Micah Redding: Adventurer

My dream is to walk out of my house with nothing in my pockets (no keys, no ID, no credit cards) and to walk into the world a free and unencumbered person. And to have this be perfectly fine.

I’m a long way from this becoming a reality. My car needs a key to start it, my house needs a key in order for me to get back in, and places of business want me to pay them using something tangible – like cash or a debit card. But I have made a lot of progress.

To start with, I don’t carry a wallet. Instead, I use a rubber band or Ouchless hairband (these work great!) to wrap up a couple of cards in my back pocket. It’s so much slimmer than a wallet, and it encourages me to think hard about what I actually carry back there. Most days I carry two cards – my ID and my debit card. Today is unusual, and for some reason I happen to be carrying an insurance card and a My Panera card.

How do I get away with so few cards? Prioritize – and cheat. Ninety percent of the time I’m away from the house, the only card I need is my debit card. My driver’s license, on the other hand, is pretty essential for legal reasons – even though I almost never need it.

But the rest of my cards can be tossed. Kroger Plus card? I memorize the phone number it’s linked to. I can type it in at the register, and never scan a thing. Library card? I store the number in my phone – the librarians will happily forgo using the physical item. In fact, now that I’ve got an iPhone, I can store an unlimited number of barcodes, and pull them up as I need to. I use the myWallet app for this purpose. Even places that don’t provide you a handy member number usually allow you to access your membership info through some other means – like the driver’s license you’re already carrying.

I do have a school ID badge, and a gym passkey. These things actually need to be present to be used, so they’re on a lanyard that I keep in my car. Since I only take my car to either of those places, I don’t need to carry them on me personally.

So I carry two cards in my back pocket bound together with a hair-band. But what about keys?

I’ve narrowed my keys down to 3 – one for my house, one each for my two cars. Until yesterday, I actually had two key-rings, each with just two keys: a house key and a car key. Since I only left the house with one specific car, I didn’t need to carry the other car key with me. Today, I’m carrying all 3 keys, because keeping up with two sets has gotten a little silly.

But I refuse to use a regular key-ring. Metal key-rings are hard to use, and refuse to fold flat in your pocket. So I replaced mine with the afore-mentioned Ouchless hair-band. I simply ripped one apart at the glued seam, fed it through the keys, and then tied it back together. It folds completely flat, takes up no space, and is easy to handle.

I still have one problem: the keys themselves are thicker than need be. In the past, I’ve gone to walmart, and gotten copies made without the rubberized grips. By slimming down to metal-only keys, I can get my pocket feeling almost empty. Since I’ve recently traded out cars, I’m back to carrying rubberized keys – for the time being.

For what it’s worth, the keys go in the right pocket, since I’ll most likely be opening the driver-side door with my right hand.

And in my left pocket…the iPhone. I thought I could never carry an iPhone because of its bulk. Before the iPhone, I had a slightly older Motorola Razr. I resisted upgrading, because Motorola actually started making their phones a little bigger after a while. But eventually, I had to get something new, and the new Razr was not that much smaller than an iPhone. And the iPhone’s sheer usefulness has justified its size.

Because of the iPhone, I no longer carry a voice recorder (used for songwriting), or a camera (kept on my belt when I toured the Middle East), or a notepad. And I’m beginning to be able to avoid carrying a laptop.

When I do carry my laptop, I carry it in a satchel that can hold the computer itself, the power cord, a notebook, headphones, and an iPhone syncing cable in a very compact space. But I increasingly want to go without it. And in order to do that, I have to have access to my files.

Thankfully, the iPhone provides lots of options in that department. I personally use Dropbox to hold 2 gigabytes of my files for free, synced and backed up online. I can access it from my computer, from the web, or from my phone. (Do click on that link and join for free, because I get extra storage space if you do!) It’s the best tool I’ve ever encountered for protecting and freeing your files, and it just works.

The rest of my data is backed up online with JungleDisk, which is more convoluted, but allows an unlimited amount of storage. It costs money, but also provides a way to access my data from anywhere.

So I’m getting there. My pockets are very slim, but they’re not yet empty. When they can finally be empty, and everything still work just as well, then I will be in paradise.

I wrote this on October 8, 2008, 10:51pm. It has been here waiting ever since. It has been long enough. -micah

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Today I set out to understand myself. My peculiar mix of emotions and thoughts and attitudes – where does it come from? Whatever I am, it must be rooted in how I was when I was young.

So I thought back to what it was like to be 5 years old – running around like I was superman, in a world of simplicity and brightness. But even there, I recognized a theme. I distinctly remember feeling a sadness, an empathy for others, and for what I would now call the injury of innocence.

