Mike Glendinning’s Strum Life

I finally got the van and am adjusting to life in it. I decided to live in it because I’ll be on the road playing music, and I need to learn how to adapt. It’s been challenging, but along with sobriety, this is the most freedom I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve decided to start a slow reconstruction of this site to focus more on music, guitar, and how it fits into everyday life—both yours and mine—rather than just my story of survival.

To help fund these adventures in music, I’ll soon be selling Strum Life stickers. The money will go toward maintenance and gas for the trips ahead.

A huge challenge right now is figuring out where I fit into social media. Persistence is key—and that’s something I’m working on. I’ve decided to post across several platforms and see what’s most effective.

Thank you so much for visiting and for your support.

More soon.

I’ve reached a monumental point in my journey.

After over a year in the same living situation, I made a decision that changed everything — I bought a van.

This isn’t just a change in where I sleep. It’s a shift in how I live, how I move, and how I build my future. This is the beginning of the next phase of Strum Life.

Right now, I’m focused on laying the groundwork for something bigger. I’ve started saving, planning, and preparing for the next stage of my music. This isn’t talk — it’s action.

You’ll start seeing me out more.

I’ll be showing up to support my friends at their shows — real musicians, real talent, real community. I’ll also be hitting open mics and jam nights all over the Bay Area, sharpening my skills, finding my voice again, and putting in the work where it counts: on stage, in real time.

Within the next year, I’ll be booking solo shows.

At the same time, I’m building the foundation for income through music and brand. I’m working on simple, effective merch — stickers, pens, and more — things I can sell both online and in person to keep this moving forward and fund the next phase.

Every day, I’m practicing. Every chance I get, I’m putting time into the guitar — not just playing, but speaking through it.

The van wasn’t just a purchase — it was a decision to experience life differently.

Some people might look down on van dwelling. I don’t.

For me, it’s freedom. It’s focus. It’s space to think, to play, to rest when I need to, and to move when it’s time to move. It’s already improved my mental health in ways I didn’t expect.

This is alignment.

This is sacrifice with purpose.

This is the start of something real.

Keep your eyes open.

This ride is about to take off.

— Strum Life

Building in Motion

There’s something strange about waking up in a van and realizing you’re not stuck.

For a long time, my life felt like rooms.
Small rooms. Loud rooms. Rooms I didn’t want to be in. Some I chose. Some I earned. Some I fought my way out of.

Now I wake up and I’m mobile.

The van isn’t a symbol of defeat. It’s a reset button with wheels. It’s focus. It’s simplicity. It’s stripping life down to what actually matters and cutting the rest loose.

I’m not circling the same blocks anymore. I’m moving.

Surviving the Echo — Now in Motion

If you’ve been following Surviving the Echo, you know it’s not just a series. It’s a record of what happens when you stop running from the noise in your head and finally face it.

The echo is the past.
The patterns.
The addiction.
The shame.
The almosts.

For years, I lived inside that echo.

Now I’m building outside of it.

Publishing two episodes a week isn’t just content. It’s discipline. It’s proof that I can show up consistently. It’s me documenting what rebuilding actually looks like instead of just talking about it.

The difference now?

I’m not stuck in a house waiting for life to happen.

I’m in motion.

Music Without Walls

Here’s the practical shift — and I’m excited about this.

Because I’m mobile, I can now travel directly to students’ homes for guitar lessons throughout the East Bay.

No commuting stress for you.
No rushing across town after work.
No crowded lesson studios.

I bring the lesson to you.

But more importantly, I don’t teach cookie-cutter guitar.

I teach guitarists who want their own voice — not someone else’s.

If you’re an adult or older teen who:

Wants to write your own music

Wants to break out of the “copy the tabs” cycle

Wants clarity and confidence on the instrument

Or just wants to reconnect with why you picked up the guitar in the first place

I’m here for that.

This isn’t about becoming a shred robot.

It’s about expression. Identity. Confidence. Growth.

Why This Matters

The van gives me flexibility.

Surviving the Echo gives me purpose.

Teaching gives me connection.

All three together give me momentum.

I’m not waiting for perfect circumstances anymore. I’m building with what I have. And what I have right now is mobility, experience, and a story that proves rebuilding is possible.

If you’re in the East Bay and interested in in-home guitar lessons, reach out through my website or message me directly.

If you’ve been watching Surviving the Echo — thank you. The story is still unfolding.

And if you’re rebuilding something in your own life?

Keep moving.

Motion changes everything.

