Where to begin? What a strange universe we live in. My life has changed dramatically since the last time I wrote a blog. So, let’s just dive in.
I have always loved music. I’ve always been a creator. I’ve always wanted to make music and share art with people. It’s something that I’ve identified with—it’s who I am, or at least, who I was. On June 1st, 2024, I was working with a band in my home studio. Their drummer brought in his own drum set, which just so happened to be the largest set I’d ever worked with in my home studio. Two massive floor toms, not to mention songs that ran into the seven-and-a-half-minute mark, and they were doing two of them. Even with ear protection, four hours of pounding on drums caught up with me, and somehow, it decided to rewrite my entire existence.
To make matters worse, a friend asked me to see some live music that night. Against my better judgment, I went out, exposing myself to even more loud acoustics. I drank and had a pretty decent time, though I was exhausted from the recording session.
The next day, I woke up with some sensitivity in my ears and a feeling of fullness. I assumed it was from the long session the previous day and the music that night and that it would go away. But it didn’t.
At about the one-week mark, I started to worry, realizing that this wasn’t normal ear fatigue. I had increased sensitivity to most noises—dog barks were unbearable, and even driving, the low-end rumble of the car aggravated me. I began to spiral, worried about what was happening, and the internet only confirmed my fears that this was more than just regular ear fatigue.
After visiting two ENTs, both confirmed that based on my overexposure to loud sounds and my age, I had likely suffered a cochlear concussion. With this kind of injury, there is no clear timeline, and there’s little that medicine can do. I took some steroids orally and even had one injected directly into my eardrum, but these treatments generally don’t have much effect—and they didn’t for me.
The next couple of months in the summer of 2024 would become the darkest of my life, and yet, they would somehow be the most beautiful.
No amount of writing can express the mental anguish I felt having my passion stripped away from me. The world continues to move at its regular pace, and all you can do is tear yourself apart, going through every stage of grief on repeat: denial, anger, bargaining, and eventually, acceptance—which we’ll get to soon.
Looking back, it almost feels like this was meant to happen. I know that’s just my brain’s way of trying to make sense of things that can’t be understood. Friends would pull me aside, telling me how proud they were of me, saying I was the guy they believed could run a professional studio in Austin, Texas. Musicians and artists were lining up to work with me. Worse, I was about to play my debut show as a solo artist mid-summer. My ego was fertile, rampant, wild, and fully engrossed in becoming the person I thought I wanted to be. But none of that was going to happen.
A few weeks after the origin incident I went on a road trip to clear my head, but all I brought back was more anger. I felt confused, like I had no family, no foundation. I didn’t know who I was. I reached out to every support system, knowing I was going through something terrible, but it was hard to hear them—nothing was working.
The first month was a blur. By July 8th, I drew a line in the sand, knowing I had to save myself from this suffering, and that only I could do it. A beacon of light came in the form of a book recommended by a friend: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. It gave me the tools to begin healing and to strip away the carcass of my ego, which had weighed me down with hopes, dreams, fears, and memories. When I was finally able to step back and bring awareness to my situation, I began to heal.
I took my first steps toward spiritual enlightenment. I was becoming spiritually awakened—something I never thought would happen to me, but it made sense. When you’re going through a crisis, you might join a cult, a crappy political party, or buy some self-help books. I chose the latter, and I’m thankful I did.
This new awareness reframed my perspective on life. Living in the now and just being present allowed me to feel joy again, no longer burdened by what my ego wanted me to be. I was simply able to be.
I began to appreciate everything around me. My backyard became a sanctuary. I listened to the sounds of summer, though at times the insects were painful during my heightened sensitivity. Still, I was healing and finding a new baseline—a new normal. This baseline would continue to shift, and I knew I’d get better, though there’s no telling if I’ll ever be able to handle the pounding of drums at point blank again. On the worst days, my own voice would hurt my ears. On the best, I could go out with friends and, with some ear protection, enjoy myself without being overwhelmed by the acoustics.
I feel like I’m losing steam here, telling you all this, but I just wanted to say that I know I’m going to be okay. I know my life won’t look like I originally envisioned, but I’ve found beauty and strength in my friendships and connections. My heart goes out to everyone who has had to deal with such limitations.
The literature helped me find acceptance. I stay home a lot now, dedicated to getting better and increasing my threshold. I still have setbacks when I do something careless or go out without ear protection, and I understand it will probably be like that for a long time—maybe forever.
I had to let go of my ego. I had to die before dying, which sounds scary at first, but you begin to understand. It’s like in Fight Club: “It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.” Such is life.
If you’re going through something similar, please reach out to the people who love you the most. Be patient with yourself. Don’t beat yourself up, and avoid negative self-talk. You are worthy of love, and you will live a wonderful life.