An Open Letter to Matt Good

When you have a friend who is going through a difficult period in their life, does your heart not get heavy? Do you think of them often, and hope that they can find solace and move on soon? Are you empathetic to their condition? Do you hope your words carry more meaning if you have been in the same position?

Does the same apply to someone you have never met?

What if it were someone you cared about, but you have never met, nor he (or she) never even knew you existed?

Well, a colleague and fellow musician of mine -- one whom I admire for his art, his personality and his dedication to philanthropy, one whom I call a "friend" (in its' broadest of terms) is in this position.

For those who are informed, Matthew Good is having a tough year. He had been discussing this "fog" that clouds his mind, which was impairing his ability to work, to create, and even perform. A few days ago, he let the proverbial cat out of the bag and told us -- almost lyrically, what's been going on. Around this time, Matt published a photo of himself backstage of the Calgary Folk Festival, and the look on Matt's face can only be described as haunting.

And it broke my heart, as well as the hearts of thousands of his fans across the world.

And his fans came out in droves of hundreds, each leaving a note of sympathy, encouragement, and their condolences. In a usually politically-charged forum, where trolling is not uncommon, the tides were turned and every reader gave back to Matt the sheer love he had been giving his fans for more than ten years.

I read every single comment, and it nearly drove me to tears. In a strange twist, and in response to this recent post, many fans thanked Matt personally for saving their lives.

He has probably saved many more, possibly mine as well, for example, in 2001, the moment after I totaled my car in a horrific collision, I jumped out of my car unscathed, and the first words out of my mouth were: "[I] died in a motor crash, I came back for you; the perfect version of myself". I realize this example is a little ludicrous. Matt's not an Angel by definition, but his music has helped me get through some dark periods of my life.

I considered writing Matt to express my condolences, though I thought it a little esoteric to jump on the bandwagon and say something so abstract that -- despite the best of intentions -- might make him feel uncomfortable.

I suppose that might be why I am writing about it here instead.

I know about that "fog" Matt described. It clouds my vision daily. Usually it just scatters the light around so that no shadows fall, and the twilight that surrounds me makes it difficult to see; to focus. Sometimes the fog gets so thick that there is nothing but blackness. It has sometimes gone on for days on end, being blind, deaf and dumb, rendering me completely incapable of feeling anything.

But I have learned that the sun will rise tomorrow. And amidst the fog, something new may happen. We may anticipate, or even dread the days when a life-changing event will occur, but it is much harder for us to see the small progressions that happen every day.

Matt's lyric that likely struck the most profound chord within me was "I am just a boat on the ocean; I'm just a ship lost at sea." I have been wondering if this is how Matt has been feeling recently.

With the number of people who feel like they are ships lost at sea, you'd think we'd be bound to cross paths with another lonely sailor sooner or later.

Myself, along with countless thousands of your fans, are there with you in heart and spirit Matt. And thank you for being there when all that surrounded me was that damned fog.