Bonnaroo 2024 Sunday | Jason's Journal

Sunday

We linger in the tent until the heat makes lounging hazardous. The afterglow of a perfect penultimate day promises a beautiful finale. S.G. Goodman plays at 1:00. I’ve been looking forward to her set for months. But first, I have work to do. 

When I started this Marinade thing, I hoped to chat with a few of my favorite creatives, learn about what makes them special, and grow as a creative person myself. I figured covering shows and festivals would be a natural consequence of the work. I could not have predicted the opportunity I’m gearing up for this morning. 

The media tent is quiet this early, as are the festival grounds. Note to self, be better prepared to make coffee at camp next year as none of the vendors are open at 9:00 am. A few familiar faces tap away at laptops. I have my airpods in listening to the most recent Milky Chance record Living in a Haze and reading a few last minute interviews. Seems like most folks ask the guys the same questions and I want to avoid that as much as possible.

True to my interactions with their team, Philipp and Clemens are right on time. There’s a panel in the air conditioned media tent but the outdoor area is set up nicely with fans. Artists walk through on their way to catering. Philipp and Clemens warmly greet me and we sit at a high top table. Charles Wesley Godwin, a former Marinade guest who is playing the main stage later, strolls by as I plug in the mics and set up for one of the bigger moments of my creative life.

The guys from Milky Chance couldn’t be sweeter and more engaging. We hug and say our parting pleasantries. I am ready for lunch and some music. Back at camp we crack open a couple of Ale-8s and plot our day. It’s getting close to 1:00. S.G. Goodman is about to start and I don’t want to miss a note. 

My love and I have pretty much decided we are gonna take it all in together. S.G. Goodman is making spine-tingling music these days. Her two solo records are unlike anything I have come across in recent memory. I am of the belief that we are living among musical legends, especially when it comes to sounds that fall under the Americana umbrella. 

The This Tent fills slow. Some of us are clearly there with a purpose, but there are also converts to the Church of Goodman in this crowd. S.G. Goodman handles the stage with an unassuming stance. She makes a joke about festivals and festival culture that might come across as offensive if not for the respect underlying her delivery. 

She introduces her arresting song “Space and Time” by telling the story of how Tyler Childers came to cover it. This Tent erupts at the mention of Childers, and for good reason. I think folks sleep on Kentucky and how much incredible music comes from the Bluegrass State. 

A state with less than twice the population of the greater Orlando metro area churns out talent and these are two of the best.

Greensky Bluegrass and The Beaches are up soon, but so is Milky Chance and Charles Wesley Godwin. Remember the rules we laid out in previous Jason’s Journals? No FOMO.

Yesterday was incredible, but also action packed. We need a break so back to camp it is. Always take a break. Always take care of yourself. 

The feeling of seeing an artist you just interviewed wow a crowd afterward is one that will never get old. In this case, it’s global pop stars Milky Chance. Just hours ago I told them the live show that hooked me on their music. Now they are wowing another crowd on one of the biggest stages in the world.

Pace Thyself says rule number two for festival enjoyment. Milky Chance brings an energy that could deplete one’s battery for the rest of a weekend. Not energy for energy’s sake. Good songs delivered earnestly.

The skies are threatening as Badbadnotgood takes the That Tent. They feel like a band whose following is bulging just beyond the reaches of this space. A delightful group of folks set up a “sprint” competition way over stage left complete with a finish line. Adorable feats of athleticism ensue.

Charles Wesley Godwin is up next on the What Stage and despite how good Badbadnotgood sounds, I don’t want to miss him. Charles was first on my radar from a publicist I work with regularly several years ago. Rachel Hurley told me he was gonna be big way back when.

Charles and his band rip through a set of bangers culminating with his tradition of playing “Country Roads.” The sky begins to simmer. Thousands sing along with John Denver’s legendary chorus. A warning comes across the public address system. Seek shelter, it says.

Charles ain’t having it. The soaring singalong can’t be stopped even as a member of the Bonnaroo team comes out and the band’s sound is cut. Undeterred, Charles Wesley Godwin comes out to the front of the stage and leads us in one last a capella run through the chorus. 

I have goosebumps thinking about it. Charles was visibly frustrated and refused to deprive his fans. Shades of Willie and Waylon. 

The two acts my love and I most want to see are up in a little while which calls for a break and regroup at camp. Freshen up. Change clothes. Sit a spell. 

