Fly on, Thunderbird, Fly & the Quiet Riot in My Soul

I make no secret that my life has the frequent markings of depression. Anxiety. Doubt. Fragile sense of worth. Impostor syndrome. It seems there has always been that constant struggle not to listen to that bastard inner voice. The negative soundtrack, if you will.

Not sure when it began, though I do recall the summer before my senior year of high school. Life was changing fast, and a growing sense of impending doom crept into my soul. It isolated me, strangled me, and left me for dead. Just like I knew it would.

In that hopelessness, my psyche gave way to inexplicable sadness. Thanks to great many CDs for just a penny deal that Columbia House would give to basically anyone who asked, the Quiet Riot Metal Health CD became the soundbed of my crisis.

Specifically, the song, Thunderbird was played. A lot. And usually on repeat. From beginning to end, I explored an emotional and manic whirlwind, carrying me from tragic to hopeful to inspired. And then it would end. Until it started over.

The perfect trap for my breakdown.

Thunderbird and the Rhoads to Despair

During this life season, I fixated on the likelihood of my dying. Something most soon-to-be high school graduates are not typically contemplating, or so I thought at the time. So worried I was, that I left a note. Not a note suggesting I was suicidal. It was just a simple message apologizing for an inability to live without the belief that my death was inevitable. It then indicated that Quiet Riot’s Thunderbird would be an apt song at my funeral. (Okay, I didn’t use the word “apt” because I probably had no idea that word existed, let alone its meaning… but it sounds good now!).

Interestingly (ironically?), I later learned (as I’ll detail in a moment) that Thunderbird is a tribute to former Quiet Riot guitarist Randy Rhoads, who moved on to play guitar for Ozzy Osbourne before tragically dying way too young in a 1982 plane crash. Thunderbird was released a year later and it sort of helped spur the rebirth of Quiet Riot.

I didn’t know this backstory then, but I certainly see it now…

On your own
And I’m alone
In the shadow
Of what we done
And I can’t help but think
That someday
You’ll be back home

Fly on, Thunderbird fly
Fly on, spread your wings to the sky
Fly on, Thunderbird fly (fly on)

That summer, I did nearly die (IRL as the kids say). And I can honestly tell you that perspectives drastically alter when you awake from a multi-day (mostly induced) coma. I refused to listen to Quiet Riot for a long while after that. And even when I did, I skipped Thunderbird.

I’d like to say depression and the compulsive fear of death went away. It did not. When I married, I fretted I’d leave my wife a widow. And when the kids arrived, I worried I’d “fly away” before sharing the important moments of their lives or seeing them grow up.

While nearing my thirties, a conversation with my doctor about those beautiful children’s future changed my life after I simply said to him “…if I live that long.”

He looked at me, stone-faced, and repeated as if a question “if you live that long?” To him, I was a mere kid myself. There was no reason for me to question the duration of my mortality.

Validating my Former and Current Selves

Life has had many ups, downs, zigs, zags, and disasters. And there have been moments of delight, joy, triumph, and absolutely astonishing grace. All said, I am happy.

But here’s my point. I started writing this message on my phone while coming face-to-face (F2F) with my teenage self in the autumn of 2023. Standing on the corner of Union and 11th Streets, I met up with that confused and hurting kid.

This was the neighborhood I grew up in. Walked and rode my bike through a bazillion times. Delivered newspapers to friends, family, and neighbors. Watched and walked in parades. Rollerbladed in the streets. In many ways, a piece of me still lives here and always will.

Of particular note, though, the county fair sets up on these streets every autumn (it’s happening right now! Go buy some cotton candy, ride some rides, and play some games). Specifically in this spot is the entertainment stage. The Thursday night entertainment in Fall 2023 was that 1980s mega rock band, Quiet Riot.

They played all their classics, including Metal Heath and Cum On Feel the Noise. It was a time of great melancholy. Though I had long thought it impossible, I was finally seeing the band live. It was a bucket list item I didn’t know I had.

Along with this great joy and excitement, though, my fear was faced head-on as, late in their set, they played Thunderbird – dedicated to Rhodes, departed frontman, Kevin DuBrow and Frankie Banali. Surreal. A bullet with butterfly wings. In that moment of my mortality, I told that scared and frustrated young me, “all is well.”

I experienced his relief.

But There’s Still a Quiet Riot in My Soul

Thankful for the life I’ve been graced with living nearly thirty years since the day I almost died, and with a year to reconcile my thoughts, I can’t help but think about the bigger picture of the Quiet Riot that still stirs in my soul. It’s forever in there.

[Stay with me a moment, because this is a wonky transition.]

One of the pastors at my church recently spoke on Philippians 2:1-11. Part of that message focused in on the fact that selfish Interests often have us putting our interests over that of Jesus’s… especially as we’re crushing others in pursuit of them.

