The Church
Under the Milky Way

Early in 1988, I heard “Under the Milky Way” on the radio in Waterloo, Iowa. I was in the blue 1978 Toyota Celica my dad had bought me. I didn’t know then that I would still be returning to that song nearly forty years later, or that I would eventually be writing about it in a journal of my own.

Back then, I wanted to see what was out there. Waterloo was home. It held my family, my history and the people who knew me before I had much of a story to tell. But I also felt that pull toward somewhere else. I wanted to travel, do interesting work and find out what life might feel like beyond the places I already knew.

I couldn’t have explained all of that from the driver’s seat. I had a car, a radio and a lot of life ahead of me. Then this song came on, and somehow the world felt bigger.

What were we looking for?

There’s a question in this song that has followed me: “I wish I knew what you were looking for.”

When I was young, I heard possibility in that question. Now I hear something more complicated. I think about the times I wanted a different job, a different place or a different life without fully understanding what I expected those changes to give me.

Was I looking for freedom? Recognition? A place where I felt I belonged? Sometimes I probably wanted all three. Sometimes I wanted to prove that the kid from Waterloo could make something of himself. There were times when ambition helped me move forward, and times when ego made decisions that deserved a little more thought.

The thought that follows the question—whether understanding someone’s search might help us understand what they eventually discover—lands differently at 56. I wonder how many choices would have made more sense if I’d been honest with myself about what I was asking them to solve.

A new address can give you a different view. A new title can give you responsibility and a little pride. Neither necessarily answers the quieter questions you bring with you. I’ve had to learn that through living, and I’m still learning it.

Sometimes you have to look back at where you went to understand what you were looking for.

A song can change as we do

I don’t hear “Under the Milky Way” as a set of instructions, and I’m not claiming that my reading is what The Church intended. This is what the song has come to mean in my life. Someone else may hear loneliness, mystery, longing or something they can’t quite name. That room for interpretation is part of why I keep returning to it.

At one age, a song can make you want to leave. Years later, it can help you understand why you left. Later still, it might bring you back to a person you hadn’t thought about in a long time—or to a version of yourself you haven’t been especially kind to.

Music gives us a way into those thoughts without demanding that we have a neat explanation ready. You can be driving, washing dishes or sitting alone after everyone else has gone to bed, and suddenly a familiar recording brings something into focus.

Sometimes it changes the question. Instead of asking whether a chapter was a success or a failure, you start asking what you learned there. Instead of wishing you had become a completely different person, you notice something worth keeping in the person you already are.

That matters on the journey to 60 and beyond. We have enough history now to know that a life rarely follows the version we pictured early on. A song can help us sit with that fact, remember what was good and decide what we want to do with the years ahead.

For me, the destination was the Pacific coast

When I think about the song’s sense of being drawn somewhere despite the destination you had in mind, I think about the Pacific coast. California eventually became a real chapter in my life. Laguna Beach became more than a place on a map.

The coast gave me a view I could keep looking at. The water, the changing light, the roads along it, the places where you could stop and stay awhile. There was always something to notice. Even now, living with Angie in Henderson, that landscape remains part of how I see the world and part of the feeling I want Pacific44 to carry.

I don’t want to romanticize it into a place where every problem disappeared. Life still came with work, bills, responsibilities and the consequences of my own choices. You don’t arrive at the ocean and suddenly understand everything.

But a place can help you pay attention. It can remind you that there is a whole world beyond whatever has taken over your week. It can give you a little distance from your own noise.

Looking back, I can draw a line from the young man listening in that Celica to the man who eventually lived near the Pacific. I couldn’t have drawn it while it was happening. There were too many turns I hadn’t taken yet.

The road included work, love and starting over

My working life has carried me through technology, racing, radio, hospitality and other chapters. I’ve helped build things, solve problems and keep projects moving. There is satisfaction in that work. There have also been difficult stretches, decisions I would make differently and times when I let the next professional goal take up too much room.

I know what it is to care about doing a job well. I also know how easily a career can become the main answer when someone asks who you are. After enough years, you begin to wonder what else you want that answer to include.

Angie is part of that answer. So are our families, the places we came from, the music we love and the ordinary time we get together. Her health scare earlier this year brought those things into sharper focus for me. Time with someone you love is easy to assume will be there until you have a reason to stop assuming.

I’m still ambitious. I’m still interested in making something good. But I want that ambition to leave room for the life we’re actually living. A conversation. A trip. A song. A morning when neither of us has to rush through our coffee.

Why I finally started Pacific44

I’ve been interested in telling stories for a long time. I wrote for the school newspaper at Central High School, including my “Ask Al” column. Later, I built websites and worked on other people’s ideas. That part of me—the one who wanted to write, create and connect—never really went away.

At 56, I wanted to give it a place of its own. Starting Pacific44 meant taking that desire seriously, even this late in my career. It meant making room for something I could shape from my own experiences, alongside Angie and the perspective she brings through Saturday Soul.

I didn’t arrive here with every answer. I arrived with stories, interests and a growing sense that other people might be asking some of the same questions. How do we live well as we get older? How do we stay close to the people we love? What do we still want to see, learn or try? What have we put off that deserves a little of our time now?

Those questions are why music belongs in this journal. They’re why a place worth visiting, a family memory or a small discovery can belong here too. The things that make a life feel full don’t all fit into one category.

Pacific44 is something I wanted to make with the life I’ve lived—and the life Angie and I still have ahead of us.

The road brought me here

When I play “Under the Milky Way” now, I can still remember that younger version of me in Waterloo. I don’t need to pretend he knew where he was going. He was curious. He wanted something more. Sometimes he made good choices, and sometimes he got in his own way.

I’m grateful he kept going. I’m grateful for the people who stayed close, for the places that widened my view and for the chances to begin again. All of that has found its way into Pacific44.

Maybe you have a song like this. One that reminds you of what you wanted before you had the words for it. Let it play for a few minutes. Think about where you were when you first heard it, and where you are now. You might recognize something that’s been with you the whole time.

I once listened in a blue Celica and wondered what was waiting beyond Waterloo. The road eventually took me to the Pacific coast. Years later, it brought me to a blank page and the decision to start this journal.

I’m glad to have somewhere to tell the story now. And I’m glad you’re here to read it.

Allen S. Robinson
Pacific44 Boss | The Pacific44 Journal
The Journey to 60 and Beyond
LIVE WELL ◆ STAY CURIOUS ◆ KEEP MOVING