How Do We Find Our Way Back?

John Prine's first album - I've owned this since 1972

Like many people, I spend a lot of time wondering how we got to where we are as a nation. I'm not talking only about politics, but about our culture, our economy, and the way we relate to one another. Constant wars. Cell phone addictions. Growing social divisions. It often feels as though we're all pulling in different directions, and I find myself asking the same question over and over:

How do we find our way back?

    Last night, while talking with a younger friend about philosophy, wisdom, and the things that shape us, I had something of a revelation. It hit me like the beacon of an ocean lighthouse piercing through the fog on a moonless night.

    Almost casually, I mentioned that much of my personal philosophy comes from listening to John Prine.

    That surprised even me.

    Realizing that not everyone had the pleasure of seeing John perform while he was alive—or of spending much time with his music—I started thinking about why his songs became such an anchor in my own life.

    It began in early 1972 when I walked into Moles Den Records in Joliet, Illinois. I spent a good portion of every paycheck there, always hunting for music that commercial radio overlooked. The owner, Denny, knew my tastes well and often steered me toward artists he thought deserved to be heard. That day, he pointed to John Prine's self-titled debut album. More than fifty years later, it's still the only album purchase I can remember that vividly. From the first spin, I knew I was hearing something unlike anything else.

    John's music wasn't polished. His voice was rough and nasal. The production was simple and understated. His guitar playing wasn't flashy, but it was unforgettable. His Travis-style fingerpicking—with the thumb laying down a steady alternating bass while the fingers carried the melody—became instantly recognizable. Like many longtime Prine fans, I can identify most of his songs within the first few notes.

    But it was the lyrics that completely changed me. John wrote about people no one else seemed interested in writing about.

    Lonely old people.

    Veterans struggling with addiction.

    Middle-aged women quietly longing for something more.

    Ordinary people trying to make sense of an increasingly confusing world.

    He even challenged shallow displays of patriotism long before that became a common topic of conversation.

    Those songs helped shape the values I've carried throughout my life.

    "Hello In There" taught me empathy. I honestly believe it influenced my willingness to become a caregiver for aging family members and friends.

    "Sam Stone" remains, in my opinion, one of the saddest songs ever written—and perhaps one of the most honest portraits of what many Vietnam veterans experienced after coming home.

    "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore" challenged the idea that patriotism is something you display rather than something you live. More than fifty years later, it still feels remarkably relevant.

    What amazes me most is that John Prine was only twenty-four years old when he released that first album. Kris Kristofferson summed it up perfectly when he said John was "twenty-four years old and writes like he's two hundred and twenty."

    That brings me to my point. Maybe we'd all be a little better off if we spent less time letting politicians, television personalities, and social media tell us what our values should be, and a little more time listening to artists who remind us what it means to be human. John Prine never told us how to vote. He reminded us how to care and what values really matter when it comes to building a community or nation that truly cares for one another.

    He reminded us to notice the lonely, the forgotten, the broken, and the ordinary people who quietly carry the weight of the world. Those lessons seem just as important today as they were to me in 1972.

    If you've never listened to that first John Prine album, give it an hour of your time. Then share it with a friend.  Who knows? If enough people did that, we might just straighten out this big ol' goofy world. You can listen to the whole album with commentary here.

    I’d genuinely like to hear your thoughts. Are you familiar with John Prine’s music?  If so, how has his music affected your values?  Are there other artists who have affected you in similar ways? Let me know in the comments. The questions are open to everyone.  I hope our exchanges remain thoughtful, respectful, and productive. 

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    Thank you for reading, and for walking this road with me.