Everything Changed in Austin: A Life Update
My best friend Lucie—who’s more like a sister—and her husband Caleb moved to Austin, Texas last year. We always knew we’d visit, but when we saw that Blue October was ending a special Texas-only tour with a three-hour show, it felt like the universe handed us the perfect reason to go.
The weekend was amazing. Great food, deep laughs, and that kind of soul-recharging friendship that’s hard to put into words. But what I want to share here isn’t about the whole weekend. It’s about that one night—the concert—and how it cracked something open inside of me that had been closed for far too long.
Swimming in Regret
Lately, I’ve been struggling again. The kind of struggling where regret takes the wheel. Regret for what I missed while drinking. Regret for the version of myself my daughters grew up with. Regret for not being fully present even when I was physically there.
Sobriety strips away the numbing. The “medicine” is gone, and you’re left to figure out how to feel everything again—without a buffer. And what I’ve learned is that the feelings don’t just return… they amplify. The good and the bad. But if you’ve been stuck in sadness long enough, sometimes it starts to feel like your only emotional home. Happiness becomes something you have to work at. And that’s exhausting.
I found myself back in that weird space of fantasizing about being “a normal drinker.” But even my daydreams betrayed me. They didn’t stop at a drink or two. My brain kept going, adding more days, more drinks—until I ended up right back at the bottom. Even the fantasy couldn’t pretend moderation was possible.
The Worry List
That’s the headspace I brought with me into the concert. Equal parts excited and anxious. Excited to see my favorite band yet somehow so anxious knowing their songs may break me. I’ve always loved Blue October, but this show? This was different. It was long. It was raw. It was personal.
And then they played The Worry List.
For those who don’t know, it’s a song about lead singer Justin Furstenfeld’s battle with addiction. About how he lost custody of his daughter Blue when she was very young. About how the police and his parents had to intervene because he was destroying his life and hers and he lost custody. It is about heartbreak, but also redemption.
“I’m tired and twisted, barely breathing, buried in the dark…
A could’ve been.
Don’t be concerned, that’s just the power of a breaking heart…
How good am I hiding it?
Look, I’ve got some bad intentions. Guilty as f-king charged.
Still standing stable, more than able, cause I know who you are.
I know the birthdays, anniversaries, all the first days I missed.
I regret them all, but
But now I know this…”
But that his story to tell, not mine. Long story short, he’s been sober for some 14 years now. He got clean. He got custody. He got her back.
So while I was already tearing up, already singing through the lump in my throat, something happened at the end.
He looked off stage and said, “Blue, come on out.”
She ran out and hugged him. And they both smiled—the kind of smile that feels like redemption.
And in that moment, everything shifted.
The Choice to Feel Something Else
I realized: I have a choice too.
I can keep dragging my pain around like a weighted blanket, or I can set it down—at least for a while—and see what it feels like to just be happy that I’m here. That the worst parts might be behind me. That I’ve made it this far, and I haven’t gone back.
Because Justin—this guy who lost it all—was standing on a stage with his daughter, in front of 4,700 people, beaming. And if he could do that? Then maybe I could too.
After that moment, I felt different. The rest of the show wasn’t just a concert anymore. It was joy. It was healing. They played newer, more upbeat songs, and even when they dipped back into the older, heavier stuff, it didn’t weigh me down.
It lifted me up.
4,700 Friends
Normally at shows, I stay still. Maybe mouth the words. Maybe air drum on my stomach or the back of the seat in front of me. I worry way too much about what people might think about me. It’s dumb. I know that. But it’s deeply ingrained.
Not now. Not after that moment.
Because now I sang like nobody was listening. Danced like my feet weren’t afraid. I let go. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was in a crowd of strangers.
I felt like I was with 4,700 friends.
If you’re a Blue October fan, chances are you’ve felt some things. Hurt. Shame. Addiction. Depression. Their lyrics don’t just resonate—they rescue. They’ve been a lifeline for me in both the darkest and the brightest parts of my life.
Before I got sober, I’d listen to their music and ache for what Justin had now. The recovery. The family. The second chance.
Now I realize I’ve been building that same life, brick by brick. I just hadn’t stopped to look at what I’d built.
Fear and Freedom
The second-to-last song they played was Fear. I hadn’t listened to it in a long time. Too many memories. Too much pain tied up in it. While it should be a song of joy in it’s message, all it caused me was pain.
