It’s a chilly January morning here, and the excitement of spring around the corner and spending peaceful time in my garden give me hope. Usually, I’d be planning my spring vegetable beds or heading out for a brisk walk to keep my heart rate up, but today, I’m sitting inside with a warm cup of herbal tea and my guitar, feeling a mix of sadness and profound gratitude.
If you haven’t heard, we lost a legend this week. Bob Weir, the rhythm guitarist for the Grateful Dead, passed away on January 10, 2026. I never met Bobby personally, but like so many of us in this “long strange trip” of life, I feel like he was a brother from another mother. When I read that he passed peacefully surrounded by loved ones after a battle with cancer, it made me pause and reflect on everything I’ve learned from him—not just from his music, but from the way he played his music.
Ironically, in my own musical journey as a retired software engineer turned aspiring musician, I am currently obsessed with learning triads. For the non-musicians out there, triads are three-note chords that form the building blocks of harmony. And let me tell you, Bob Weir was the absolute master of triads and inversions. He didn’t just strum along; he created these complex, quartal harmonies that opened up space for everyone else in the band.
This brings me to the heart of what I want to share with you today. In my dysfunction, before I found the Adult Children of Alcoholics & Dysfunctional Families (ACA) program, my life was rigid. It was like code that had to compile perfectly. I wanted to control every input and output because I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t. I was a “reactor,” bouncing off everyone else’s chaotic energy, trying to stabilize the system. It was like herding cats on a ship of fools!
But the Grateful Dead? They were about the “Jazz attitude.” The goal wasn’t to play the song perfectly according to the sheet music. The goal was to get the gist of the song—the structure, the skeleton—and then go on an adventure. It was about listening to the other musicians, trusting the process, and having the most fun you can have with your clothes on while jamming!
That is exactly what emotional sobriety feels like to me now.
In ACA, we talk about becoming “fellow travelers” . We stop trying to be the director of the play and start being a participant in the jam session. Just like Bobby used unique chord voicings to “give the song more color”, recovery has taught me to bring my own unique color to the world without trying to drown out anyone else.
When I’m playing my digital stage piano or strumming my guitar now, I make mistakes. I hit a wrong note. In the past, that would have sent me into a spiral of perfectionism and shame—classic traits of an adult child. Today, thanks to the emotional sobriety I’ve cultivated over the last decade, I treat that wrong note like a “blue note” in jazz. I just slide into the next right note and keep the groove going.
This “jam band” mentality has saved my life. It applies to everything. It applies when my seedlings don’t sprout exactly when I want them to. It applies when I’m cooking a healthy meal and realize I’m out of a key spice. Instead of panicking, I improvise. I find a new flavor. I embrace the “open, ambiguous tonalities” of life, much like Weir’s chord choices, and I find freedom in that uncertainty.
Bob Weir never stopped exploring the outer reaches of music. He showed us that the music never stops, and neither does our growth. We move from the rigid, fearful survival modes of our past into a life where we can “learn to play and have fun” .
So today, I’m going to play a few songs for Bobby. I’m going to embrace the wobble in my voice and the fumbling of my fingers as I learn these triads. I’m going to celebrate the fact that I am no longer a prisoner of my family’s dysfunction, but a free man capable of making beautiful, messy, improvised noise.
My challenge for you this week: Where are you trying to stick too closely to the “script” of control? Can you find one area of your life—maybe your schedule, your diet, or a hobby—and just “jam” a little? Let go of the outcome and enjoy the ride.
