I turned in my final mix notes earlier this week. It took me 4 weeks, maybe longer, to hit send on the email. I could have done them in two days but after spending almost an entire year working on this project, I kept finding new and inventive ways to avoid completing it. The thing is, I love completing things! It’s my favorite. So, why was this so hard?
I have at least one theory (although maybe another will come to me as the caffeine from my morning coffee finds it’s way into my bloodstream): being done with the music part of this project is more overwhelming than starting it.
The project was well defined:
Step 1: Show up daily, as I had been, to write songs at home.
Step 2: Show up daily, in the studio, to record songs already written.
Step 3: Document the process in photos, blogs, and social media posts because… 2024.
That’s it. Really clear. But now… I feel like I’m staring into the ocean waiting for a boat to appear on the horizon. It’s wide open. I’m allowing myself to see how much further I want to go, and how much more work lies ahead.
When you create something, you can’t help but want to share it — it’s human nature. Multiple times in a day, my kids will want to show me something they created or discovered; a drawing they made, a garage they constructed out of magna-tiles, a cool rock they found outside or the new trick they learned, like doing a summersault in the grass or making fart sounds into their hands. It’s just part of who we are.
So now there’s more work, new work, different work. Website work, design work, photo work, performance work, all in the name of sharing art & music.
As a grown up, sharing is hard. As a grown-up musician, it’s even harder. We set such a high bar for what feels significant or successful or worth sharing. We don’t want to be too self-centered. We don’t want too much attention. It feels needy. We minimize our projects no matter how much joy they bring us.
We compare our projects to all the exceptional cases where success in music is truly measurable (ie, the big bands and big artists out there) but that’s music business. Measuring creative outcomes against business outcomes feels very apples and oranges to me.
As a grown up, the dreaming part is hard too. Want what you have. Love your life. Appreciate the moment you are in. Yes, to all those things. I’m a big advocate for all of that. Can I still dream though, or are these ideas mutually exclusive?
I remember finding practical and reasonable ways to give up on dreaming as early as my twenties. I told myself that one day, my voice will be good for singing my children lullabies (and it is, I’ll give myself that) — it was my way of saving my future self the feelings of disappointment. It was my way out of wanting something I might not get, or dreaming too big. And yet, here I am, in some ways afraid to keep taking steps forward and in other ways knowing that it’s the only thing that makes sense for me.
So, as overwhelming as it is, here I am. I’m focusing on what feels like the correct next phase — live performance goals. I’m certain that Ableton, the program I’m learning for live performance, was made by space aliens who are live streaming humans on intergalactic reality shows. watching us hilariously fumble our way through a program that is so counterintuitive, I find myself frequently talking to myself, bewildered as to why something would work one minute and behave totally differently the next. I am enjoying this phase though, as challenging as it is, because I’m excited to see where it leads. Hopefully to some fun shows, and maybe even a few good naps.
Thanks for being here with me as I figure it all out.
