I’m Solar Powered
The sun, warmth, and open skies aren’t just preferences—they’re fuel for how I live and create.
I’ve been writing for this publication since the beginning of the pandemic. Some people keep diaries, others keep journals, and some write blogs. For me, this has always been a way to put my thoughts out there and mark where I am in life.
A while back, I wrote on Facebook and Instagram that I’m solar powered. To be clear, that phrase didn’t start with me. It came from someone I met online years ago who had been following my writing for a long time. She’s been dealing with serious health challenges and isn’t on social media anymore, but I still reach out to check in on her. When we spoke recently, she asked how I was doing and pointed out how I always seem to find a way to get to the sun. Then she said, “I’m solar powered.”
That phrase stuck with me because it fits. It’s exactly how I feel. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized I need the sun, warmth, open skies, and good people around me.
New York gave me a career I never imagined possible. I came here to play music and wound up building a life as a Broadway drummer. I’ve spent 32 years in this city, and I don’t regret it. But it’s worn me down. Unless you’re in a park, you’re surrounded by concrete and shadows. Even then, the buildings and tall trees block out the light. I stayed here because I wasn’t going to let my ex raise our kids under the label of “single mom” while I just paid child support and drifted out of the picture. My writing actually started years ago because of that fight—my refusal to let the family court system dictate my relationship with my kids. Over time, this writing turned into a way to document my thoughts, track my feelings, and record my perspective on the world.
Now, I’m at a new turning point. My son is off at George Washington University, beginning his own journey. With him stepping into this next stage of his life, I know it’s time for me to step into mine. I need to leave New York.
My girlfriend and I plan to move to Las Vegas. The exact “how” is still unfolding, but the determination is there. The same drive that got me from nothing to Broadway will get me across the country. I want to be able to step outside and feel the sun on my skin every single day. That’s not possible here.
I went to the gym earlier today to shake off some of the heaviness. It helped for a little while, but being surrounded by so many people, cars, and noise put the weight back on. They’re not bad people, but they’re not on my wavelength. After the workout, I drove to Tibbetts Brook Park to catch the last sliver of sunset. There wasn’t much left, but I needed every bit of it.
This isn’t how I want to live—drained, boxed in, and disconnected. I’m determined to change my situation. I’ve built a life once before from nothing, and I can do it again. I want to own a home, live in the sun, and spend the next decades looking forward, not back.
Why am I posting this? For the same reason I did during the pandemic: to mark the moment. Back then, I wrote down what I saw, what I felt, and what I sensed coming. My instincts were right. They’re speaking again now, telling me it’s time. I’ll figure it out, just as I always have. But I know this much—I’ve got to get out of here.
Vegas, huh? You can have it if that's your thing. You'll definitely get plenty of sunshine, anyway. I gather this (reputedly) post-Cosa-Nostra Vegas is a halfway tolerable city if one can afford it, but it's still a city. All I ever found interesting about those is to find out where the Last Exit is, and keep going.