Meanwhile | October 27, 2026
I’ve been thinking about the space between notes.
In music, silence isn’t an absence. It’s part of the composition. A moment where something is allowed to exist without needing to become anything else.
I’ve spent October living at Basecamp https://basecampyvr.ca/, near the ocean at Jericho Beach. Rabbits wandering through the grass, strangers becoming familiar, the peculiar intimacy of a temporary home where everyone is arriving from somewhere and eventually leaving for somewhere else.
I came here carrying more than I knew what to do with. Grief, uncertainty, affection, the strange and occasionally devastating experience of being human.
And somewhere in all of this, I’ve been thinking about how we love.
How two people can share something beautiful and still hear entirely different music. How easily we confuse connection with belonging, or mistake holding on for being present.
I spent years playing bass, learning to listen, to follow the smallest changes in someone else’s rhythm. It’s a wonderful way to make music. A more complicated way to live.
I’m learning that listening doesn’t have to mean losing your own voice.
That we can love something without needing to possess it. That not every beautiful experience is meant to become permanent.
Perhaps that’s what impermanence is trying to teach us. Not detachment from life, but a deeper willingness to experience it.
And somehow, I’ve found my way back to music.
I’ve been building a strange little AI instrument that listens to me sing and attempts to respond. I’m interested in the space between repetition and understanding, between human expression and whatever emerges when we invite something unfamiliar into the conversation.
Maybe I’ve been searching for that space in other parts of my life, too.
This Thursday, I’ll be performing at Futureproof Festival beneath the planetarium dome, exploring Radiohead’s Pyramid Song and Weird Fishes/Arpeggi through vocals, synthesizers, and an evolving relationship with a machine.
One song suspends time. The other disappears into the current.
Both seem to understand something about surrender.
October is coming to an end, and I still don’t know what comes next. But I’m beginning to understand that home might not always be a place, or another person, or even a particular version of ourselves.
Sometimes it’s the moment we stop trying to become something and simply listen.
And sometimes, if we’re lucky, there’s music.
♡