I’ve been an entertainer my entire life—one way or another.

It started when I was seven years old, putting on backyard circuses with my friends while our parents and neighbors sat politely in lawn chairs, pretending we were spectacular. From there, it turned into choir from ages nine to fourteen, then professional bands at sixteen, and eventually decades of professional singing that carried me well into my fifties.

Along the way, I even spent twelve years as a radio DJ—but that’s a story for another blog post.

I stopped singing professionally at fifty-five because my vocal cords simply stopped cooperating. Age has a way of shaking things up whether we’re ready or not. I couldn’t hit those high Ann Wilson power notes anymore. Not only could I not hit them—it hurt. And if you’ve noticed, Ann can’t hit her famous notes anymore either.

But we don’t stop!

Why? Because it’s our identity! Something we believe we were put on this Earth to do!

I sang in tiny, forgettable bars and on big, unforgettable stages. I toured. I opened a show for James Brown’s Grammy Celebration in Los Angeles—his annual industry-only event filled with the who’s who of R&B. A dream come true. And damn, back then I could belt those insane high notes straight from my chest.

Then one day… I couldn’t.

And it crushed me.

I threw myself a full-blown pity party. My voice was gone—and it felt like I was gone too. On top of that, I felt invisible. Like I was fading out. And I wasn’t ready for that. I was too young to disappear.

So I did something desperate and hopeful all at once: I paid $500 for one singing lesson with a renowned vocal coach in New York.

One hour. That’s all it took.

He told me the truth—my vocal cords were thinning with age, and there was nothing I could do about that. But there was something I could do about how I sang. I needed to sing softer. I could still hit high notes, but I’d need to use my falsetto.

Back in the day, falsetto was considered cheating.

That day, I was given permission to cheat.

He taught me how to use breath to make falsetto stronger—not airy—so it could approximate that powerful chest voice I used to rely on. Think Ann Wilson in her glory days singing Barracuda or Crazy on You—pure chest voice. I couldn’t do that anymore. But I could do this.

And that changed everything.

Losing My Identity

Here’s the hard truth: when you lose your identity, it can feel like you’re just waiting to die. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

So I turned to YouTube.

I sat on my couch with my guitar and sang into the camera. I uploaded videos knowing maybe twenty or thirty people would watch. And I was grateful for every single one of them. They showed up. They witnessed me. They allowed me to let the creativity that had been trapped inside my body finally come out.

That mattered more than views or numbers.

I was singing on my terms—with the vocal cords I now have.

Today, my stage is the high desert.

I created a channel called High Desert Reflections. It’s just me—singing a few bars of a song, then sharing reflections from sixty-six years of living and what I’ve learned along the way.

So here’s my invitation to you:

Think about an identity you believe you’ve lost.

Maybe the new version looks like writing a book filled with your experiences.
Maybe it’s slowing down.
Maybe it’s a 2.0 version of who you used to be.

Dealer’s choice.

Just don’t lose your identity—revise it – Change the Key so it fits who you are now.

You’re not done yet.

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Video of me at age 62 (in my upstairs studio)