When Stars Collide, A Love Story
It's all about the journey!
I wanted to start this week with a few songs I wrote for the soundtrack to The Journeyman. Don’t miss the excerpt from the book at the end of the stack about how Cindy and I met in Colorado on the California Zephyr in 1985, traded love letters for years, shared time from Florida to Massachusetts, and were forced to part ways after a sudden and unforeseen family tragedy unfolded that took decades to recover from.
“When Stars Collide” is more than just a song—it’s a personal reflection of a love story that spans decades. Inspired by Tim Cooney and Cindy Swanson’s journey of love and destiny, the lyrics evoke the feeling of racing through life’s uncertainties, never knowing exactly when or where a connection will spark. It speaks to those moments when two paths cross unexpectedly, as they did for Tim and Cindy on that fateful train ride.
The train's rhythmic “ clickety-clack “ mirrors the anticipation and pulse built as Tim and Cindy’s worlds drew closer. The song’s themes of searching for a place in the human race and longing for something more reflect the real-life journey of two people finding love and purpose against all odds. Just as their eyes met on that train, and stories were shared through music and laughter, When Stars Collide captures the magic of those rare, serendipitous encounters that change everything.
This song is for anyone who has ever felt love appear like a comet in the night sky—unexpected, brilliant, and unstoppable. The lyrics testify to love’s resilience and the courage to chase what matters most.
When Stars Collide
Oct/4/2023
Sitting on the track, never looking back
Hear the sound of the clickety-clack
Looking for my place in the human race
It’s never easy when you're being chased
Chorus:
That’s when Stars collide
Bringing us to the other side
Stars they collide
You can run, but you can’t hide
Heading down the line, gonna make this world mine
There’s a girl that I gotta find
She’s been in my head, in all the books I read
Then came the day I found her in my bed
Chorus:
That’s when stars collide
Bringing us to the other side
Stars they collide
You can run, but you can’t hide
You were on my mind when love was hard to find
The world was so unkind, I was starting to unwind
I heard you say you wanted me to stay
And you couldn’t wait, another day
Chorus:
That’s when the stars collide
Bringing us to the other side
Stars they collide
You can run, but you can’t hide
You made me see our love was meant to be
There’s a forest, then a tree, so now you’re here with me
Together, we will stay until that final day
When we fade away into a light display
Chorus:
That’s when stars collide
Bringing us to the other side
Stars they collide
You can run, but you can’t hide
"I Wrote It All Down For You" is a soul-baring ballad that captures the raw emotion of longing, love, and the power of written words. With gentle verses that unfold like journal pages, this song tells the story of a heart compelled to express itself daily through uncertainty and yearning. Every letter and phrase in the lyrics builds a bridge between vulnerability and hope, turning silence into melody.
The song invites listeners to witness an intimate confession, where the simple act of writing becomes an act of courage and connection. Whether longing for brighter days or seeking comfort on the coldest nights, "I Wrote It All Down" resonates with anyone who has ever turned to words as a lifeline, a legacy, and a love letter.
I Wrote It All Down For You
I Wrote It All Down for You
By
Tim Cooney:
May 2025
I wrote down the things I want to say
I wrote them down day after day
Sometimes I didn't know what to say
But I wrote it all down anyway
I wrote it all down
I wrote it all down for you
I wrote it all, all for you
Every letter, every word, and every phrase
Longing for brighter days
I wrote it all so you would see me here
I wrote it all for you, my dear
You're my novel, my poem, and my song
One day you'll be mine, it won't be long
I wrote it all downI wrote it all down
I wrote down everything I feel
Then it all started to be real
I wrote it down so you could hold it tight
To keep you warm on the coldest night
I wrote it all down
I wrote it all down for you
I wrote it all, all for you
Every letter, every word, and every phrase
Longing for brighter days
I wrote it all so you would see me here
I wrote it all for you, my dear
I wrote it all down
I couldn't wait anymore to say
I would wait here night and day
Then my feeling got stronger
I couldn't hold on any longer
I wrote it all down
You're my novel, my poem, and my song
One day you'll be mine, it won't be long
I wrote it all down
Cindy and Judy on the California Zephyr 1985.
