90 Minutes at a Time
"We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men." — Herman Melville
There's something quietly magical about 90 minutes. It's the gentle arc of a feature film, the rise and fall of a concert set, the unhurried rhythm of a fine dining experience. For those precious moments, the outside world softly dissolves. Bills fade away. Work stress melts. That argument from yesterday becomes a distant memory. For 90 minutes, we're carried somewhere else entirely.
I've spent decades learning to create those moments.
As a monitor engineer for touring artists and a designer of music venues and restaurant AV systems, I've discovered something profound: those effortless moments of joy are woven from thousands of hours of invisible work by an entire constellation of people. The couple celebrating their anniversary doesn't know I spent weeks calibrating the acoustic environment so they can hear each other without strain, or that countless professionals spent years perfecting their crafts to make that evening flow like water. The concertgoer losing themselves in their favorite song has no idea about the delicate technical decisions that allow every note to reach them with crystalline clarity, or about the devoted team who all contributed to that moment of transcendence.
And that's exactly how it should be.
The Art of Becoming Invisible
In audio engineering, we have a saying: if the audience knows you exist, you're not doing it right. True mastery isn't about showcasing technical prowess. It's about creating conditions where technology disappears and beauty can bloom. I believe deeply in the value of beauty, not as ornament or luxury, but as nourishment essential to the human spirit.
When I'm mixing monitors for a vocalist, my role isn't to impress anyone with clever EQ moves. It's to weave a sonic environment so perfect that the artist forgets about everything except the golden thread connecting them to their audience. I'm part of a vast team ensuring every element works in quiet harmony: stage managers, lighting designers, security staff, sound engineers, roadies. We're all servants of beauty in our own ways. The better we all do our work, the more invisible we become. The blood, sweat, and tears of decades learning our crafts all distill down to this: making the complex seem effortless so beauty can emerge like morning light.
The same principle applies whether I'm designing the sound system for an intimate restaurant or a major venue. In a fine dining establishment, if patrons are commenting on the audio, something's wrong. They should be lost in conversation, in the experience, not noticing that every element has been carefully orchestrated to create the perfect atmosphere.
The Infrastructure of Joy
What strikes me most about this work is how those 90 minute escapes require such extensive preparation from so many people. A seamless dining experience represents not just my years of understanding acoustics, but the collective mastery of an entire team working in harmony. Every single person contributes something essential.
Every concert that moves thousands of people to forget their troubles is built on a foundation of collective expertise. Years of practice, understanding, and dedication from every member of the team. Late nights troubleshooting equipment failures. Hours spent learning to read a room's energy. The patience to obsess over details that 99% of people will never consciously notice.
All of our decades of experience compress into perfect moments for other people. All that collective mastery becomes the invisible infrastructure that allows beauty to happen naturally.
As Maya Angelou once said, "A pretty woman can be admired, human beauty is appreciated, but it is beauty of character that we respect." The beauty we create in these experiences goes beyond the aesthetic—it's the beauty of human beings fully present with each other, free from distraction, connected to something larger than themselves.
The Why That Sustains
When times get tough in any business (and they always do), when the deadlines pile up and the problems multiply, I remember why we do this work. It's easy to lose sight of the bigger picture when you're troubleshooting equipment failures at 2 AM or dealing with difficult clients or managing tight budgets. Sometimes we're deep in the rat race of daily operations, or sometimes we're just simply surviving, scrambling to solve the immediate crisis or meet the next deadline. But our universal "why" remains constant, even when we forget to look up and see it.
It's not just the technical challenges, though I love solving complex problems. It's not even the satisfaction of mastering our individual crafts, though that matters deeply.
It's the joy on people's faces during those 90 minutes.
I've witnessed thousands of these moments, and I suspect you have too, whatever your field. Faces lighting up when a favorite song hits just right. Couples leaning closer because they can actually hear each other while the entire operation hums with perfect efficiency behind them. A room full of strangers becoming a community when every element clicks perfectly together. These aren't just fleeting experiences. They're reminders of what's possible when we create space for human connection to flourish.
Maybe you've seen it in your own work: that moment when your expertise disappears and something beautiful happens for someone else. When all your preparation pays off in someone else's perfect moment. These glimpses remind us that beneath all the business metrics and operational challenges, we're part of something profoundly human and essential.
In the daily grind, it's easy to forget that our work has this deeper purpose. We get caught up in profit margins and efficiency metrics, or sometimes we're just simply surviving, scrambling to solve the immediate crisis or meet the next deadline. But those 90 minute moments of beauty aren't just nice to have. They're why civilization exists. I know that these moments of joy can literally save lives or change the world, and all of our work has great value, even when we don't see it.
A Philosophy for Any Field
This approach extends far beyond audio engineering. In any business, the best work often goes unnoticed because it eliminates friction rather than calling attention to itself. True luxury isn't about showing off what you know—it's about creating experiences where people can forget about everything else.
Whether you're designing spaces, crafting services, building products, preparing food, managing teams, or creating art, the question remains the same: Are you creating conditions for those 90-minute escapes? Are you serving beauty in your own way? Are you making it possible for people to be fully present, to connect with each other, to remember what joy feels like?
The architect Christopher Alexander wrote, "Beauty is not just a luxury or an add-on, it is a necessity." In our work—whether technical, creative, or service-oriented—we're not just solving problems. We're participating in the ancient human need for beauty, for moments that lift us above the mundane and remind us what it means to be alive.
The most meaningful work happens when our individual expertise becomes part of something larger, when all our knowledge and experience serves the collective goal of human connection. We master our crafts precisely so they can disappear into the background, so those precious moments can emerge without any awareness of the complex coordination making them possible.
But in the rush of deadlines and demands, we sometimes lose sight of this truth. We forget that we're not just vendors or service providers or technical specialists. We're custodians of human experience, guardians of those moments when people remember what it feels like to be fully present and alive.
90 Minutes at a Time
In a world full of distractions and stress, those 90 minute sanctuaries matter more than ever. A great meal, a powerful performance, an evening where everything just works. These experiences remind us what it feels like to be fully alive.
My job is to create the invisible conditions where that magic can happen, as part of a team of people who share that same commitment. Your job, whatever your field, might be similar. We're all in the business of making space for joy, 90 minutes at a time.
And when the work gets difficult, when the challenges feel overwhelming, I remember those faces in the crowd, that couple at table twelve, that moment when the room falls silent because everyone is completely absorbed in something beautiful. I remember that I'm part of something bigger than myself.
That's the why that keeps me going. That's the purpose that makes every invisible hour worthwhile, not just mine, but all of ours.
Because at the end of the day, we're not just solving technical problems or running businesses or cooking meals or managing logistics. We're participating in the creation of human happiness, one perfect 90-minute escape at a time. We're servants of beauty, guardians of those precious moments when people remember what it feels like to be fully alive.
And there's no more meaningful work than that.