All my life
Been running from a pain in me
A feeling I don’t understand
Holding me downSo rain on me
Underwater
All I am, getting harder
A heavy weight
I carry around
But this time, it didn’t haunt me.
It healed me.
Today
I don’t have to fall apart
I don’t have to be afraid
I don’t have to let the damage
Consume me,
My shadow see through me‘Cause fear in itself
Will reel you in and spit you out
Over and over again
Believe in yourself
And you will walk
Now, fear in itself
Will use you up and break you down
Like you were never enough
Yeah, I used to fall, now I get back up
It’s a song about falling and getting back up again. And that’s what I’ve done. Over and over. As the song reached its peak, I closed my eyes, tilted my face to the sky, put my hands on my head, and sang louder than I ever have in my life.
When it ended, it felt like something heavy had been lifted. Not just off my shoulders—but off my heart.
And then, came the moment I’ll never forget at the end of the concert.
I looked at Rhonda—the love of my life, my best friend, this woman who’s loved me and been with me and supported and helped me through all of it, who has never left my side when I couldn’t even understand why—with a smile on my face and joy in my eyes.
She looked at me and asked,
“Was it everything you wanted it to be?”
And I said,
“No… it was everything I needed it to be.”
A Different Kind of Memory
Every morning lately, I’ve been waking up and checking my Facebook memories. And every morning, it’s the same gut punch. A photo pops up from years ago — me with the girls, smiling, laughing, seemingly present. But I wasn’t. Not really.
I’ve been plagued by regret. I wasn’t fully there. I missed so much of their lives — not because I was absent physically, but because I was consumed mentally and emotionally by alcohol. Even in those photos where I’m right there beside them, I know I wasn’t with them. Not the way a dad should be. And that realization has brought me to tears more mornings than I can count. They never deserved that.
This morning, though, something shifted.
A photo popped up again — another sweet, innocent moment. But I can see the darkness in my lifeless eyes, I can see my addiction. Another reminder. But this time, I caught myself before falling all the way into sadness. I realized I have a choice in how I view these memories. I can sit and grieve over who I was and what I missed… or I can use those snapshots as reminders of what I still have time to do right.
Now, my brother Alan always says,
“There are two things you have 100% control over — your attitude and your effort.”
And until this moment (surprise, Alan), I never really believed the attitude part.
Because if I look at a photo and automatically feel sadness — if my heart aches before I even know why — then how the hell am I supposed to just choose happiness instead?
But here’s what I realized this morning:
Yes, I see the pain in that picture. But I also saw something else for the very first time.
I saw their faces.
Their big, unfiltered smiles. The sparkle in their eyes. The comfort of being in their dad’s arms. That joy? That’s real. That’s what they felt in that moment. And that — not my internal battle — is what they’ll remember.
While I may look at that photo and feel pain, they will look back and remember the love. The safety. The silliness. The way it felt to be held by someone who, even in the thick of his own struggles, never stopped loving them.
I again thought of a lyric from Blue October’s The Worry List:
“I might’ve been gone, but I never walked out.”
That line always hits me in the chest. Because that’s exactly how it felt. I was there, but I wasn’t there. Addiction does that. You’re either under the influence or obsessing over when you’ll get your next drink. You’re never just in the moment. Never just being. My brother says it best — again —
“Be where your feet are. Play present.”
I couldn’t do that before. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But alcohol kept pulling me out of the moment like some invisible force I didn’t know how to fight.
Today, I’m learning how.
So now when I see those photos, I’ll still feel the sting. I think that’s unavoidable — regret is part of the healing. But I’ll also feel something else: gratitude. Because those girls never stopped smiling. And I still have time to be the dad they already thought I was.
And today… I’m here. Sober. Still broken but always under construction. Healing. And finally — fully — present.
The Next Steps
I don’t know how long this feeling will last. But for now, I feel lighter. Stronger. Clearer. And I am going to hold onto that with all of my might!
I feel ready.
We do recover. And sometimes, recovery shows up in the form of a concert, a daughter’s hug, and a room full of strangers singing your soul back to you.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
Help is available — anytime, day or night.
If you’re struggling, overwhelmed, or just need someone to talk to, reach out to the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
Trained counselors are available 24/7 in English and Spanish to listen, support, and help you through.
📞 Just dial 988 — it’s free, confidential, and always open.
Because your life matters. 💛