaped by the powerful forces of nature. The wind shapes the desert's landscape in an ongoing process of erosion and deposition, pushing sand into sweeping dunes that grow, shrink, and shift over time. The desert is a paradox – an unyielding and timeless yet ever-changing place.
As a young adult, time seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. The places and people that brought comfort appeared as constants in the world, but like the desert wind shaping its landscape, invisible forces create subtle movement under our feet. Small shifts that are easy to miss at the moment begin to silently build with time. In many ways, life is an exercise in maintaining your grasp on the things you value most. If you wait too long, you may find that the winds of time have carried them away beyond the horizon.
Life Lessons from Inner Voices
On the interplay of melodies and inner voices, the profound complexity beneath the surface of our lives, and slowing down to listen.
One of the most profound compliments I ever received was during my first year in college as a music major. I had just performed Robert Schumann’s “Aufschwung” from his Fantasiestücke, Op. 12. An older gentleman approached me and said he had never liked the piece, but my performance finally showed him the beauty of it. It was because I brought out something in the music absent from most performances: the interplay of inner voices with the melody. The thoughtful voicing of these countermelodies is inexplicably absent from the vast majority of professional recordings. Yet it is this very detail that breathes life into the score. Below are two examples of countermelodies often overlooked.
Schumann - Aufschwung
Chopin - Étude Op. 25, No. 1 in A-flat major
Inner voices are whispers that tell a subtle story beneath the surface of the primary narrative. Though not always at the forefront, these inner voices lend a subtle beauty to the music, much like the nuances that bring interest and complexity to life. They do not demand attention but invite it – moments of quiet beauty that reveal themselves only to those who take the time to look and listen. Their absence would leave the experience hollow and incomplete. Life’s most meaningful moments are often made so by their subtleties.
Inner voices can’t work alone – they exist in dialogue with the melody, providing harmony and support. They’re the close friend who listens without judgment, the colleague who quietly ensures a project’s success or a family member who offers unconditional love. These roles aren’t in the spotlight and may not draw applause, yet they’re indispensable to our success. They don’t leap out at you; they invite you to lean in, to notice the interplay of lines and the complexity beneath the surface. This act of focused listening mirrors how we best approach life: slowing down and paying attention to the details that enrich our experiences.
Finding Beauty in a Descending Line
The intersection of tides, the rhythm of life, Bach, and personal exploration.
Bach’s descending bass line gives life to a masterpiece.
One of the few perks of getting older is gaining a measure of perspective on life by recognizing patterns over time. There is a tide to existence that ebbs and flows—a cyclical order in an otherwise random world. When life’s tide pulls back, when what once felt sure and steady fades—leaving behind scattered debris and jagged rocks—it’s easy to believe that the tide won’t return, that progress is lost to the gravitational pull of a dark mass. Despite my successes, this year felt like an accumulation of challenges and setbacks leading to an uncertain future.
I am comforted by the wonders only visible during these times—hidden terrain we never see when the waters are high, and just as the waves grind rocks into sand, I find myself stopping to appreciate the feeling of resilience that keeps me moving through life’s rhythm. I find comfort in classical music, which speaks something profound about the human experience. Notes fall like drops of rain, managing to soothe despite their descent. As I listen, I realize that these notes don’t fall into despair; they gracefully descend as if to tell their own story of resilience. Their decay is inevitable—each note must give way for the splendor to come.
Life isn’t a quest to a destination but an exploration of the unknown. Sometimes you find treasure, sometimes you find wonder in the mundane, and sometimes you must simply endure the journey with the curiosity of what you’ll discover next. Keep your eyes, mind, and heart open.
A Lesson of Death and Beauty
A bad bottle of Bordeaux teaches a profound lesson.
I have a love/hate relationship with vintage wine, but the very traits I have come to hate are also the source of my passion. These opposite yet interconnected forces, this frustrating duality, came into focus when a Sommelier recently opened one of my bottles of 1981 vintage Chateau Leoville Las Cases Bordeaux.
This bottle had come to the end of a long journey. Forty-two years ago, the vineyard's grapes were carefully tended to over an entire growing season, hand-picked, sorted, and processed. Some of the hands that picked the grapes likely belong to people who have since passed. These grapes were survivors of the deluge of rain that consumed the first half of October that year. The bottle was cellared for decades in a temperature-controlled environment by multiple owners. There were thousands of opportunities for a mishap, but there it was forty-two years later, sitting on the bar of my favorite local restaurant. Cutting the foil wrapper revealed a white powdery substance overtaking the liquid-soaked cork, an ominous foreshadowing of what would come. The wine exhibited an initial hint of mustiness with a short, funk-laced whisper of cassis. It was the taste of oenological expiration. At an unknown time within the last four decades, the wine had died.
My reaction was not disappointment or irritation but a general sense of loss. This wine was painstakingly crafted by a team of passionate people for the purpose of bringing joy, and it never had the chance to realize this goal. Instead, it served as an austere reminder of time's relentless flow, a poignant lesson not to squander our singular opportunity to bring a measure of joy to those around us, and a warning of the precious immediacy to life. Time is slowly consuming us all, and like this bottle of wine, we have but one chance to leave our mark.
Perhaps this is the very source of my passion for wine. Even many of our happiest moments are laced with a sense of melancholy because we know it can't last forever. The emotional power is drawn from this very duality because it's the contrast of one that provides vibrance for the other – light and shadow, life and death.