I had dreams when I was 5. In one of them, my mom had a flower in a clay pot, and she loved that flower dearly. My dad decided to do something nice for her, and sent it away to a place where they turned it into a mush, a kind of potpourri. He was trying to do something nice, but it broke her heart. She cried and cried.

I remember waking up and feeling so sad. I didn’t know whether it was real, but I was afraid of my dad. Not because of anything he had done, but because he caused such sadness.

Later on I would have dreams during which a young girl would get her hopes up that I would do something nice or fun for her, and she would be so thrilled. Then, when I wasn’t able to do what she was anticipation, she would cry. I would wake up sad.

In an earlier dream, I had a pet duck. And this duck had an outfit that matched mine. And when I was younger (so I dreamed), we had gone to church together in our matching outfits. We had been together since we were young. This duck had a nice environment to live in, but we would occasionally take him out of his cage, and let him walk outside. And in my dream, he flew away.

I was 5 years old. I cried for 5 days afterwards.

Where, I wondered, did this come from? My intense empathy, my bitter-sweet sense of other’s longings, my sadness at other’s innocent expectations disappointed?

I thought farther back. Several incidents occurred to me. My dad and I had been walking on the beach in Oregon one day (I would have been 3), and found a unique rock, full of holes. The holes went all the way through it, like a network of tunnels. In a special indentation, like a puzzle, a shell was fitted. I loved that rock. It was mine and dad’s, from a time I knew about, but couldn’t even remember.

One day, my brother climbed through my window, and knocked it to the ground, smashing it to pieces. I was heart-broken. I wanted to pick up the pieces and put it together again. I sketched a picture, trying to figure out how to get it back together.

Even earlier, I remember two incidences that were strangely similar. In one, my grandparents were visiting me in Oregon, and we were at a stream or river, playing in the water. Something floated by that caught my attention, and my grandparents told me to swim to get it. I tried, but the more I swam, the farther away it got. Finally, it drifted around the bend, and was gone.

I’m sure the sadness of a three-year-old boy paddling madly after something that is constantly slipping farther away is hard to grasp. Perhaps it will help to explain that somehow I perceived that object as special and beautiful just because my grandparents had sent me to get it.

The other event was at the ocean. Dad and I were walking along the beach, and throwing things into the waves. We saw a unique board floating in the water – and in some way it was special. Dad told me to swim after it, so I did. But the harder I swam, the farther away the board got, being carried over the crest of each wave farther out to sea. I wanted it, I longed for it, but my fear and powerlessness towards the ocean held me back. And so I swam, watching it drift farther from me, until it finally vanished.

Somehow, that memory has stuck with me, and the feeling of it has permeated me from top to bottom, coloring everything else I’ve ever done. When I look at the world, I see it through the shades of that longing. Every relationship is tinged with the sadness of my heavy touch on their light innocence.

Somehow, I think I will aways be that boy paddling desperately into the waves, watching as the thing he longs for slips farther and farther away.

Ever since I was 15, I’ve identified myself primarily as a songwriter. It is what I do, and who I am.

And ever since I began performing, I’ve begun segmenting myself. There is the side of me that performs and travels, and does ridiculous things in random midwestern states. There is the side of me that is introspective, that writes about the things I see, and tries to see the world differently. And there is the side of me that is all logic and precision and theology and politics and economics all blended together.

And it’s always a difficult thing to decide how much of each one I should share with the world.

As a musician, I’m expected to do things. Play big concerts, tour around the world, meet famous people, and maybe even cause a few international incidents along the way. Since I’m also a musician who writes songs, I’m perhaps expected to see things a little differently. But I don’t really think there’s any true cultural precedent for a musician who thinks critically about things.

This makes sense. We don’t turn to Bill O’Reilly to find music that stirs our souls, and we don’t turn to Fergie to learn about international politics. By and large, we want our public figures segmented into careful categories.

But I don’t think I’m really able to segment myself like that anymore. For me, thinking bold and interesting new thoughts, analyzing the political and religious and cultural messages I hear, having new insights about the world, writing music, and performing for others, all came meshed together. There is some kind of organic symbiotic relationship between all these aspects of my life. And every time I’ve tried to carefully box each segment up, they begin bleeding together, overrunning their barriers, and meeting in a confusing mess on the floor.

My main resolution this year is to do nothing I’m not passionate about. I think that means taking down some of the walls I’ve built. I think it means letting things converge.

