When Music Is There For You

I may not be at the Cherry Festival right now, swaying to the sweet sounds of Hoobastank, Bowling for Soup, and Plain White T’s. But here I am—sitting on my back deck, watching nature unfold around me while my beagles run circles by the pool. And playing through my speakers, like it always does, is my safe haven. My go-to. The love of my life—music.

Music makes me happy. It grounds me. In a world that often feels like it’s spinning out of control, it’s the one thing that always brings me peace.

The 4th of July used to mean bonfires, drinks, fireworks—memories made with friends or family. But this year, it hits different. I’m alone. Everyone else is out living their lives, spending time with their significant others or their significant others’ families, building new traditions. And with the division and hate flooding our country right now, it’s honestly hard to feel like celebrating anything.

So tonight, I’m choosing to celebrate the one thing that’s never left my side: music.

My main squeeze.

And tomorrow… tomorrow’s going to be bittersweet. I’ll be up early to catch Ozzy Osbourne’s final live performance, streaming from the UK. Saying goodbye to Ozzy and Black Sabbath ever performing again is painful—like losing a piece of my soul. Their music molded me at a young age. They helped shape who I became. The thought that I’ll never get to see Ozzy live again… it just sucks. There’s no other word for it. But I’m thankful. I’m thankful I got to see him perform a bunch of times over the years. Grateful I got to witness that energy, that madness, that magic.

I still remember when I was around 12 or 13 and my parents moved us from Michigan to Florida. I was heartbroken, angry, missing my friends. I locked myself in my room in Bradenton and blasted “You Can’t Kill Rock and Roll” on repeat. My poor mom—it drove her nuts. But in a way, that song helped me survive those lonely days.

I like to think Ozzy played a part in bringing me back home. Back to Michigan. Back to my neighborhood. Back to the people who knew me best. That’s what music does—it holds your hand through the hard stuff and screams alongside you when you need to let it all out.

Lately, I’ve realized how short life really is—and how easy it is to fall into a rut and forget to actually live. I’ve let myself go. I’ve let the weight of everything keep me stuck in my head. But I need to pull myself out. I have to.

I have concerts coming up—Pantera is first, then Def Leppard to relive my teenage years (hello, eyeliner and hairspray!), then Shinedown, and so many more. I’ll get to see new friends and old friends. And honestly… I don’t think they realize just how much I miss them all. How empty my soul has felt without them.

Living almost 300 miles away drags your soul down in ways you can’t always put into words. But maybe this—this blog, this truth—is my first step back to the surface.

And maybe that’s why tomorrow night feels like the perfect time to drop my first podcast episode. Music and life—raw, real, and personal. No frills. No pretending.

Just stories, soundtracks, and soul.

Yeah… the time feels right.

Happy Independence Day.

Peace, Love and Loud Music,

Mickey 💜

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tGt3yefz4M

How I got back to Michigan