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When I Was a Boy showed me the way. It started so accidentally. One minute I was in Tower Records in New York City in the early fall of 1993, briefly browsing, the next minute I was leaving the store with this Jane Siberry album I hadn’t otherwise realized existed, never mind that I was going to buy.

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Music has accompanied my life seamlessly; it has never occurred to me to wonder why I listen so intently, why I seem to need music on wherever I am, or what, even, I am concretely getting out of it. I have just always known that I want it and need it, that it satisfies something beyond the realm of my rational mind.

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