That’s what they’re able to do in Beijing, China. Stare straight at the sun and not worry about the cumulative effects of ultraviolet radiation on their eyes. The smog is so consistently dense that high noon in their city often looks like what we’d see at dusk or dawn. Grays. Musky purples at best. They rarely get to experience the sharp sunlight that illuminates most days here in Colorado. The type of exposed sunlight that produces the rays that doctors warn us about.

I’ve never been there to experience the pollution, but I’ve heard this is the case and seen pictures for proof.

It’s not like they’re not aware of the fact that they consistently breathe in Zoolander’s black death. Beijing is hosting the 2008 Summer Olympics and, as I understand it, wants to put on a good face for the incoming media and public in general. Check out this article.

What also interests me is the way Chinese citizens in general seem to view their environmental responsibilities. The attitude (according to friends who live there) is this: the communist government pays specific workers to clean the city, so it is therefore not the role of every person to clean up after themselves. For example, you would never throw your used ketchup package away in a Chinese McDonald’s (it’s the job of the employee). And there’s no need to look for a trashcan on the streets –simply throw your coke can down because the government pays city workers to take care of it for you.

In my opinion, it seems like this mentality only serves to cripple the Chinese public. If everyone assumes that it is “somebody else’s” responsibility to clean, it will never become an innate priority for each person.

My friend Ben has spent the past year there teaching English and traveling. A group of us had dinner with him last week (he’s returned to the US for a quick vacation but plans to work as a graphic designer in Beijing for at least another year).

I asked him what he noticed most when he arrived back home to his family’s mountain cabin.

“My shadow,” he said.

His comment got me thinking: I guess I didn’t realize that no sun equals no shadow. I’ve never noticed my shadow before; at least I’ve never noticed being without a shadow. After thinking about it for a little while, I concurred with Ben that I’d miss mine too if it stopped trailing me suddenly. If nothing else, shadows help to tangibly confirm our existence, our matter, our substance at the cellular level. If we were transparent, there’d be nothing there to reflect the sun.

I wonder if the Chinese people ever secretly pinch themselves just to make sure.

I once asked my friend Luke Flowers when he develops most of his lyrics. My commute to and from work, was his answer. I’m surprised that one can be inspired enough by potholes and bottlenecks to generate such interesting song ideas.

On first listen, you’ll hear him sing about robots, Styrofoam statues and boxes of butterflies. His lyrics will weave in and around the night the Titanic sank and will even introduce you to a woman named Martha that you’ll probably never meet. But once you’ve moved past the first layer of each of his songs, you’ll begin to hear messages on loss, love and hope. In subtle ways, Luke shares stories about himself and about people and circumstances that have impacted him.

His isn’t the kind of music that you get immediately. But it is the kind that requires you to soak it in and think… about yourself and the intricacies that make all of us unique. His music helps to illuminate why the ancient craft of storytelling is still so therapeutic.

Every time I do shows with Luke, I’m forever inspired to be better about looking into my day-to-day experiences a little deeper.

Plus, he’s just a really nice guy and introduced me to Ray Lamontagne.

We’ll be playing at Dogtooth Coffee tonight. Faith Fuqua will be opening up for us.

I’ve always been a package reader. Even as a kid, I loved to read cereal boxes at the breakfast table, milk carton advertisements and especially the jokes on Bazooka Gum wrappers. The years haven’t changed my curiosity: Did you know that Chester Cheetah recommends you stick extra chips behind your ears for safe keeping, just in case you have a hankering later in the day? If you don’t believe me, buy a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos (personal favorite) and search for Chester’s recognizable mug.

Lately, my favorite source of package-wit has been provided by Starbucks. I love reading “The Way I See It” quotes on the side of their cups, forever disappointed when I get a repeat. These little excerpts are just insights from average people, average Starbucks consumers, about most everything under the sun.

Today I had my usual latte’ and, as I was waiting for a friend, read #267:

Music can lift us out of depression or move us to tears - it is a remedy, a tonic, orange juice for the ear. But for many of my neurological patients, music is even more - it can provide access, even when no medication can, to movement, to speech, to life. For them, music is not a luxury, but a necessity.

–Oliver Sacks (Neurologist and author of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain).

This is so right on, isn’t it? Every time I listen to Better Than Ezra’s “Desperately Wanting” my chest gets tight, my eyes tear over and I imagine what it would be like to forget about my responsibilities, kick my shoes off and dance around in a public fountain, clothes and all. The song resonates so deeply with my desire to live risky and freely. Over the Rhine’s “Latter Day” forces me to face old wounds, painful experiences and somehow realize that there were small glimmers of hope that I may have missed in the midst of those eras. I’m moved to admit that I would rather be hurt and healed than unscathed to begin with. And with Ray Lamontagne, I don’t even need to comprehend his poignant lyrics to be moved by his strange rugged/velvet voice.

Sometimes a song is able to so expertly prick my skin that I can only listen to it at night, when nobody is around to examine my reactions. This is when a song becomes a conduit through which I dream big dreams and believe their fruition possible. I hate when those three minutes are over.

So, yes… music is not a luxury for me. It is a necessity.

What a challenge, then, to musicians: to realize that we wield such power in our guitars, our pianos, our violins, our voices. For us to know that all the chicken-scratch-on-restaurant-napkin-turned-to-song moments might evolve into instances of clarity for our listeners, might bring a broken heart to healing years down the road. What if a song I write late at night ends up being the backdrop for someone’s first kiss? What if a song you write ends up being repeated thousands of times by a divorcee who needs to know she’s not alone? What if our lyrics inspire some sort of positive social change? Or what if a song I write pushes someone over the edge?

I’m going through my own creative writing process now. It has been difficult because I don’t want to go the easy route with my lyrics. I want my music to be meaningful and personal to people I may never meet.

And to be honest, I’m not sure I’ve even come close to tapping into the magic of music and all the possibilities.