As I'm writing this it's five minutes to the first Presidential debate, and it's something I'm highly anticipating, yet daily news horrifies me about Trump's possible win. I really wonder how a demographic that holds nothing in common with a personally rich, corporate bankrupt, and general buffoon whose greatest talent seems to be firing and insulting people is seen as the cure to lead our nation to greatness? Those voting for him are those who would be the most harmed by his "policies" which he hasn't even really elaborated on beyond "Make America Great Again!"

I understand intellectually how he has appealed by being out of the box, saying racist and hateful things that people secretly think, and being unapologetic about any of his wild statements. It's seen as being true to himself and giving a voice to those who feel they have been marginalized. Yet wild off the cuff comments do not make a great president, it actively hurts the image of the United States, and diminishes our ability to be taken seriously on the world stage where we must play, regardless of the wave of isolationism that has hit the country after ill-advised wars in Afghanistan and particularly Iraq.

Now it starts, and I will be watching for any vestige of hope that either Trump will show he can be a rational human being in the event that he does win, or the hope that Hillary manages to beat back the rhetoric that she can't be trusted and prove her incredible competence for this most important position. Let the games (shamefully, that's really what this is) continue.

I think one of the interesting and reflective things about music is how we interpret what’s there, or how we sometimes use it as an slightly warped theme song. REM’s The One I Love has been used in countless weddings, as has the Police’s Every Breath You Take. Did they ever bother to read the lyrics? One is about people as reusable things to take advantage of, whereas the latter is basically THE stalker song of all time.

In between, there are the songs where the lyrics were simply misunderstood. Elton John’s Tiny Dancer has often been interpreted as “hold me closer, Tony Danza,” by scores of 80’s teens, and then there is the legendary Indagoddadavita, aka In the Garden of Eden by Iron Butterfly. Those just fall in the category of hilariously unfortunate choices of vowel and consonant sounds, yet definitely something that you remember when you hear or read the actual lyrics and have that “ah ha!” moment.

Most importantly, there are those songs that speak to you with heartfelt and unmistakable poetry. For me those include REM’s “At Your Most Beautiful,” U2’s “All I Want Is You,” Marc Cohen’s “True Companion,” and Tracy Chapman’s “The Promise.”

I don’t think it’s coincidence that all of these are about love. I’ve been lucky in my life to know a few people who have stirred those emotions in me. They are the ones where when I see them walk in the room I light up with joy to have them near. The ones that at some point in my life I eventually have to admit, no matter how long or short of a time I’ve known them, that I love them wholly and that I always will. And I will always miss them when they pass out of my life, one way or another.

I don’t believe in the dogma that we have one true love. Love can take many shapes, forms, and iterations over the course of a lifetime, and believing that there are only one of these is short-changing ourselves. To bring it back to the original conceit, it’s like saying that what someone interprets in a song is absolutely correct or mistaken. Maybe there are shades of grey in how you hear it. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, but can actually be a reason to keep going on the hope of another love, or confirmation that the one you love is the right one for now but that there are always possibilities. I hope to find mine again and again, and some where things can work out for us.

For those future loves I have to rely on life, not music, but I’m sure there will be other songs that come along to remind me things aren't over.

I think that I've always had the desire to take care of people, shepherd them in a direction that makes them comfortable with their surroundings and ease a transition into a different lifestyle. I've donated to the Bowery Mission for over a decade to help that cause, served lunch on the line, and reached out to others in need when the opportunity presented itself. It was a natural extension of myself and something I've never regretted.

In between, I've neglected myself. I wish those words weren't true, but they are the base of who I am; I will extend a hand to help others when I'm drowning myself. I always think that at least I won't drag them down, and instead try to throw them above where I am to hopefully improve their lives.

What does that mean about myself? It's deflection of the greatest kind and an inability to be selfish about what I should do and have, even with the successes I've had in life and work. Of course those came with a lot of forgiveness from my bosses and my capability to do more than everyone else when I could make it in to work. I've hit a giant breaking point and hope that I can work on this to make this better, and make it so that I'm not just clinging to my own problems.

Most interestingly to me will be going where I will find it to be too easy to try and fix and support others, and seeing if I can learn to lean on others instead of feeling that others are the priority. I don't know the answer, and that's a powerful statement in and of itself. Most of us find many situations where "I don't know" is the accurate reply, and we just don't want to admit it. One of my faults has not been denial, thankfully, so I'm starting with a leg up on that at least.