Here are pictures of Tim in 1985, inside the Airstream trailer he drove from Clearwater to Seattle and in San Francisco before heading back to Florida and meeting Cindy on the California Zephyr.
At my parents’ home in Westport, MA, in 1986, after driving up from Clearwater.
Tim Cooney Meets Cindy Swanson
From The Journeyman:
She was a rare California beauty who had recently graduated from UC Davis with a master’s degree in early childhood development, traveling with her mom (Judy) from Sacramento to Ann Arbor, Michigan, to visit her grandmother. Her golden blonde hair matched the golden waves of grass flowing like a river on the California hills just outside my window as we rolled through the valleys just east of Sacramento. With big blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, blonde hair, and a confident smile, she was a young woman with the look of longing, just as I had imagined in my mind’s eye from when I was a teenager.
I was suntanned, my green eyes looking like beacons searching the shoreline for a passing ship. I was a wandering spirit originally from a small coastal Hamlet called Westport in Massachusetts, stuck between two old mill cities: Fall River and New Bedford, the land of Moby Dick and Lizzy Borden. It was a hard, scrabbled place stuck in the past, standing still as the rest of the country leaped forward, and thousands of miles away from the California dream.
I was returning from a cross-country trip, spending the summer on the west coast, and still searching for myself when I found her. I knew immediately there was something special about her when our eyes made contact. We smiled at each other as she passed me, looking for a vacant seat. I took in the view of the countryside as the sun began to set and the train kept rolling into the desert, and thought, that’s a girl I would like to meet.
I settled in for the night in my coach accommodations while Cindy and her mom left for their sleeper car. I waved, deliberately attempted to get her attention as she walked past me a second time, and she smiled politely at me as she left the car.
The next morning, we arrived in Grand Junction, Colorado, for a scheduled stop. I gathered my things and rubbed my eyes as the conductor instructed us that this would be a good place to exit the train and stretch our legs before continuing to Chicago overnight. I didn’t have the nerve to approach the pretty blonde as she exited the train, but her mom (Judy) made a connection with me as we mingled about the station.
Judy approached me, making small talk. She asked me about the guitar I was holding, and we talked about the train, the music I liked to play, and where we were both from and were going. The ice had been broken. I shared stories about my travels over the summer when Judy introduced me to Cindy. Soon, the train whistle blew, and we were all returning to the train for the overnight trip to Chicago.
We exchanged smiles, and Judy suggested we hang out in the club car and share lunch as we reboarded the train. She mentioned that Cindy and I were about the same age and probably had some things in common. I agreed enthusiastically and offered to play a few songs for them with my guitar. I played them the Dylan, Beatles, and Neil Young songs that were part of my song list, which I kept for such occasions. That was the beginning of a relationship that would become the most important one of our lives.
The day passed quickly as we got acquainted and shared our stories. We would be traveling overnight, and after a day of travel, they both retreated to their sleeping cars while I settled into one of the seats in the coach car, where the people who had little money slept. As night fell, I heard the door to my car open and saw Cindy walking toward me with a shy smile; she was beautiful, I thought. She sat next to me and we stared into each other’s eyes while her mother slept. We talked all night, and the sound of the rail cars clickety-clacked along, creating a soothing rhythm as the moonlit night passed outside the broad windows of the train.
As the train kept rolling, we passed through the cities and towns of the Midwest on our way to Chicago. We shared our life stories, dreams, and fantasies as we held hands under the blanket, quietly laughing and smiling, looking into each other's eyes. The conductor passed by every half hour, checking on us to make sure we were behaving. Cindy was twenty-four and six months older than I; I would turn twenty-four in just a few weeks. Our lives were entirely in front of us.
Before we knew it, the conductor announced the approach to Chicago. We would both board separate trains for the remainder of our trips. Before we parted ways, Cindy pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and read it to me:
The Station by Robert Hastings.
Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We are travelling by train, out the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of children waving at a crossing,
cattle grazing on a distant hillside, row upon row of corn and wheat,
flatlands and valleys, mountains and rolling hillsides, and city skylines. But the final destination is uppermost in our minds. On a certain day, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing, and flags will be waving.