I am going into Megan Thee Stallion blind. Sure, I know the name but that’s where my knowledge ends. My love is a mega fan and I’m excited to see her in that element. 

It is no secret to anyone who has read or listened to anything I’ve ever produced, that I believe Jason Isbell is a once in a lifetime genius. These are the acts that will provide a climax to our Bonnaroo.

Megan comes on to a roar. I’ve seen my love this excited for a performance before. When we saw Bob Dylan it was a spiritual experience. But, the tenor here is different. The Dylan show was about us and the moment seeing a legend. This is unbridled joy!

I have no expectations for this other than I want her to have fun. Did not expect that I’m now ranking the experience among my favorite sets of the weekend. Every step of the production is on point. Megan Thee Stallion sounds great and has command of the stage. There is almost zero chance of me dialing up any of these songs after today, but that is not the point. In this moment I am a Megan Thee Stallion fan along with the tens of thousands of fellow Bonnaroovians taking in the same.

Megan’s set ends in perfect time to see Isbell and the 400 Unit on the Which Stage. I have seen Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit an average of at least twice a year since 2007. My first 400 Unit show was at a barbecue joint in Jacksonville, FL, circa 2007. I sat eating burnt ends while they cooked. 

Every Jason Isbell show leads to an inventory of my adult life. The memories are incalculable. The life choices that have transpired. The lovers gained and lost. Here my love gets to see what I have been preaching since we met. It would be impossible to think that this relationship will end in just a few short weeks. For now, she is holding me, crying, to one of my two or three favorite Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit sets ever.

My pearl snap flies open along with the undershirt my love ripped during Megan’s set. The evening is sexy and sultry, tender and sweet.

As we put a cap on perhaps my favorite festival day anywhere, anytime, I take a second to process the gratitude I feel for this festival, this woman, this moment. 

The morning is slow going but the heat does not afford too much dragging of feet. My car battery is dead. A neighbor can’t get his tent packed up. This being Roo we help each other get on the road. 

My love sleeps most of the way to Nashville, our hands intertwined. We have a room at Waymore’s Guesthouse in East Nashville that will serve as my home for the night and our space for a proper send off until we reunite in a week and a half. My grounded summer tour rolls on and there is much more to discover.

Jason's Journal | Bonnaroo 2023 Day 2

The Marinade covered the Bonnaroo music festival in Manchester, TN. This is Jason’s Journal documenting the experience, part 2 of 4.

Day 2

Jackson

Manchester, Tennessee, is just three-ish hours from High Falls State Park. Last night has me shook. I need some coffee and a breakfast sandwich. The nearest non-Starbucks spot is in Jackson, Georgia. It is off the route but I am in no hurry at 7:00 in the morning with a slate of unknown acts playing later today. Lucy Lu’s Coffee Cafe looks to check the boxes. 

A Stranger Things-themed mural adorns the space next door. Across the street there is an escape room patterned after the popular Netflix series. Google confirms this is the town that serves as the setting for Hawkins, Indiana, in the Netflix series. 

Oh how Florida would do well to court Hollywood. My home state once served as a hub for the film industry. Now it is run by fascists who are more focused on quashing free-thought than promoting economic prosperity and creativity.

Nothing to do about politics at the moment. With breakfast sandwich and coffee helping stabilize my mood, I walk around downtown “Hawkins.” The fictional world of a beloved show and the practical realities of making it come to life merge in my imagination. 

The sky is flirting with disaster again but so far holding off from awakening The Upside Down. Strange things have characterized the trip thus far, yet it feels like we are headed in a brighter direction.

To stave off the illusion that this is all romantic, I have to confess my anxiety is at a twenty-plus-year high. To the point that I drank a small dark coffee to limit my caffeine intake and did not finish the cup. The sources of this anxiety are beginning to take shape as I get farther down the road.

Chattanooga

The majesty of Appalachia takes shape. My family is from Kentucky. I was born there and we spent my upbringing headed up this route to visit my grandmother in Bowling Green. The See Rock City and Lookout Mountain signs bring a deluge of memories. 

Twitter is a good place to turn for advice about eats and drinks and things to do. Songwriter Will Payne Harrison, the Tioga Titan himself is there to assist. 

Yellow Racket Records sits in a beautiful old building in what looks like it used to be an industrial area of Chattanooga. There is a sign on the door reminding folks to go easy on the old building. Adjacent to the register is a tattoo parlor. A fella seeking to get tatted swings the door open like a toddler chasing a dog. I’m able to turn and catch it just before the relic slams against a wall, much to the gratitude of the shopkeeper.

