A Reflection on Connection, Growth, and Lionel Richie
I just finished reading Ann Powers’ beautiful NPR piece on High Fidelity — and between that article and Lionel Richie’s new book Truly, I found myself sitting with why I love music, and why talking about it still means so much.
Both reminded me that behind every playlist, every song, every “you’ve gotta hear this” moment — is a search for connection. It’s not about taste or snobbery. It’s about how art helps us understand each other and ourselves. It doesn’t hurt that there is not a hit Lionel Ritchie song that I can’t not play on the piano.
The Mirror of High Fidelity
Rewatching High Fidelity through Powers’ lens hit me harder than expected. What once felt like a love letter to music snobs now feels like a story about growth — how we use art to connect, not compete.
She writes that beneath John Cusack’s record-store bravado lies something quieter: a man trying to be seen through what he loves. That’s really all of us. Every song we share says, this is who I am, this is where I come from, this is how I want to connect with you.
We’ve gone from collecting records to collecting moments — from “you wouldn’t understand” to “you’ve got to hear this.” And in a world where algorithms suggest everything, it’s still human conversation that makes discovery feel alive.
Because as Powers reminds us, “What really matters is what you like, not what you are like.” Maybe it was never about preference. Maybe it was always about empathy.
The Lionel Richie Lesson
Then there’s Lionel.
I was fortunate enough to have my meeting with him not too long ago. It was one of those rare afternoons you don’t plan for but never forget — just me, Lionel, his beautiful life partner Lisa, and my client, Reno Wilson.
Reno is someone I deeply admire and respect — not just for his talent, but for his heart. I’ll never forget standing at Lincoln Center as he became Louis Armstrong, belting out “You Rascal You” in front of a packed house with Wynton Marsalis and his band behind him. Talk about the chills. You could feel the room leaning in — the kind of moment that reminds you why you got into this business in the first place.
So sitting in that meeting with Reno and Lionel — two artists who lead with soul — was something else entirely. Within minutes, I was completely moved by Lionel’s presence, his warmth, his stories. By the whole moment — I had to excuse myself to the restroom — not because I needed a break, but because I was overwhelmed. Tears had quietly snuck up on me and I surely didn’t want them to notice…. And of course, Lisa blurted out..look at him Lionel.. he has tears.. I thought I left before anyone noticed but I guess I was wrong
I’ve been around presidents, legends, power players… but no one — no one — has ever made me feel that kind of pure emotional joy. That hour with Lionel, Reno, and Lisa will stay with me forever.
I’ve been listening to Lionel everywhere — on Joe Rogan, in his new book Truly, Smartless and in those deeply human moments on American Idol. The more I hear him, the clearer it becomes: Lionel doesn’t just talk about music — he talks about life.
He listens. He gives love. He reminds us that kindness never goes out of style. His stories aren’t about fame — they’re about people: his parents, Berry Gordy, his fans, and the strangers who crossed his path.
A few of his words hit me right between the eyes:
- “What’s behind me doesn’t count. It’s about what’s in front.”
- “If you lose your sense of humor, they got you.”
- “Talk to old people. Ask old people. They’ve been through the blitz.”
- “You don’t have to be defined by other people’s ideas of you.”
- “It’s not about how I won — it’s about how I survived the valleys of insecurity.”
That’s Lionel — real, grounded, generous. Every line a reminder that your legacy isn’t what you create… It’s how you make people feel along the way.
The Bridge Between Music and Meaning
Ann Powers and Lionel Richie — two very different voices — are actually saying the same thing: the art isn’t the point, the connection is.
Whether it’s a record store debate in High Fidelity or Lionel asking his mom what she loved most about his dad (“He makes me laugh”), the real music lives in the space between people.
It’s not about proving what you know. It’s about staying open — laughing more, listening deeper, and sharing what moves you.
So the next time a song stops you in your tracks, don’t just hit “like.” Tell someone why. That’s how we turn playlists into relationships — and noise into meaning.
Because at the end of the day, the music fades, but the connection plays on.
