Music Travel Repeat → Backseat Benedictions: Music For A Road Trip → Vol. 23
The Ones Who Learned to Exhale Edition
There’s a strange kind of gratitude that only shows up when you realize the life you used to live… isn’t your life anymore.
A few nights ago, I was on the phone with my parents in Baltimore, Maryland.
They’re snowed in.
Ice on the sidewalks. Snow packed tight against the house. The kind of cold that doesn’t just nip at your face — it settles into your bones.
We talked about something that people don’t say out loud enough.
The fear of falling.
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just real.
When someone older falls on the ice, they might recover. They might get surgery. They might “bounce back.” But sometimes they don’t really bounce back. Sometimes the body never quite finds its rhythm again. And sometimes, not long after everyone says, “They’re doing better,” they’re gone.
We talked about that quietly.
The fragility of aging.
The reality of winter.
How one wrong step can change everything.
And when I hung up, I just sat there for a minute.
Because I realized something that felt almost unfair to admit:
I live in Tijuana, Baja California in Mexico about 30 miles from San Diego, California.
The weather here is heaven most of the year. Sunlight doesn’t have to fight through gray. Sidewalks don’t turn into skating rinks. I don’t brace myself just to check the mail.
Now, sure — my sinuses pay the price. I’ll fly from 30-degree air into 75 degrees within 24–48 hours. My body doesn’t always appreciate the climate whiplash. Sinus infections love a man who crosses time zones like I do.
But even that?
It’s a blessing problem.
Because I’m not standing outside in the freezing cold anymore.
That used to be my normal.
And I did it proudly. I did it to provide. I did it because that’s what men who carry responsibility do.
But I don’t have to anymore.
And that realization — that shift — is what this volume is really about.
Darius Rucker – Beers and Sunshine
There’s something beautifully uncomplicated about this song.
“Beers and sunshine…”
It just reminds you that sometimes life is allowed to feel light.
And when you’ve seen enough cold nights — literal and metaphorical — light stops feeling trivial.
It feels earned.
I’ve got a few days left before I’m back on the grind. Back to airports. Back to hustling. Back to building what I’m building for the long haul.
And I’m grateful for that grind.
But I’m also grateful that today, I’m warm.
That’s what “beers and sunshine” really is.
Perspective.
If you need to sit with the songs instead of the words, the full playlist is waiting — one continuous ride, no skips, no distractions ( keep scrolling for the video playlist)
Talking to my parents about ice and aging reminded me of something I don’t like thinking about:
Time doesn’t slow down just because we’re busy.
They’re getting older.
Winter gets harder.
Falling becomes a real fear.
And here I am — blessed beyond belief — living in a climate that feels like mercy most days.
I don’t take that lightly.
Because I know what it’s like to grind in the cold. To earn every dollar with numb fingers. To stand between chaos and a venue door and call it work.
Now my grind looks different.
Now it’s planes.
Projects.
Playlists.
Protection.
Provision in a different form.
And these few days of calm?
They aren’t laziness.
They’re gratitude.
They’re me sitting in the sun, fully aware that winter exists somewhere else — and that the people I love are still navigating it.
If you’ve got a few days before you step back into the hustle…
Take them.
Sit longer than you need to.
Call your parents.
Listen for what they don’t say out loud.
Appreciate the weather where you are.
And if you’re standing somewhere warm while someone you love is shoveling snow — don’t feel guilty.
Feel grateful.
Because the grind will come back.
The flights will board.
The work will demand you again.
But today?
Let the sun hit your face.
You’ve earned it.
Catch you in the chaos,
Haha Bailey