The selection is robust and I’m tempted to round out my Jason Isbell vinyl collection with an on sale Sirens of the Ditch, but that’ll spoil in the heat and I don’t own a CD copy of his brilliant Weathervanes. Yellow Racket has it at a reasonable price and it’s almost exactly the length of two spins from this instant classic until I get to The Farm.

The weather is following me but nothing like South Georgia has materialized. Just a bunch of clouds and threats.

One last stop at Wal-Mart nestled between the mountains. I don’t need beer and probably will not make much of a dent in it but I would rather have it than not. Plus some easy to eat fruit will be clutch. 

Big corporations juxtaposed with nature’s majesty on the way to an increasingly corporate music festival is something to process. Every chain in America is represented in this holler.

This trip is about a lot of things, the most prevalent of them being a desire to let go of things outside my control. Traffic is backed up and I’ve been rerouted by my GPS. 

The Tennessee countryside is something else. My people are all from Kentucky. I’m an Appalachian by birth. Being in this place will always send me back to a long ago life and the ghosts of my ancestors. My life went in a much different direction through no choice of my own. I often wonder how different I would be if Kentucky finished raising me instead of Florida.

Roo Arrival

Credential pickup is at a nearby school’s cafeteria. The weather won’t quit so we all have to wait. Bonnaroo understandably does not want to have more bodies than necessary on The Farm. Folks mingle in the parking lot cracking open White Claws and relaying updates about the delay. Two fraternity boys make their loud arrival and brashly hit on a trio of girls straddling the line between high school and college.

The wait is maybe a half hour and I am now headed to Bonnaroo for the first time in its twenty years. While searching for direction as to where I’m supposed to live for the next few days I spot the great songwriter Kendell Marvel walking back to his own campsite. Seems like a good sign.

No one directs my Mazda so I try to set up camp as close to the entrance as possible. My plan is thwarted when a parking attendant politely informs me that the world does not start and stop at my convenience.

I end up much deeper into the campground. The sun is threatening to go down soon. I don’t have any pressing sets to catch and just hope to get my bearings. The folks to one side are about ten years younger than me and expressing excitement over acts whose names are foreign to my ears. 

A quick glance at the schedule reveals I’m in for a late night with my camp neighbors having such tastes. To my other side is a man closer to my demographic. We are all either media, staff, or guests of artists. George Maifair is a writer and photographer (East of 8th and Mother Church Pew) and a veteran of Bonnaroo. His insight and willingness to share is already proving valuable. 

The grounds are huge. George puts it in perspective for me. I need to just spend the evening figuring out where everything is located. Catching some inspiring music will be unexpected gravy.

This is my umpteenth festival. The Marinade has covered Suwannee and Gasparilla Music Festival for nearly a decade now and before that I was a regular spectator at both. I once saw a Magnolia Fest in Live Oak that included - I shit you not - Willie Nelson, Mavis Staples, John Prine, Kris Kristofferson, Stephen Marley, and Drive-by Truckers to name a few. Big Guava festival in Tampa a while back featured The Pixies, Hozier, Ryan Adams, Run the Jewels, The Strokes, Pretty Lights, Passion Pit, and more. None of those experiences could have prepared me for the size and scope of Bonnaroo. 

Petey

Enter the roo

There are two enormous stages for the top of the bill acts. A step down from that brings venues fit for headliners at some big productions. Fleet Foxes and Charley Crockett are due on them tomorrow. I don’t think I have ever seen this many humans at one event. The numbers say I am wrong. The Daytona 500 draws way more. Hell, a University of Florida football game is more well attended. But, the 700 acres at Bonnaroo, of which I am only touching a fraction feel more crowded. Perhaps that’s due to the energy. Football and NASCAR focus attention on one spot. Here the attention and energy are chaotic. 

Petey is one of the few names I recognize. I’ve missed Molly Tuttle and Abraham Alexander. Cimafunk is going on around my bedtime. If I catch Petey’s 8:00 set, today will be a success.

Petey was the subject of my What We’re Gettin’ Down On cohost Peter Haroldson’s fourth episode offering for our Patreon-exclusive show. Turns out I knew of his presence on social media but was not familiar with the music.

A surfboard-shaped video display broadcast’s his name. He wears a tie-dyed shirt and dad hat. The four piece band leans more pop punk than I expected, which provides a hint of early 2000s nostalgia. Petey is deft at providing comic relief to bracket his otherwise often pointed social commentary. The video board broadcasting water-themed scenes including Olympic swimming apropos of seemingly nothing helps add some bizarre relief. 

