Ozzy Osbourne Life Lessons: The Beautiful Chaos of Good Trouble and Being Unapologetically Yourself
Saturday, July 5, I found myself deeply moved while watching Back to the Beginning, the tribute concert and farewell to Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne. More than just a performance, it felt like a reckoning — a visceral acknowledgment of the decades of disruption, rebellion, and raw, unapologetic art that these musicians gave to the world.
As I listened and watched all day, one truth settled over me like a heavy, honest fog: not all “good trouble” makers carry protest signs or stand on podiums. Sometimes, they scream into microphones. Sometimes, they wail on guitars in smoky clubs, or write lyrics that challenge not just systems, but our understanding of self.
Black Sabbath didn’t just make music — they shifted the cultural atmosphere. Born in Birmingham’s industrial shadows, their sound was forged in the grit of factory towns, the weariness of the working class, and the fire of those who dared to say, this is not all we are. They challenged norms, not by preaching, but by embodying something totally other. And in doing so, they made space for outsiders — for the weird kids, the angry ones, the dreamers and dropouts.
Ozzy Osbourne — unpredictable, wild, often misunderstood — is a reminder that rebellion isn’t always tidy. It isn’t always eloquent or strategic. Sometimes it’s messy, loud, uncomfortable. But it's often necessary. Artists like Ozzy force society to confront its limits — on expression, on identity, on what’s acceptable. He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t fit in. And in that refusal to conform, he became a voice for those who felt voiceless.
It made me think of something I often say to my kids: Be who you are. Always. I tell them, if you try to change yourself to fit into someone else’s idea of normal — to mold yourself into the shape of a group or a trend — then the people who are truly meant for you will never find you! Because they’re not looking for a version of you that’s been edited to be acceptable. They’re looking for YOU — in all your weird, beautiful specificity. If Ozzy had conformed — if he’d dulled his edges or played it safe — we wouldn't have the Ozzy we know and love today. We wouldn’t have the chaos, the artistry, the cultural force. His life is proof that when you fully own who you are, you give the world something it didn’t know it desperately needed.
Throughout the tribute, something kept coming up again and again: people thanking him — not just for the music, but for existing. Again and again, they said, “I don’t want to imagine a world without Ozzy.” And how true that is. Who could’ve guessed that a misfit from Birmingham, a man once known primarily for biting the head off a bat on stage, would become a symbol — not just of heavy metal, but of creative freedom, of resilience, of the misunderstood becoming deeply respected? Isn’t this what is so fantastic about being human? That we can’t all be the same?!?
In Ozzy, we see the power of embracing the parts of ourselves that don’t fit — and turning them into something unforgettable, even sacred, in pop culture.
It’s easy to sanitize rebellion in retrospect, to celebrate it only after the dust settles. But the truth is, those who push boundaries — musically, culturally, spiritually — often pay a price. They’re mocked, shunned, misunderstood. Until years later, when we finally begin to understand what they were really saying.
As the lights dim on one of the most influential bands in music history, I find myself grateful. Grateful not just for the riffs and records, but for the stance. For the way Black Sabbath and Ozzy taught us that art is activism when it dares to question, disrupt, and invite others into the chaos of something new.
Thank you, Iommi, for the riffs.
Thank you, Butler, for the soul.
Thank you, Ward, for the thunder.
Thank you, Ozzy, for being Ozzy.
Thank you, Black Sabbath, for everything.
You were more than a band. ❤️
To Ozzy — thank you for the madness. For being a beautifully loud example of how good trouble can come from the unlikeliest of places. This isn’t just a farewell. It’s a reminder: rebellion can be righteous, even when it comes wrapped in leather, eyeliner, and a howl that refuses to be silenced.
Be well. X Laura Distin