I believe in convergence. Progress in technology is almost always about the convergence of previously unrelated things; lately, many people’s phones have become their computers. Blending styles has always been the way music has progressed; despite radio’s failures, we are the heirs of a broad and rich spectrum of musical influences, stretching back through centuries. The convergence of different ethnicities helped to make America great, and the convergence of science, art, philosophy, and religion sparked what came to be known as the Renaissance.

Convergence isn’t just a way to kick off new creative movements. It’s also the reality of humankind. We live in a rapidly converging world, where the actions of tribal people in remote parts of the earth deeply impact the lives of urban citizens in first-world countries. In the past, many would disregard the needs of strangers, expecting never to see those people again. Now, it is increasingly likely that the people who are strangers today will encounter you again and again, as neighbors, coworkers, or people you meet online. For humanity, all of our individual paths are converging.

There is something deep about reality, I think, that works to take all of its far-flung pieces, and bring them back together. Even as we diverge and diversify, our worlds collide. Even as the universe spreads outward, it becomes more interconnected.

So I am going to try to stop fighting. I’m going to try to let go of my struggle against gravity, and let all the pieces of my life turn and plummet back together. And we’ll see what happens.

It was our first day in Colorado. We arrived in Colorado Springs to play in the Glen Eyrie Castle. The only trouble was getting our trailer and equipment TO the castle.

Turns out, they don’t make castles for easy trailer-access.

The helpful castle residents informed us we would need to take our trailer out a trail they called the “Fire Road”. It would lead us up a steep mountain overtop the castle, and finally to the castle’s back door.  And half-way through, we would need to reverse the car and trailer, and take the whole contraption backwards to the entrance.

Video can’t really capture the fact that a huge ravine lies directly to your side. But here is our attempt:

 
Daring Navigational Feat by The Redding Brothers at Pike’s Peak

When I was driving through the country-side, looking for the opportunity to refuel, I came upon a gas station selling fuel for $3.19. Or so I thought. Since gas prices had just been over $4.00, this was an amazingly low price. But as I got closer, I could see that gas was actually being sold for $3.39. Clever sign.

Clever and evil.

Gas is $3.19. Or is it?

Gas is $3.39!

Today I went to Starbucks. This was a Starbucks on a last-stop base in Kuwait, where soldiers come before finally reaching Iraq. My brother came through here when he went through his deployment.

I’ve gone more than 25 days without Starbucks, and now the ability to drink something familiar was an escape – an escape from the Arabic world I’ve been in for almost a month. Being 6000 miles from home for an extended period of time is something like being on a spaceship – when I’m at home, if I want something, I only have to drive minutes (at most, hours) to reach it. But here, there’s nothing I can do. If they don’t have something I want, there’s nothing I can do to reach it. If I started panicking, and wanted to go home, there’s nothing I can do. If I needed contacts, or special guitar equipment, or some rare tools, there’s nowhere to go. Even indoor restrooms aren’t something taken for granted here.

I’m in the desert, over 6000 miles from home, in a place where I’ve been warned not to venture far. There are anti-American communities nearby, and we stand out like a sore thumb.

Starbucks is like an escape, like getting to temporarily step outside the space capsule through a magic doorway, back into my neighborhood. And then walking back through the door and returning to the confined bubble thousands of miles from home.

So I ordered my normal drink, and sat inside the Starbucks looking out the windows at the blast barricades surrounding it.

Tonight was our greatest show so far – and to think it would be in the African desert.

I got up this morning, and walked 4 miles in the blazing sun, in a place where humidity reaches 100%. I’m not a sun person, but it was worth it. The trail led outside the military base, so I had to present identification and register to actually walk outside. They warned us about malaria, insects, and wild dogs. I wore insect repellent.

I did run into some wild dogs. They were actually kind of cute, in a weird, spotted-like-a-cow way. I picked up two sticks, just in case. After that, I saw what someone called “Meebos”, they look kind of like meerkats or squirrels, but weirder.

And of course, I saw French paragliders gliding over the ocean. The trail led out to the end of the runway for the military planes, so I stood at the end of it, and looked out to the ocean. Planes flew right by us. The French were here long before Americans, so they know how to have fun here – go paragliding in the early morning.

But the trip wouldn’t have been complete without the random truck decorated like a pinata driving by and the Africans inside asking us if we spoke French.

At least, I assume that’s what they asked. I don’t speak French.

Afghani trucks were the same way. Our semi-trucks are all about function – theirs get decorated like crazy.

We leave for the United Arab Emirates tomorrow. As always on this trip, we have no idea what will happen or who we will meet or where we will go when we get there. Someone knows, and they’ll tell us on a need-to-know basis.