It is 9:00 and I am out of gas. Just walking the grounds is a lot. I have seen as much as I can see and it is time to sleep. Tomorrow is gonna be a long one. I need to type up some thoughts and try to nail down the remainder of my schedule. Plus, Kung Fu Kenny himself Kendrick Lamar does not go on until 11:00 and his presence was the tipping point in my decision to make the trip. I try to scribble some notes from the day but sleep is here almost before my head hits my makeshift pillow.

Orange Blossom Revue 2022 | An Exercise in Radical Love

Words by Jason Earle
Photos by Jenn Ross

Photo by Jenn Ross

Friday, December 2, 2022

It’s Friday, the first week in December 2022. The stream of folks filing into the venue has slowed to a trickle as everyone stakes their vantage point. Lake Wales, FL, is a stunning if surprising place for a firepower filled festival. Allison Russell, The Wood Brothers, Katie Pruitt- the list of roots music luminaries reads suited for a destination like Durango or Asheville. Nine years in, Orange Blossom Revue (OBR) is more than up to the task of hosting such talent but the festival is nonetheless playing second fiddle tonight. 

Perhaps no cultural event save college football takes precedence over the high school variety of pigskin in Florida. Tonight, the local team is deep into the state playoffs with the game kicking off just before Langhorne Slim takes the stage. Camping, which was offered for the first time this year, has been moved to accommodate the considerable need for parking a traffic flow. The Lake Wales Highlanders public address announcer and OBR emcee Garrett Woodward are dueling with good news. The home team is walloping their opponent and OBR is welcoming standout after standout to the stage.

Langhorne Slim surveys the landscape. Katie Pruitt and Neal Francis have more than primed the crowd with spectacular sets. The weather is stunning. Jeans and a light jacket weather typical of Central Florida in the short days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

Slim jumps down from the stage and walks over to the barricade that creates a photo pit. He exchanges a few pleasantries with folks along the barrier, then starts to dismantle it. A concerned security guard hustles to thwart Slim’s benevolent plans.

“These are my friends,” he protests.

Langhorne Slim’s objections are met with a stern head shake as he retreats back to the stage. He wears a white linen suit. His jacket drapes over a t-shirt emblazoned with an air-brushed muscle car. He looks like one of Wes Anderson's protagonists. He opens his mouth and sings like only he is directing. 

Slim is a show stealer. He can write circles around most great songwriters. His stage presence is worthy of your favorite British rock stars. And, he is able to connect with an audience like almost no other. That last bit was evidenced by his actions for his “friends.” If that evidence was insufficient, he is now climbing over the barricade to mingle with the same fans from which he was barred. If the fans can’t come to him, he will go to the fans. 

Photo by Jenn Ross

Jenn Ross is there capturing his movements with her deft eye. Ross’s reputation as a premier concert photographer continues to grow. She grabs the smile on Slim’s face as he hugs a fan. The bliss on the mugs of the crowd as they await a generous high-five. The passion our star exudes as he strums his guitar.

“Where do the great ones go when they die?” Slim sings during fan favorite Song for Sid. 

As if the two events have merged, nearby Lake Wales Highlanders fans erupt to cheer their team. Or are those screams for Sid and the loved ones he represents in each of our hearts? There is no line at the moment. We are synced - us here on the festival grounds and those pulling for their friends and family on the field. It is all one sound.

Langhorne Slim’s set would be an impossible follow for even the most seasoned performer. Margo Price is up next and she is more than the most seasoned performer. Price is a force for all the good bits we want to see in the world. She and her band are also one of the better live acts you’ll see. This set includes a costume change and a performance delivered with chip firm on shoulder. 

“Country music won’t play my ass so we’ll just play like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers,” she exclaims to applause.

Country radio is missing out on a lot of incredible musicians, Margo and her band being among the royalty of that list. 

PPhoto by Jenn Ross

Camping being moved to the parking lot is a sweet turn of events. The camp hosts are on top of their game. The town’s namesake is within eyesight, a calming body of water adding accent to what is shaping up to be another perfect festival. The folks who organize this gathering are professionals. No scheduling conflicts. One stage. Thirty minutes between performances. Getting a drink or some food is a breeze. Everyone is kind and accommodating.

Always feels good to crawl into the tent after a night like this. Bearing witness to such beauty is a blessing.