So I'm trying to start a new chapter. For the first time in 10 years, I won't feel that this is a bad thing and will enter it with open mind and eyes to try and face my weaknesses while trying to focus on my strengths. It's a start, and I can accept that for now. Right now I need to be selfish, and that's okay.

I can't believe that September 11th is coming again soon. Yes, I know, it's once a year, but this is the 15th anniversary. I was a dewy-eyed new college graduate waiting to start a new job in New Jersey and turning on the TV after my parents called to see only the North Tower. Where was the South Tower, lost in the smoke? Then I saw the North Tower crumble and knew the truth.

Most people thought there had to be survivors, even the first responders who had seen it all, all but something like this. The minute I saw the tower disintegrate I knew that not only wouldn't there be survivors, there wouldn't be bodies unless they were outside the towers. Something like that you don't survive, let alone in one piece.

I wish I'd been wrong. I wish that there were hundreds pulled from the rubble and able to be saved. But I was right. For days I followed the news but within 24 hours it was a certainty; this wasn't going to be a rescue operation, only a gruesome recovery. I never set foot on ground zero since I had no qualifications or material ability to help but I can only imagine what it must have been like. I don't think there's any word in any language to describe it, and I have nothing but immense respect and sympathy for those who experienced it.

On the tenth anniversary I kept anxiously checking news and looking out the window of our office that overlooked downtown, afraid to see smoke or some other indication of another disaster. On Sunday I'll be home, but likely will be obsessively checking news again, just in case. The memorial is completed, the museum is done, WTC 1 has risen again in a new incarnation. Yet there's that lurking fear, especially now that I am in the city for so long and feel so much more connected to the unique energy that is NYC and what made it a target in the first place. I don't pray often, but this time I do pray that we never go through something like that again as a city, a nation and as individuals. Not just here, but worldwide.

Some things are too awful to bear, and should not have to be borne due to ideologies or actions that are fueled by fear and hatred. I hope I'll never see anything of this magnitude in my lifetime, but we've all seen it's a horrific possibility. It changed me and millions of others. Please let it be the last time.

Hurricanes and tropical storms are strange things here in the Northeast. While the Southeast gets hit fairly often, we were never severely impacted when I was growing up in New Jersey. Even in my first few years in NYC we had a couple of tropical storm remnants hit us, but that just meant a day of torrential rain. No muss, no fuss, business as usual.

Irene was the first game-changer. I had tickets to a Dave Matthews concert on Governor’s Island the Friday of that week when we first started hearing about some hurricane somewhere that might head up the coast. By later that week, transit was going to shut down at noon on Saturday, the concert would go on for Friday, but reschedule the rest of the days at another time. I went to the show, had a fabulous time, spent three hours getting home since ferries are not the most efficient way to transport the thousands at a Dave concert, and hunkered down, fearing the worst.

Sunday, Irene hit, and surprisingly it wasn’t that bad. There was some flooding, but MTA service resumed easily and again, it was business as usual. The Dave Matthews concerts were rescheduled for Randall’s Island because of the logistics disaster at Governor’s Island, which made me laugh. All was good.

Then Sandy happened. Many residents who had freaked out over Irene decided that things wouldn’t be so bad again, it’s just another Irene, and I thought the same. How wrong we all were.

Sandy was a true game-changer, and I stayed up most of that Monday night after working from home all day, watching NY1. I walked out to Carl Schurz Park to grab some pictures around 5:30, and the wind was so strong it literally took my breath away. The water was almost up to the Roosevelt Island lighthouse and that’s when I thought “Ok, this is going to get real.” We all know the aftermath, the flooded tunnels, the wind damage, loss of power for half of Manhattan, and most of all the flooded neighborhoods including Battery Park. No mass transit; I walked to work all week since even once they got buses back on the road, they were so crowded that it was worse than the 6 on a bad day.

It changed the way that I think about these storms. So even though Hermine looks like it will just be wind, I’ve filled bottles with water in case we lose power, bought batteries (especially since my one flashlight’s batteries were dead), and made sure I’ll have food that can be eaten cold, although preferably hot. I’m not panicking, but I don’t underestimate the consequences anymore.

I guess it mirrors life, where if something goes badly wrong, you initially think it will be fine. 90% of the time you’re proved right when it does pass without serious consequences. It’s experiencing the other 10% that trains you to prepare as close to 100% for the times when it doesn’t work out well. Lesson learned: Hermine, I’m ready for no impact as well as a surprise punch, now I need to seriously apply that philosophy to the rest of my life.