Neil was known in the rock world for never being satisfied with being good enough, or even with what so many others thought was absolute excellence. He kept working at his craft, technique, and playing skills, even after being considered by many to be one of rock’s greatest drummers.

In addition, he regularly asked himself, “What is the most excellent thing I can do today?” That “excellent thing” could be a charitable act or taking a drive through winding, remote backroads. Or, it could be just going to work; excellence doesn’t always have to be epic. But reaching for it does have to be consistent.

In the song “Resist” (one of my favorites) he writes: “I can learn to persist / With anything but aiming low.” If any of his lyrics sum up his approach to life, that’s the one.

“I’m learning all the time. I’m evolving all the time as a human being. I’m getting better, I hope, in all of the important ways.”

He was never one to toot his own horn. Ever. He never wanted to talk about himself or have people make a fuss over him. He never wanted to be in the limelight, only wishing to hit things with sticks at the back of the stage.

He approached his work with Rush as just that: work. He even called his bandmates “the guys at work.” He never did it for fame, accolades, or adoration. It was work that he undertook with grace and humility.

“Even as a kid, I never wanted to be famous; I wanted to be good.”

While some rock reviewers mocked his intellectual lyrics, or even named him as one of rock’s worst lyricists (according to the now defunct Blender magazine), Neil wrote what interested him, no matter how unusual… environmental crises, the madness of mobs, being an outcast, the horrors of concentration camps, the fleeting passage of time, the heartlessness of Capitalism, Jungian archetypes, gender roles, agnosticism, injustice of all kinds, and disillusionment with the state of the world after September 11, just to name a few themes. Hardly the usual state of affairs in any rock genre.

But no matter what he penned, his words carry a sincerity that is so woefully rare in any kind of commercial art… And with an accessibility that eludes so many intellectuals.

All this machinery
Making modern music
Can still be open-hearted
Not so coldly charted
It’s really just a question
Of your honesty

“The Spirit of Radio”

This lesson is, of course, related to the previous. But he and his bandmates said in multiple interviews that they made the music they wanted to make, not what their record labels or management thought they could sell. 2112 was a Hail Mary effort, and it struck a previously untouched nerve in a fan base that launched them into super stardom (pun alert).

And because they continued to create work with integrity and excellence, their following continued to grow until the very end… and it wouldn’t have without Neil’s words and furious percussion. He (and the rest of the band) allowed himself to grow—musically, artistically, lyrically—even if the critics wanted to paint him and his bandmates as kimono-wearing, Tolkien-reading, sci-fi nerds forever. He said once in an interview, “Our integrity is not for sale, our art is. It costs us a lot—both financially and personally—to produce and we deserve a just reward.” Indeed.

Subdivisions —
In the high school halls
In the shopping malls
Conform or be cast out
Subdivisions —
In the basement bars
In the backs of cars
Be cool or be cast out

“Subdivisions”

When you read Neil’s more recent prose—his blog posts, travelogues, and even the steampunk stories he wrote with Kevin J. Anderson—it is very clear that he was a kind man. He might have gained notoriety in the band’s early days for being inspired by Ayn Rand, but he lived his life with compassion.

Many of the tributes published after his passing mention how he gave generously (in time, energy, and money) to many people he encountered in his daily life, from random strangers at rural gas stations to newly-hired Starbucks baristas to homeless panhandlers. His actions mirrored a man with a generous heart, with nary a whiff of toxic masculinity or a sense of “I’ve got mine, so get your own” that so infects our society these days… particularly amongst the financially successful.

Back in L.A., Peart stops at a traffic light and spots a sad-eyed, sunburned woman begging by the side of the road. He makes a habit of giving to the homeless (“People ask, ‘Why don’t they just get a job?’ They couldn’t get a job”), so he asks me to hand the woman 20 bucks. “I’ll pay you right back,” he says.

– Brian Hiatt, Rolling Stone

Being famous and idolized embarrassed Neil. And after the tragic passing of his teenage daughter and his wife in the late 1990s, he became an even more private person. He even kept his own cancer diagnosis a secret for over three years. As an introvert, I respect that so much. Knowing this fact about Neil validated my own need for quiet and privacy.

It’s all right to be a bit of a hermit, even if some people don’t understand… Because the right people will.