Saturday, December 3, 2022

Saturday morning comes at just the right time. Up with the sun in the way nature intended. Its rise over Lake Wailes promises another gorgeous day. 

There are exactly two places to get breakfast right now. Lake Wales Family Restaurant sounds perfect. It is a busy place. Southern hospitality and standard fare. Laney Jones comes on at noon. Then we get Cat Ridgeway, John R. Miller, Son Little, the incomparable Allison Russell, and The Wood Brothers. Better to tackle such bounty on a full stomach.

This day, like the one before, is special, and the anticipation building for Allison Russell could not ask for better shepherds. Every performance is incredible.

Understanding the allure of Allison Russell requires context, including her presence as a member of Brandi Carlile’s Bramily. They are fanatic in the best sense of the word. Passionately inclusive. Filled with love and light. Evangelical in their support of all that is good in the world and steadfast in their rebuke of the things that are wrong.

Russell being embraced by Brandi and her Bramily is no happenstance and they are here along the rail, all the way from as far as Idaho. The group arrived as gates opened at noon and have been here for every stirring performance all day. Now they get to bask in the glow that is Allison Russell and her incredible band. 

Allison moves with an ethereal cadence- simultaneously hyper present and occupying a space outside of this world. To meet her is to feel love personified. The first time we met, she was on the other end of an internet connection graciously sitting down for an episode of The Marinade. At the end of that conversation her partner JT Nero interrupted with the thrilling, well-deserved news that her masterpiece Outside Child was nominated for three Grammy awards. 

Laney Jones, Cat Ridgeway, John R. Miller, and Son Little have all put on headline-worthy performances. On any other day they may be the centerpiece of a written recap. This is not any other day. Today is all about Allison Russell.

Earlier today we met in person and she revealed herself to be the embodiment of love, empathy, and joy she projects in interviews and on record. This singular essence permeates every aspect of her work as displayed by the grace she is now displaying on stage.

Orange Blossom Revue has been a near perfect experience but there has been an ongoing challenge with the sound. Many of the sets have started late as a result. 

Allison Russell is a master of her craft. This work matters a great deal and she wants to deliver for her audience. The band is chomping at the bit to play. The expectancy is palpable.

She closes her eyes, perhaps in commune with whatever spirit shepherds her unique connection to the music and the people who make it come to life. Her eyes open and she addresses us. Allison brings the passionate crowd into the moment. 

She explains the difficulty, thanks us for being patient, and invites us to be a part of the process. This is not a band fumbling through soundcheck as eager fans grow impatient. It is a shared moment where we are all actors in the performance.

Photo by Jenn Ross

Allison Russell and her incredible band slide into an a cappella version of her breathtaking tune “Hy-Brasil.” What could have been a frustrating few minutes is transformed into a beautiful expression of what makes her chosen family so special. 

This high moment ushers in another and another as we witness one of the most arresting musical performances this writer has ever experienced.

Orange Blossom Revue is cemented as a must attend the first week of December each year. Every performance is outstanding. Every moment is beautiful. We could write volumes about this weekend and the impact it has on so many, but the performances speak louder than these words.

The festival is happening just a couple of weeks after Florida’s incumbent governor won reelection in a landslide on the back of an anti-queer, anti-Black, anti-woman, anti-immigrant platform. The presence of Allison Russell - a queer, Black, immigrant woman - standing on stage near the center of the state, at one of its highest elevations, with her all female band, is a statement to be immortalized. 

Russell is steadfast in her pushback against bigotry but it is her refusal to let hate enter the equation that makes her a leader for our time. Music is so much more than great fun with perfect weather in a stunning locale. It is the sensational love and community of Langhorne Slim; and the radical empathy of Allison Russell. It is the defiance of Margo Price who refuses to be anyone but Margo. It is the intentionality of The Wood Brothers who use their platform to uplift diverse voices. It is embodied by the embrace of disparate worlds coming together in the radiant expression of Orange Blossom Revue.

Photo by Jenn Ross

Photo by Jenn Ross

Review Under Two: Where the Devil Don't Stay by Stephen Deusner

Review Under Two is a segment of The Marinade with Jason Earle podcast where host Jason Earle reviews a work he finds inspiring in under two minutes.

Our Review Under Two for Episode 99 with singer-songwriter Jeremie Albino focuses on Stephen Deusner’s excellent book about the band Drive-by Truckers.