— Mike

I’m Back: Recovery, Mental Health, New Music, and What’s Next

I’m still setting things up. Anytime I start something new, it takes a little wiggling and experimenting to figure out how it wants to roll at its best. That’s just how I work. Over the years, I’ve learned one important rule: always keep something on the burner.

Right now, that burner includes more than just music.

In the coming months, I’ll be launching a new YouTube channel focused on my personal story, specifically dealing with addiction recovery, mental health, and rebuilding life from the ground up. This won’t be a polished influencer highlight reel — it’s real life, real struggle, and real progress. If you care about recovery, mental health awareness, or what it actually looks like to keep going when things get dark, keep your eyes peeled. The channel should be live within the next month or so.

Merch has honestly been a pain in the ass — no sugarcoating that. Learning the systems, syncing platforms, pricing things correctly, and figuring out how I actually want to present it all has taken time. But I’m finally getting the hang of it, and more importantly, I’m shaping it in a way that feels authentic to who I am and what I stand for.

Looking ahead, 2026 is going to be a big year. You can expect more music than I’ve released in years, and I’ll be back on streaming services where the music belongs. This isn’t a comeback built on hype — it’s built on survival, clarity, and momentum.

I’m back, folks.
And this time, I’m building it the right way.

Is it a lie if you think you’re okay, but everyone else sees a shitshow?

The room was in Berkeley. It looked simple and clean in the video. I’d never even heard of an SRO before, but that didn’t matter. It was a start. After the divorce, things were divided up, and this was something I could pull off. For Berkeley, it was a good deal — probably the cheapest place in the city.

The building sat above a deli that sold more booze than food. Across the street was BART. From there, I could get into San Francisco easily, and I did. A lot. South of Market was usually where I got off.

South of Market had its own gravity. It wasn’t the Tenderloin, but it lived close enough to it to feel the spillover. Like the quieter twin — less famous, just as wired. You could disappear there without trying very hard.

At first, I thought this new chapter would be about creativity. About making money. About starting over. I bought a laptop and honestly believed that was where things were headed.

A little time later, I found myself pulled into something else.

I got a thrill out of doing illegal shit and being part of that world. Looking back, I didn’t just get a thrill — I got hooked on the movement, the access, the way the city worked underneath the version most people saw. I thought I was living a double life. Turns out, I was just living one really fast.

My using career turned into a science. I knew which BART train to take, which car to sit in, which station exit put me closest to where I needed to be. I knew when the dope man would show and when the cops wouldn’t care.

Most days, I’d score and be back on BART to the East Bay before anything had time to catch up with me. I took pride in never getting caught — until one day, I did.

And nothing happened.

I scored right in front of a cop. Then I did it again. This time, they laughed. That’s when I learned something important: the system didn’t care about junkies. Dealers got arrested and were back on the street the same day. Sometimes a few hours later.

Later on, a therapist told me something that stuck. He said I wasn’t just addicted to the drugs. I was attracted to the underbelly — the hidden systems, the routes, the rules no one explains out loud. Scoring wasn’t just about getting high. It was about knowing how to move.

I started scoring crystal on 8th Street early on, right as my addiction was being resurrected. I thought I was staying ahead of it. I wasn’t.

This blog isn’t the full story.
It’s just a glimpse into the world the book moves through.

More later.

On the burner — some projects closer than others. It’s a never-ending process, the constant evolution of my craft.

The shop has been touch and go. Eventually it’ll be up and stay up. It took a minute to figure out where that kind of merch actually fits into the bigger picture, and how I want to sell it without it feeling forced or hollow. For now, I’ve been doing short sticker-bomb runs with the Strum Life logo — getting the name out on the streets the old-school way.

Soon, I’ll be more aggressive — both on the ground and online — about pushing the brand forward.

At the same time, I’ve been deep in recording future releases and writing a lot. A lot. About the stretch of time when life went off the rails with drugs and alcohol, and how it slowly found its way to where it is now. That space in between mattered more than I realized.

I’ve also been paying attention — watching creators who didn’t just fix their lives, but learned how to translate their scars into something real, something they could stand behind and build from.

So sit tight.
Keep checking back.

It’s going to get good.

Hi Blog,
I haven’t forgotten about you. Honestly, it’s been getting under my skin that we don’t talk like we used to. Come to think of it, I don’t talk to a lot of people like I used to.

Life’s been heavy — but in a good way. Jesus has brought me through some dark times, and lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how to show my love for Him and His Father. That’s been the center of everything.

I’ve been playing a lot of guitar, recording more than usual, trying to capture every spark while I can. Content is the new currency, and I’m stacking up what I’ve got — not out of fear, but out of faith that it’s all building toward something real.