It’s kind of nice.

I am a grand schemer; I devise plans not just for me, but for the world. And a small part of those ideas get put into practice, and change things. But most of it goes undone.

During the weekend in Atlanta, I attended the APCA conference, lived through a tornado, and set my mind on fire with ideas. Ideas that need DONE.

And so in determining to DO things, I’ve decided that I need to go public with my intentions. I need ideas and help from others, and the ability to bounce my ideas off the world.

My aim is to do more with my band than just deliver a concert. I want to create an experience, and transcend what bands are “supposed” to do. I want to empower people to turn around and create their own world, rather than being content to consume the one created by what’s left of MTV.

I’m taking baby-steps in that direction already. We’re working on partnering with some organizations that are doing important things. We’ve worked with charities (like the Heifer Project) that we felt were doing something unique and creative in the world. We’re moving into concerts that are more meaningful, and are more than just a show.

I want to make our concerts places where people build spontaneous community, not just an event people watch together. I want our concerts to empower and inspire people to go home and change their life. And I don’t mean that in a touchy-feely way.

Some concerts leave you feeling like you want to quit your job and burn down your house. Not because they make you feel destructive, but because they inspire you with the vision of something bigger and much more amazing that YOU are capable of.

I want to do that. I want to be that band. I want to inspire the next renaissance.

There’s my soul. I want your feedback.

-micah

Scientists have discovered that babies see colors differently than adults. Where babies see things are they “are”, adults process colors through the filter of their language. Apparently, people who speak Russian see blue differently than people who speak English.

Babies See Pure Color

This makes sense to me. After all, why does “pink” exist? We call light blue “blue”, but we call light red “pink”. Why is that?! Our language has made a different color where one never existed before.

Most of the time, when we look at a person or a thing or a color, we don’t see it for what it is. Instead, we mentally label it with some tag, like “pink”. That tag might have all kinds of thoughts and emotions attached to it. But that tag is not the real thing.

Sometimes, if you look hard enough, you can see things as they really are. It might just last a second, but during that second, the world is so amazing.

To the uninitiated, the term “pull-through” may not mean much. But it is a term ripe with meaning. Sometimes it masquerades as “pull-thru” or “pll-thrgh”, but the latter is only prevalent among people who hate vowels, and presumably they will have stopped reading after the second character of this article.

“Pull-Through”, or “Pull-Thru”; noun:
An empty parking space, which has an empty parking space directly in front of it, so that instead of stopping in the parking space one has chosen, one feels compelled to pull forward into the next parking space, thus completing the pull-through.

A pull-through serves the useful function of allowing the driver to entirely avoid backing in or out of a parking space.

A couple of terms need to be defined in relation to the Pull-Through:

• The Initiator: the first parking spot one pulls into, directly attached to another empty spot.
• The Closer: the final parking spot of the pull-through, directly in front of the Initiator.
• Taking The Pull-Through: going through with the action, moving all the way from the Initiator to the Closer before stopping.
• Pull-Through Interruptus: when someone pulls into the Initiator, but refuses to pull forward into the Closer, thus avoiding Taking The Pull-Through, and ruining the Pull-Through for everyone.

Unbeknownst to the average driver, there are a complex series of rules that govern the manner in which pull-throughs may be treated. These rules are similar in nature to the rules for “Calling Shotgun”, having accumulated over time, developing in native societies for ages before modern civilization discovered them.

Pull-Through Rule #1: IF A DRIVER PULLS INTO A PARKING SPACE WHICH IS AN INITIATOR, SAID DRIVER MUST TAKE THE PULL-THROUGH. IT IS A CARDINAL OFFENSE TO STOP SHORT OF THE FULL PULL-THROUGH!

“Are there any exceptions?” an insightful reader may ask. Well yes, there are. But we are not considering exceptions, we are considering rules. So let’s consider some commonly-given excuses that are not exceptions.

1. “Pulling through takes me farther away from the door!” Suck it up, fella. The pull-through is its own reason and justification. You must pull-through because it is a pull-through. That’s just common sense. It doesn’t get any more logical than that.

2. “If everyone did a pull-through, there would be no pull-throughs left”.
That’s just not using simple reasoning. Think about it: if everyone completed the pull-through when given the chance, they would tend to leave their parking space more quickly once done, thus freeing up more parking that could potentially become a pull-through.

3. “But this Pull-Through leaves me going the wrong way in a one-way lane!” Someone should have thought of that before creating the Pull-Through. It is not your fault that the Pull-Through is facing the wrong direction. You still must Take The Pull-Through.

To be continued…