The Drive-by Truckers are one of the great American rock bands. Not a household name like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers or Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band, but every bit as important and influential. To tell the story of such a band is to tackle a powerful and fascinating story. The Truckers might not be the most famous band in the world but few collectives have kept at it this long and engendered such a passionate following.

Stephen Deusner’s Where the Devil Don’t Stay is a book that sits back and waits for the off-speed pitch to come its way then, with incredible alacrity, drives the challenge over the right centerfield fence. But, describing the book as a home run may be selling it short. Where the Devil Don’t Stay is a masterwork in the musical biography genre. 

Deusner unfolds the story of one of America’s greatest rock bands by taking the reader on a tour of the places that shaped their legacy. Along the way we meet faces both familiar and lesser-known. And get to know places any Southerner thought they knew as intimates. The Athens of the Drive-by Truckers is not that of the average Georgian. Nor is their Birmingham like that of most Alabamans; or Memphis as to residents of the Volunteer State. 

The story of The Truckers is one of perseverance and survival, which is why Deusner’s decision to examine the story by taking a tour of The South is such an important one. To a couple generations of Americans, DBT provided a true education of one of the worlds’ most complicated regions. In less capable hands, the nuance of the band’s significance could be buried in drama and excess. Deusner takes the reins of a bucking hot potato and wrestles the beast into submission. 

The reader does not have to be as obsessive as this author to understand and appreciate the stories told in Where the Devil Don’t Stay. Deusner’s exhaustive research and passion for the work will win over anyone who cares about the history and culture of The South, or even just damn fine storytelling. 

For the diehards, this book will feel like the first time you heard Decoration Day or Southern Rock Opera. For anyone who loves a good yarn and good music, Where the Devil Don’t Stay is an essential read.

A Series of Essays on The Marinade's Favorite Albums of 2020 | Fetch the Bolt Cutters by Fiona Apple

Fiona Apple’s Fetch the Bolt Cutters blasted into the world while much of the United States was still in quarantine due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Do you remember when you first listened to it? I was in my living room. My partner and I had just played a game of Scrabble and I succumbed to my Twitter-checking reflex. My feed is full of artists and fans of art so just about every other Tweet referenced the triumph of Apple’s surprise album.

We dialed it up in an instant and listened while dinner was prepared. About once a week for a couple of months we listened together, not to mention the times we each listened alone. Fetch the Bolt Cutters is unlike anything I have heard this year or any other. It is unpredictable, powerful, honest, cathartic, pop, rock, hip hop, soul. Every time I think I have the record figured out another listen sets me straight.

Fetch the Bolt Cutters comes from a place of liberation and this year in so many ways felt like a personal liberation for me. I was forced to confront my anxiety about mortality without the benefit of escape. I was faced with an examination of my commitment to causes I have long made noise about but which require more than just noise. And, I insisted on being paid what I’m worth. 

Apple’s masterpiece was a fitting soundtrack to a tumultuous year of growth. It was messy, complicated, and challenging. There were fits of anger and bursts of hope. At the end, as difficult as it may seem, love won a lot more than hate. Anger was channeled into action. And, the future looks brighter than the past. 

2018 in Review | The Books

In 2018, I finally sought therapy for the anxiety that has plagued most of my life. 
Doing so was one of the best decisions I have made and I am grateful to have access to a really good therapist, as well as the support of my inner circle.

Getting mental health help can be daunting. Looking back, I felt like if I was committed to getting help then I would no longer have anxiety as an excuse or explanation for some of my more anti-social and self-destructive tendencies. 
I was wrong, of course. Well, I was right about not having an excuse or explanation, but that was true before I sought help.

I was wrong about therapy being daunting. It is a lot of work, which is good. BJ Barham and I talked on Episode 1 of The Marinade about the value of hard work. The phrase 'hard work' evokes images of the grindstone and a swinging hammer. 
The work I have done on myself this year has been equally exhausting but also liberating.

I am far from done. This work is a never ending cycle of discovery, struggle, and revelation. 
One such revelation has been that I know I am at my best when I write, read, and exercise regularly. That's it. If I do those things, the other stuff takes care of itself.

So, I set out to read more. I have always devoured books but my heroes are voracious consumers of words and ideas. I knew I could do more.

I did not keep count of the books I read. I am too prone to competition to do something like that. It would interfere with my enjoyment. 
Safe to say, I read as much as needed. This list reflects the books that really stuck with me.

Cheers and love in 2019, y'all.

-Jason Earle