Finding Stillness: How Ambient Music Helped Me Through Addiction, Anxiety, and Depression
For much of my life, I struggled to find stillness. My mind was constantly racing—sometimes with thoughts I didn’t want, other times with an overwhelming sense of unease. I turned to alcohol as a way to quiet the noise, to numb the weight of anxiety and depression that felt impossible to shake. What started as a temporary escape became a cycle I couldn’t break. It wasn’t until I found my way back to music—specifically ambient music—that I began to understand healing in a new way.
The Weight of Addiction
Addiction is deceptive. It doesn’t happen all at once—it creeps in slowly, disguising itself as relief, as control. For years, I convinced myself that alcohol was helping me manage my anxiety, when in reality, it was fueling it. The more I drank, the further I drifted from myself.
Anxiety and depression have a way of isolating you, making you feel like you’re stuck in a loop that no one else can understand. The drinking only made that loop tighter. At my lowest, I realized that I was trying to escape my own mind, but I didn’t know how to exist without the distractions I had built around me.
Rediscovering Sound as Healing
Music had always been a part of my life, but during my struggles with addiction, I lost my connection to it. The urgency of traditional songwriting—the need for structure, for lyrics—felt suffocating. I needed something that allowed me to just exist, something that didn’t demand anything from me.
That’s when I truly discovered ambient music. The first time I listened to Brian Eno’s Music for Airports, I felt something shift. The absence of a defined rhythm, the way the sounds stretched out into infinity—it was exactly what I needed. There was no expectation, no pressure, just a space to breathe.
As I started creating my own ambient music, I realized how much it mirrored my own recovery process. The layers of sound, the slow evolution of a piece over time—it all reflected the patience and presence that sobriety required. Ambient music taught me that healing wasn’t about erasing the past; it was about allowing things to unfold naturally, without force.
The Power of Deep Listening
One of the most valuable things ambient music has given me is the ability to truly listen. In the past, I used alcohol to drown things out—to escape discomfort. But ambient music does the opposite. It invites you to sit with the discomfort, to observe it without judgment. It allows you to recognize that emotions, like sound waves, rise and fall—they aren’t permanent.
This shift in perspective changed everything. Instead of resisting my anxiety, I started using music as a way to move through it. I experimented with vintage synths like the Moog Matriarch and Korg PS-3100, exploring textures that felt soothing rather than overwhelming. I built looping layers of sound, letting each note breathe, much like I was learning to do in my own life.
Music as a Meditation
As I deepened my sobriety, I found that making music became a form of meditation. The repetitive nature of looping, the way a delay pedal could stretch out a sound indefinitely—these elements mirrored the stillness I had been searching for. I began to understand that healing isn’t about distraction; it’s about presence.
Meditation had always been difficult for me in the traditional sense, but ambient music became my way in. I found solace in sound, using it to center myself when my thoughts felt too heavy. Floating in an expanse of synth waves, I could detach from the need to control everything and instead just be.
Creating for Others
The more I created, the more I realized that this music wasn’t just for me. People began reaching out, telling me that they used my music for their own moments of stillness—for studying, meditating, even coping with their own struggles. That connection reminded me why I started making music in the first place.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that healing isn’t linear. Some days are harder than others, and that’s okay. But finding something—whether it’s music, movement, or meditation—that brings you back to yourself is invaluable.
For me, that’s ambient music. It’s not just sound; it’s a space, a refuge, a reminder that even in stillness, there is movement.
Moving Forward
Now, over a decade into my sobriety, I look back on my journey with gratitude. I know that I wouldn’t be here without music, without the ability to lose myself in sound and find clarity in stillness. Ambient music helped me rebuild my relationship with myself, and it continues to be my guide.
Wherever you are in your own journey, I hope you find something that gives you space to breathe, to listen, and to simply be.
Until next time, Your fellow human just being.
Six Missing
Who I Am & Why I Make Music
Who I Am & Why I Make Music
Music has always been a way for me to process the world—its beauty, its weight, and the in-between spaces where emotions live. From my earliest memories, sound fascinated me. I was drawn not just to melodies but to the textures of sound, the way it could envelop you like a warm embrace or stretch out into the distance like a horizon at dusk. That fascination never faded; it only deepened, eventually leading me to create Six Missing.
A Sonic Beginning
My journey started with the piano, my first instrument. While I found traditional lessons slow-paced, I quickly discovered that I could play by ear, and that felt far more natural. But it wasn’t until I stumbled upon my Uncle Chuck’s 1964 Gretsch Clipper in my grandparents’ attic that my love for music truly ignited. Surrounded by stacks of vinyl records, I felt an instant connection to the instrument, sparking a passion that would guide me for years to come.
Like many guitarists, I was shaped by classic rock, and Led Zeppelin’s IV was my gateway. The moment I heard the solo in “Stairway to Heaven,” I was hooked. But it wasn’t just the guitar work that fascinated me—it was the atmosphere, the space between the notes, the way sound could transport you.
The Path to Six Missing
As I grew, my musical tastes evolved. I explored delay pedals and looping, captivated by the infinite layers they could create. My first pedals—a Jekyll & Hyde distortion, a Zoom 606 multi-effects unit, and eventually a Boss DD-6—opened the door to soundscapes that felt boundless. By the time I transitioned to synths, beginning with the Korg Minilogue, my focus had shifted from traditional songwriting to immersive sonic exploration. Discovering vintage synths like the Moog Memorymoog and the Juno-60 further deepened my understanding of texture and space, shaping the sonic identity of Six Missing.
But the defining moment for Six Missing came in Astoria, Queens. What began as a simple guitar looping project evolved into something deeper. Encouraged by friends, I released my early ambient explorations, and the response was unexpectedly encouraging. It was clear that people connected to this music—not just as entertainment, but as a space for meditation, deep focus, and healing.
Why I Create
For me, music is more than sound—it’s a means of connection, a way to navigate the complexities of being human. I’ve found that ambient music, in particular, holds a unique power. It allows the mind to wander, to rest, to breathe. It can offer solace in moments of anxiety, a moment of stillness in a chaotic world.
That’s why I create. Whether it’s for someone meditating, studying, or simply needing a pause from the noise of everyday life, my goal is to craft soundscapes that offer space—to think, to feel, to just be.
This blog will be a place to share my journey—how Six Missing came to be, the struggles I’ve faced, and the inspirations that continue to shape my sound. If you’re here, I hope you find something that resonates with you.
Until next time, Your fellow human just being.
Six Missing