The Day Prince Changed Everything

April 21, 2016—the day Prince died—was a day that changed everything. And no, Don McLean, it wasn’t “the day the music died.” Prince’s music didn’t die. It never dies. It lives on—in me, in every Minnesotan who ever danced in the rain, and in fans who know genius when they see it.

Prince was my greatest of all time music artist and creative, and trust me, I saw him in every possible setting: arena shows, stadium spectacles, and those “wait…he’s here?” impromptu gigs where he just casually showed up to test a song, flip a mood, or blow minds. Favorite memory? A duo limo ride to a local club where Prince and George Clinton’s crew just appeared. The house band bolted off the stage—Prince had called in a request, no explanations given—and everyone just…obeyed. No club owner dared say no. No band dared refuse. And for the next two hours, I was standing 30 feet away from what can only be described as pure, uncut, next-level music. Crushingly good doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Beyond music, Prince was a storyteller, filmmaker, and full-on showman. He starred in and directed Purple Rain and Under the Cherry Moon, putting himself at the center of the story while shaping every frame. Movies? Check. TV? Check. Comedy? Check. He loved it all. And he had the humor to match—just ask anyone who remembers Charlie Murphy’s legendary Chappelle’s Show tale of basketball and pancakes at Paisley Park. That story captured his ridiculous, playful, totally unapologetic side—side that the world didn’t always get to see, but I did.

Then there’s the songwriting. Oh, the songwriting. Prince wrote Stand Back for Stevie Nicks and, yes, he had to harass her just a little to convince her to record it. Because he didn’t take no for an answer. And so many of my favorite hits were secretly his: Sinéad O’Connor’s Nothing Compares 2 U, The Time’s Jungle Love, Sheila E.’s Glamorous Life, Chaka Khan’s I Feel for You… the list is basically endless. Years later, as a soccer coach, I met a family from Minnesota whose dad revealed that his brother played high school basketball with Prince. He said, “If he wasn’t 5’2”, he’d have gone pro.” That inner athlete carried him through life—never giving up, never shying away from the sometimes-dastardly business of getting people to care about his genius. That’s the playbook I hope to borrow somehow, some way.

Prince blended dance, fashion, attitude, lyrical mastery, vocal brilliance, and the orchestration of multiple instruments into a force that inspired everyone lucky enough to witness it. Sheila E., Sheena Easton, The Bangles, Rosie Gaines… he didn’t just perform; he built legacies and launched careers. And yes, he briefly flirted with Los Angeles—but that love fizzled, and he came home. Minnesota was his playground, his canvas, his kingdom.

Paisley Park itself is the crown jewel. As a college student and soccer player, I used to jog there from my parents’ house on Christmas Lake—touching the security fence, waving at the guard tower, and running back, thinking, “One day, people are going to come here and finally get it.” That 2.5-mile run was my time to soak in his brilliance. Today, you can’t just run there anymore—a highway now separates the dirt road from where Paisley Park still stands, waiting for die-hard fans and fairweather fans alike to discover his incredible journey. He made my hometown state exciting, made the rain purple, and made doves cry—all through poetry that became iconic music.

Prince’s life and work continue to inspire me to go for my best life, honoring all of who I am, and embracing my love of the arts in all their forms. He taught me—and made it possible—to dream without limits.

Now I am off to write some more lyrics!