On that note, to be honest, I’ve found myself feeling insignificant many times over the last couple of years. I’ve questioned my value in every place where I dedicate my time and tears. I’ve explored my motives as well as the motives of those around me, and the truth is, I’ve often felt like a puppet on strings.

A mere ends to people’s means. Pawns for the sacrifice.

Valued only when I am of value to the goal, or the path toward the goal. Worthless when not or perceived to be in opposition. An obstacle that must be worked around.

For a fragile sense of worth, this perception/awareness can be both haunting and humbling.

Is this the Worst it’s Ever Been?

I am NOT GOING TO GO POLITICAL HERE, but indulge me one more moment (and we’ll get back to Thunderbird, I promise).

Now on cusp of another US Presidential election, one is inclined to think we’re more divided than ever. We’re not. We’re always divided and this is hardly the first political firestorm – go learn about WH Harrison’s election or Teddy Roosevelt’s pre- and post-presidential campaigns, for starters. But I digress… the quiet riot burning in my soul is no longer the pains of my eventual death. Still, though, I despair over something that may soon be lost.

Middle-aged me longs to hear from old-age me. To ask about Freedom. Liberty. Ways of life.

I’d ask about Humility and Love. Specifically, is there hope for either?

We Can (and Should) be Better

I wonder about these things for good reason. You see, I’ve spent the last several years researching, learning about, and embedding my thoughts into the lifestyle and times of the late 1800s and early 1900s while working on a historical fiction novel (more on that at a much later date – subscribe to my newsletter, seriously… do that).

This was an era marked by the introduction of the automobile (which was said to lead to a REDUCTION of pollution), airplanes (which were said to have no ability to be used for war), and many more great innovations. The outlook ahead was rosy and pure.

And then note that this was a time just a few decades removed from the Civil War, but before the Roaring ’20s, the Great Depression, both World Wars, 9/11, and virtually everything that’s been mostly spun to suit others within our culture.

Like it or not, all content was and is heavily moderated, sanitized, or slanted for specific purposes. While it is (often) factual, it’s framed to encourage predetermined and power-desired outcomes. To unify society toward purposes that are conducive to the desires of power moguls, often under the guise of “patriotism” or some other moniker.

You and I would probably be no different if we were that power. Because selfish ambition is an opponent that is always against us. Wanna good allegory? Read Animal Farm.

The book I’m presently working on will likely speak to matters like these. For now, here are some things written on my heart:

• You are significant! And you need not affirmation of man, for man will inevitably disappoint you. Your worth is beyond measure. If someone thinks otherwise, that is their issue, not yours.
• If you want change, it must start with and within you. No leader, politician, or other type of magnate will instill that fully, no matter the words or reward they off. Carrots be damned.
• If you are changing or hiding yourself (putting on a mask) for the sake of someone else, take off the mask and live your life–not someone else’s (metal health will drive you mad).
• No matter how deep the darkness of the season, a new and vibrant season is at hand.

Fly on, Thunderbird Fly

Over the last year, I’ve taken up the art of acrylic painting. Sure, it was something I wanted to do, but it was really something I felt I had to do. My brain had been much duller than I expect of myself, so I need to prove I could learn something new. Plus, I really needed something that allowed me to express all these thoughts while sort of “zoning out.”

Also, I had to reconnect with that young Chad, who had an interest in art, but was convinced he sucked at it. He’s been telling my-age Chad that he’s significant. That he matters, and that he CAN learn new skills. He didn’t have to be pigeonholed into labels stuck to him by others.

Just as middle-aged Chad got to meet the teenage Chad, and show him all that he might have missed by not living life, teenage Chad showed middle-aged Chad that he isn’t done living yet!

I am so excited to meet the Chad of the next age, because I have a feeling there are so many more great things in store.

The image on this post is one of the more extensive works I have produced. I would not say it’s the best of them, but it is meaningful and precious to me. It’s inspired by my experiences with the song, Thunderbird.

When a friend gave me two 20×24 canvases even though I had not even painted on anything bigger than 10×14, and I’d only painted on canvas board to that point, I felt a tinge of fear and discomfort.

But it also excited me! A new challenge. What would I paint on them? What might be deemed worthy of that and could I pull it off? It was exciting to find out.

It made sense that, as I am going through this season while facing an insignificance vs. value paradox head-on, I would channel all these things.

I unveil it to the world today, just as I finally publish this post after a year of pontificating. You may like it (and I hope you do!). But you may think it sucks. And that’s okay.

Fly on, Thunderbird, fly!

P.S. Every crisis has its own flavor. Not all are solvable on our own. If you could use some help, seek help! Consider…