This morning, I woke up in a Holiday Inn Express in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, after spending the better part of a week covering and hanging out at the Winter WonderGrass music festival on the slopes of the nearby ski resort. Live music and fellowship. Late-night shenanigans and organized chaos.

There’s a little more than an hour left before I must hustle my way down the long, seemingly never-ending corridors towards the gate for the Asheville flight, aiming to land back in Western North Carolina before midnight. Tomorrow morning? I’ll be back at my desk in the newsroom putting out this newspaper you’re currently holding or reading on your electronic devices.

Stepping off the plane in Dallas, the landscape was a far-contrast from when I left Steamboat. Walking across the tarmac to the plane in Colorado, I gazed in awe at the surrounding Park Range Mountains, with some of the desolate snowy peaks hovering around 12,000 feet. Exiting into the Dallas airport, the heartland of “The Lone Star” state was flat and a balmy 75 degrees outside, the only point of reference of elevation being the tall hotels in the distance.

Walking through the terminals, a sense of familiarity wafted through my thoughts. Images of the last couple of times I’ve found myself at DFW. Most recently June 2025, following an assignment for Rolling Stone at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. To that, I befriended a woman (also from WNC) at the bar near the Asheville gate, our flight delayed as we ordered some Coors Light and swapped life stories. We became instant friends and remain so.

The time before that? March 2023. Once again on assignment for RS, but this go-round attending the reopening of the Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas. My then-girlfriend decided to join me on the road, the two of us moseying into the depths of the city for a weekend of moments and memories, the culmination of which being the celebratory shows at the ballroom, which included the likes of Asleep at the Wheel, Old Crow Medicine Show, Lucero and Morgan Wade.

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At 9 a.m. Wednesday, the alarm went off from the smart phone on my nightstand. Reaching…

I must say, it was a time to be had in good ole Dallas back then. Huge steaks and Lone Star beer. Honky-tonk jukeboxes and hearty laughter with strangers who became fast friends. Those visions now dance across the bar counter of the TGI Fridays, even if they’re a little fuzzy on the edges in hindsight. What remains is this evolution of self, of time and place and what it means to roam and chase after the unknown horizon of my intent, my spirit.

All of this Dallas reminiscing has been carefully placed on the shelves of my memory. So now, here I currently sit DFW, reflecting on what transpired in Steamboat. Backstage interviews with Americana and bluegrass stars. Late-night shows at The Grand Lodge and the Old Town Pub. Midday lunch with music industry colleagues at the top of the mountain, each of us saying how much it meant to once again cross paths and connect (and to also make sure it wouldn’t be much longer under the next rendezvous).

The winter is quickly fading into the rearview mirror. Plans for the impending spring and summer are slowly and steadily coming into focus. One’s mind runs wild thinking about maybe another loop around the Rocky Mountains once June and July appear on the wall calendar in my kitchen. Maybe this is the year I’ll finally venture up into Alaska? It’s the last state I’ve yet to visit, whereas I’ve been sitting on 49 states for the last 16 years.

Who knows? Who cares? Kindness breeds kindness and I’m trying my hardest to radiate sentiments of empathy and truth to others around me, either known or unknown. The world is crazy (always has been, always will be). There’s a lot of deep sadness and utter tragedy happening in every corner of the planet. And I remain an eternal optimist. All of this plays into the wandering and pondering aspect of being a journalist, where, regardless of the assignment, I’m seeking out genuine conversation with other human beings.

You see, throughout this past weekend of live music and fellowship, it’s not lost on me what’s going on in society, whether here or abroad. For every wild-n-out live performance onstage, there’s conversations, either in passing or in-depth, about where we stand as a people, where we might go, and what “it all means” for you and me (and you, too). Everyone is paying attention and all of us are at a true loss for words as much as the next kind soul we each encounter. As Crosby, Stills & Nash sang in the Vietnam War anthem “Long Time Gone”: “The darkest hour is always, always just before the dawn.”

Well, it’s time to finish up this “Texas-sized” Miller Lite draft and head for my gate. The lazy, hazy sun is long gone below the Texas prairie, with the last of today’s rays somewhere over Arizona or California at this point. Who knows what tomorrow will bring for any of us? But, if anything, I remain a vessel for honest human interaction and trying to take care of my backyard that is Southern Appalachia. The hope is that others do the same elsewhere, with everything adding up into a country and a universe of peace and purpose.

I’m not naïve. And I never will be. Simply put, I was raised by parents who believed you should always do the right thing and that what really matters in life isn’t success and money, it’s friendship and a sense of purpose that ideally complements the true values of what it means to exist in the here and now — compassion, honesty, integrity, authenticity and the will to transcend.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.