Iconic guitar riffs eternally burned into the walls of our memory. Songs that have remained the soundtrack to our lives for over a half-century. The sonic grace and stage swagger, the legend and lore of one of rock-n-roll’s greatest six-string aces — Mike Campbell. 

As I age and evolve, I realize more and more why it’s so important to be fully authentic, not only because it feels lighter but because it allows us to develop deep and true relationships, which ultimately is the most beautiful part of being human.

Search online, or in a library or bookshop, and you’ll find how-to books about parenting. Recent popular titles include “Simplicity Parenting,” “The Five Principles of Parenting” and “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk.” There are even books about how not to parent, like Leonard Sax’s “The Collapse of Parenting.” 

It’s been a few days since the Telluride Bluegrass Festival in Colorado ended. And I’m still riding the high on that experience, all while I sit here and do my laundry in West Waynesville, the air-conditioning of the establishment a reprieve from the intense heat and humidity this week. 

Growing up, my family spent every July Fourth at Ocean Lakes Campground in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We had a little blue and white camper on a permanent lot. It wasn’t much, but it was ours, and years of special memories were made on that little piece of property.

Hello from 34,000 feet. I’m currently on a United Express flight from Asheville to Denver, Colorado. Probably somewhere over Kansas at the moment. Who knows? What awaits me is another adventure, this time to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. My first time there. Lifelong dream. 

The Universe. It never ceases to amaze me.

This evening (last Monday be the time you read this), I felt kind of lonely. A lot of that feeling has to do with the last eight months or so of my life. Work burnout. The flood. The aftermath. The breakup. The aftermath. Turning 40. Starting therapy. Life, in general. And so on. 

Tuesday afternoon. The clouds are hanging low over the mountains surrounding downtown Waynesville, covering up the actual height and grandeur of these peaks. The urge to walk out of the newsroom, get into my truck and head for the hills to trail run is deep and real. 

During his recent solo album release show at 185 King St. in Brevard, singer-songwriter Graham Sharp was not only surrounded by a murderers’ row of bluegrass musicians; he was encapsulated by time and place itself — of people, purpose and passion. 

The title of this column comes from a lyric in a 1968 song by R&B sensation, the late Johnny Thunder. Although it wasn’t a radio hit at the time, it has become a cult classic, a number that (truly) reinvigorates the soul. Trust me, track it down. You’ll get it.