Cast in this unlikely role,
Ill-equipped to act
With insufficient tact
One must put up barriers
To keep oneself intact

“Limelight”

Even though he dropped out of high school, he was a voracious reader. While touring from show to show, he gave himself his own education, earning his nickname of “The Professor.”

Forever curious, he constantly sought to understand and explore the world around him, from biking through West Africa to relearning how to play the drums more than 30 years into his career. He continued to be teachable, never set in his ways or habits as a musician.

He was, if anything else, a student of his instrument—nay, a student of the world—even if we all learned so much from him.

“What is a master but a master student? And if that’s true, then there’s a responsibility on you to keep getting better and to explore avenues of your profession.”

Between tour shows, he would ride his motorcycle through winding roads, small towns, and unpaved passages. Not only did this satisfy his need for solitude (even though he was always accompanied by a trusted friend), it also quenched a thirst for exploring the landscapes that he’d miss had he just been on the tour bus.

“Adventures aren’t fun when you’re having them,” he once wrote, but adventure he most certainly did. He was never one to shy away from a challenge, whether it be traversing a muddy English road in the rain or playing 7/8 over 6/8 in one of his carefully-crafted drum solos.

I’m not giving in
To security under pressure
I’m not missing out
On the promise of adventure
I’m not giving up
on implausible dreams —
Experience to extremes —
Experience to extremes

“The Enemy Within” (Part I of Fear)

It’s so easy to be jaded and cynical, but even in his darkest days, he was able to find magic and wonder in the world around him. He aimed to visit all of the United States’ National Parks, and his long-form blog posts always remark with awe and reverence of the landscapes and scenery he passed through while on motorcycle between shows.

Many of the songs he wrote capture that feeling, whether it was about sunlight streaming through a break in the clouds after a storm, or a space shuttle launch at Cape Canaveral.

All at once,
The clouds are parted
Light streams down
In bright unbroken beams

Follow men’s eyes
As they look to the skies
The shifting shafts of shining
Weave the fabric of their dreams…

“Jacob’s Ladder”

In the song “The Pass” he writes: “All of us get lost in the darkness / Dreamers learn to steer by the stars.” He certainly did just that after losing his wife and daughter, allowing himself to fall in love again and even start a new family. As I went through my dark times 10 years ago, those two lines inspired me to keep going.

Many of his song lyrics revolve around the theme of hope in the face of disillusionment and struggle, including “Sweet Miracle,” “We Hold On,” “Faithless,” and “Carve Away the Stone” (I can’t resist a good Sisyphus song). Even the band’s biggest hit has this line: “Always hopeful, yet discontent.” The first time I heard that, I thought, yes… that’s me. And, in many ways, it still is.

Keep going until dawn
How many times must another line be drawn
We could be down and gone
But we hold on

“We Hold On”

What is it about being 16 years old? It’s like we’re just finding out who we are, for real, and then we grow into adulthood and suddenly lose touch with our true selves. Neil says would ask himself, “what would my 16-year-old self do?” and to try to do right by him in word and deed.

“I set out to never betray the values that 16-year-old had, to never sell out, to never bow to the man. A compromise is what I can never accept.”

Right now, we need heroes. Small heroes, big heroes, ones known globally and small town heroes. Even though his song “Nobody’s Hero” (about the loss of a close friend to AIDS) tells of the people who will never be praised while those who have only garnered superficial fame are lauded in the public eye, Neil was certainly a hero to many of us…. but when he gave advice, it was often, “Be your own hero.”

And looking at how he lived his life, it’s clear that he was the hero he wanted to see in the world.

The heart of the matter, of course, is about thinking for yourself. Educate yourself, be informed, question the status quo, and make your own decisions. “I’ve got my own moral compass to steer by / A guiding star beats a spirit in the sky,” says the song “Faithless.” And you can do so without fuss or harming others. As the song continues, it says:

Like a flower in the desert
That only blooms at night
I will quietly resist

Later, I realized Neil had an admirable trait few possess. He already knew what he knew. He wanted to know what you knew. 

So while I never got past the fact I was talking to Neil (freaking) Peart, he made me feel a little less starstruck and a lot more at ease….

Then he paused. “Can I give you some advice?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“Never follow anyone,” he said. “Be your own hero.”

Years later, I realized those were words he lived by.

Jeff Haden, INC Magazine