I’m heading back to work at the airport soon. I kind of missed it, even while I was taking care of things. It feels like another piece of life is falling back into place.

Anyhow, things are looking up.
What have you been up to?
Yeah, you — I’m still listening.

That's a powerful story and a strong message for your blog. It's a very relatable topic for anyone pursuing a creative passion.

Here is a draft of a blog post based on your thoughts, crafted with a thoughtful, motivational tone that focuses on the lesson learned:

Sometimes, the loudest critics are the ones struggling most with their own silenced dreams. I was reminded of this recently while digging through old press for a release I poured my soul into back in 2004.

I remember giving a demo disk of that music—my best work at the time—to a family member. I won't name him, but his reaction was a straight-up tear-down. His verdict? It was "boring." At the time, that kind of rejection from someone close to you stings deep, questioning every bit of time and passion you invested.

Fast forward all these years, and the contrast is glaring. Those initial professional press reviews I found were actually awesome, praising the album's uniqueness and depth. Meanwhile, the critic who dismissed it has done virtually nothing with his own life. I learned he once had big plans but walked away from them because of money pressure from a greedy, financially driven family member.

My point is simple, and it's a lesson learned the hard way: When someone tries to make you feel less than—especially when you are chasing something you want more than anything—run from those people.

They aren't motivated by love or constructive criticism; they are motivated by their own regret. It’s clear now that he was tearing me down only to avoid feeling bad about selling his own dreams short.

True friends and supportive family encourage your ambition, even if they don't fully understand your "Grunge Jazz." The people who weaponize criticism against your passion are not your people. Protect your art, protect your drive, and keep making the music you believe in, no matter what they call it.

Hey Guys,

I know I haven’t been super active lately, so here’s a quick update.

I’ve been grinding behind the scenes — tuning up my website and building out the Strum Life store. That’s why I’ve been quiet on social media these past couple weeks.

But that’s about to change. Working on turning music into a business has me thinking hard about where I stand as a musician. This brand I’m building isn’t some made-up hustle — it’s the result of years of living. Some good years. Some brutal ones. And through it, I’m learning a lot about myself, what my comfort zone really is, and how much I’ve had to grow.

As some of you know, I’m a born-again Christian now. I’ve been thinking about how that shows up in my life. I don’t want to preach. If anyone follows Christ because of me, I want it to be through my actions, not my words. But I’ll be real — the old Mike still pops up, and I get in my own way sometimes. That’s a fight I’m always in.

This isn’t me trying to be some fake entrepreneur. This is me sharing my world, my music, and my journey. My biggest enemy has always been myself, and the only way I can get free is by leaning on something greater than me — something I’ll never fully understand.

I’m excited about the merch ideas. Coffee mugs are just the start. The exposure isn’t even in the infant stage yet — right now it’s like the sperm just hit the egg. For those of you riding with me through this experiment called the human condition — thank you.

Appreciate everyone who sticks around through the quiet patches. More is coming soon.

— Mike

In today’s world, being “smart” is treated like the ultimate badge of honor. Good grades, big words, technical know-how — that’s what people think will carry them to success. But here’s the truth: being smart doesn’t make you clever. And if you want to thrive — in business, in trading, in life — clever will take you further than smart ever will.

The Difference Between Smart and Clever

Smart is about knowledge. You can crunch numbers, memorize facts, and cite statistics. Smart knows the book cover to cover.

Clever is about application. It’s knowing how to use that knowledge in the real world, especially when the rules aren’t written down. Clever sees the gaps, spots the tells, and turns situations to advantage.

Think of it like this: smart people know how the game should be played. Clever people know how the game is actually played.

Why Smart Alone Gets Trapped

Markets, jobs, relationships — they’re all full of traps. Just because you know the numbers doesn’t mean you know the hustle. A “smart” trader can read charts all day, but if they fall for every headline and panic tweet, they get washed out like anyone else.

Being clever is what keeps you alive in the gray areas. It’s what helps you spot the mismatched numbers, the shady intentions, the propaganda designed to push you one way so someone else can cash out the other.

The Power of Clever

Clever is watching what people do, not just what they say. It’s studying mannerisms, tones, timing. It’s noticing when the hype doesn’t match the math. Clever doesn’t get dazzled by “what everyone knows.” Clever walks the opposite way when the herd stampedes — and finds opportunities no one else sees.

The Balance

Now, don’t get it twisted. Being clever without smarts is just winging it — and that won’t take you far either. The real edge comes when you mix both:

Smart enough to understand the rules.

Clever enough to know when to bend or break them.

That’s how winners are made.