A delayed RIP to Jimmy Buffett

Quite literally the soundtrack of my life

Most celebrity deaths don’t bump the needle all that much, if I’m being honest. Even people that I respect and admire, like Michael Gambon yesterday for instance, will elicit a moment of respect, of fond remembrance, and usually, that’s it.

Jimmy Buffett has been an exception. It’s been nearly a month, and his passing continues to find its way into my thoughts (far more than any thoughts of the Roman Empire!) I decided to use this post to try to figure out why, and, it turns out, it wasn’t that hard: No other celebrity has impacted my life nearly as much as Jimmy did.

I like to joke that I am 44 years old, and I have been listening to Jimmy for 45 years. He was always my dad’s favorite, and like with so many other things in my life (Miami Dolphins fandom, love for the ocean, etc) it’s hard to tell where his love for these things stopped and where mine began. It almost felt predestined that I would be come a fan. It was a consistent soundtrack of the house growing up, and his music is connected to childhood memories at basically every stage of my development. (I randomly remember listening in “Nobody Speaks to the Captain No More” in my room when I was 11 and being absolutely WRECKED by it. I mean like ugly crying.).

And at the end of the day, I think that connection with my father is why Jimmy is still playing so loudly in my mind. Quite simply, it’s hard to think about Jimmy Buffett without thinking of my dad, and vice versa. They were both about the same age, had connections to the South (Buffett to Alabama, Dad to Georgia) and Key West, both loved pirates, the ocean, boats, and everything associated with what you might call “island life.” Dad would say that he wanted to be JB, and I think that passed to me as well!

I guess it stands to reason, then, that Jimmy’s passing would get me thinking about my own dad’s mortality, and feeling a certain pressure to take advantage of the time that remains. I believe my dad has several years left — he is still active and in good shape — but I thought that about Jimmy too. I was reasonably confident that I’d be able to catch him next time he came around on tour. It is still surreal to think that there won’t be a “next time.”

So that is a big reason why I continue to think about Jimmy, and his passing. His music is intertwined with my dad in my mind, and absolutely became a formative agent in my own personality. It’s funny, though: I can track a similar phenomenon in how I listen to music because of my daughter. My daughter is a huge Swiftie, and I never have been. I respect the hell outta her — rerecording your hit albums to have control of the masters to stick it to some asshole record company man is about the most boss move that could ever exist. Anyway, I’m starting to listen to Taylor more, not because of a new-found appreciation for her music, but simply because it reminds me of my daughter. I am listening to JVKE and the Arctic Monkeys for similar reasons. Turns out, whether we’re talking about music, or food, or sports teams, or just about anything else, we don’t evaluate any of these things in a vacuum. We are heavily influenced by connections to loved people and places which are embodied in those songs, dishes, and sports teams.

In addition to all that, however, what is really sticking out to me are the tributes which have come down after Jimmy died. There has been an outpouring of affection and respect, although, as many of the obituaries have pointed out, Jimmy wasn’t a particularly gifted singer or guitar player. (He was a brilliantly gifted songwriter though, and I will take that up with anyone who argues otherwise.). The obits have focused on the money he made, and the lifestyle he helped to propagate, but they have also focused on his kindness and the positive impact that he left with people.

In particular, Chris Dixon’s article in Garden & Gun, “My Wild Ride with Jimmy Buffett,” really captured that element of his personality in ways that have stuck with me. Forgive the lengthy excerpt, but I think it’s worth the read:

Until the day I die, I will never cease to be inspired by Jimmy Buffett. He never stopped taking risks and pushing himself—even when he was battling cancer, and even when it drove those who cared about him crazy. Doing so would have been antithetical to the Fearless Man he truly was. 

While I’ve watched that fearless man move very fast, I’ve also watched him slow down enough to spend hours in a front-porch rocking chair, recording personalized greetings and messages of hope for terminally ill fans. It’s not something he ever told folks about, but he did it just the same. I’ve seen his Singing for Change foundation fund projects that allowed hundreds of people to start their own successful philanthropic ventures. And I’ve marveled as a collection of personal surfboards he donated allowed the founder of Charleston’s Warrior Surf Foundation to quit his job and focus on the veterans’ organization full time. 

…If you had the chance to bask in Jimmy’s glow, whether through a chance encounter at a fishing dock, a wedding photo he crashed at a Margaritaville restaurant, a wave you shared at Ditch Plains, a beer you sipped at a Key West dive, or a massive concert filled with screaming Parrot Heads, you were a fortunate person indeed. And you knew, because it was obvious: Jimmy Buffett cared about you.”

And I add this — my dad and I certainly aren’t the only ones who wanted to live like Jimmy Buffett. Flying a seaplane, visiting beautiful places, doing what you love for a living? YES PLEASE. Who wouldn’t want that? What I think I want more, however, is for the people around me to be able to implicitly sense that I care about them. I teach for a living and I see this as a fundamental part of what I do, and as fundamentally critical to my success. Jimmy gives me someone to learn from in all of those respects. So, unlike with most celebrities, I’m not ready for the needle to settle back down to normal yet. I want to hold and honor his memory just a bit longer.