Once we get there, our dreams will come true, and the pieces of our lives
will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. Restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes -waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. "When we reach the station, that will be it!" We cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes-Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I retire, I shall live happily ever after!" Sooner or later, we realize there is no station, no one place to arrive. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us. "Relish the moment" is a good motto. It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today. Regret is reality, after the facts. So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles.
Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The STATION will come soon enough.
by Robert J. Hastings
It was a profound moment and a sentiment I would carry with me for my whole life: “It’s all about the journey.” That is why I called my memoir The Journeyman.
I wandered around Chicago, waiting for my connecting train. With a few hours to kill, I rode the elevator to the top of the Sears Tower. As I looked out over Lake Michigan, I imagined what my life would be like in the future, not knowing that in a few years, my family would dissolve under a cloud of scandal, and the journey continued.
As I rushed to catch my train for Florida, I boarded with thoughts of Cindy; it was hard to think of anything else. This young, beautiful California girl I had met on a train in Colorado was now in my head, and as the days and months passed, she would soon be in my heart.
Cindy’s Visit and Going Home
I returned to Florida and got back to work. It was the fall of 1985, and I turned twenty-four on September 22. I had already been living in Florida for three years, which began in 1982 in Fort Lauderdale on a 35-foot Sloop I had built with a friend in Newport, RI. We sailed the sloop Amy down the coast, offshore, and along the intercoastal to Fort Lauderdale. We had only a chart and a compass on that journey to lead us. After meeting Cindy in Colorado, I felt the same sense of adventure, but without the benefit of a chart or a compass to lead me.
When I returned to Clearwater in the fall of 1985, Cindy and I immediately started our cross-country relationship. We would write long letters and talk for hours on the phone. Eventually, it was decided that she would visit me in Florida in the spring of 1986, and I began planning a road trip to Massachusetts to introduce her to my family.
She arrived at the St. Pete-Clearwater International Airport, which was used before all the upgrades at the Tampa airport. It was a short ride from my condo, and the excitement was hard to manage. She was a vision standing there at the gate. Her beautiful California tan, her blonde hair, and her big smile were a welcome sight.
We embraced, and I grabbed her bags. We headed to Clearwater Beach, where we walked along the white sand, hand in hand, talking and smiling. We had dinner on the beach, watching the sun go down over the Gulf of Mexico. I thought I hadn’t been this happy in quite a while.
The next day, we packed our things and prepared to drive overnight and nonstop up the coast to Massachusetts. I was driving a lime-green Buick Century Station wagon. It was several years old but in fine shape, and it made the trip without incident except the speeding ticket I got in Georgia at 2:00 a.m. We arrived safely and were greeted with open arms by my mother and younger siblings. A party was planned, and friends from far and wide attended.
After a week-long stay, Cindy and I drove back to Florida, and during this time, we bonded in ways only lovers do, and I was glad for it. Cindy had shared with me when we met that she had just lost her father several months earlier to a heart attack in a dramatic scene that left her traumatized. I was glad I was there to provide comfort and hope for the future. She would soon return to California, and our letter correspondence would continue for another year while I navigated increasingly dangerous and unpredictable waters.
My older siblings were now raising their young families, but I still had three younger brothers at home. By the summer of 1987, my family was in crisis, which led me back to New England to fulfill my role as the middle child and do what I could to help my parents through their divorce under a cloud of scandal and heartache after thirty years of marriage. This ongoing family drama altered my plans of reuniting with Cindy for thirty-eight years as the journey continued.
A Painting by Tim Cooney
Story Behind the Painting:
The inspiration for this piece is deeply intertwined with Tim Cooney’s life story. It represents the California landscape that accompanied a pivotal moment in his journey—meeting Cindy Swanson, a young woman from Sacramento, during a train ride that changed his life. Their encounter, reminiscent of the gentle and unhurried curves of the hills, symbolizes a profound but long-awaited love. The painting reflects Tim's deep connection to the land of Petaluma, where dreams, memories, and nature itself merge.
This scene becomes a visual metaphor for life’s unpredictable but beautiful path. Much like the rolling hills, Tim's journey has been full of ups and downs, but always under a sky of hope and potential. Cindy's story, whose golden hair mirrored these hills, resonates through the artwork, making it not just a landscape but a love letter to memory, perseverance, and the journey itself.
Tim and Cindy, in Santa Barbara 2023