Keeping the Dream

It’s interesting the last post I wrote here is entitled “Losing Our Childhood”.

What about our present moments? What about your life? The one you wanted to craft, the one you dreamt of creating, the one that’s supposed to be rich in experiences with those closest to you, with your creative passions and love.

You can’t have everything, and the closer toward the end of my life I travel, the more I appreciate just how true that is. So priorities become dearer and each moment is cherished all that much more.

These are not moments to be used up in anxiety or hurt or anger or any of those emotions that suck the life out of you.

I want my artist life back. Heck, I want it fully and wholly for the first time. Because everything I have ever done has always been on borrowed time, has always been with some kind of apology or after some kind of struggle to wrest a piece of it for myself. That’s why it took me four years to create our first CD from the time we started recording to the time the CD was pressed; why it took me so long to ever write the songs.

I don’t regret any of the time I have spent helping loved ones who truly needed my help. I do regret not protecting more of my time with my children from people who had no right to it but took it anyway. But in these past couple days, I have realized that I really do need to make a change. I need to make a change in my life and embrace that life like I never have before.

I’m an artist. That is not a dirty word. This is not a confession. It’s a declaration.

I’m an artist who needs to write – not just spend countless hours journaling out my feelings over having been verbally abused or emotionally slammed or strung along or betrayed or disrespected or some other natural consequence that arise from toxic situations, but to truly write – manuscripts and songs, to learn the musical instruments I’ve always wanted to learn or improve, to pick up a paint brush and perhaps even paint.

I need to come back to that artistic center, my artistic self and do what I need to do before I die. Life is short, and death often comes unexpected. I don’t mean to sound morbid here, but the resource that is most squandered is time – and not one of us has so much we can afford to do that.

And if you don’t value yourself, don’t expect anyone else to. If you’re not considerate of your time, don’t expect others to be. If you don’t prioritize your art and its development, don’t expect others to set up your easel for you or fill your fountain pen. It’s your creativity. It’s your life. You have to live it or watch it slip away.

I’m back. I’ve been in a state of shock or mourning or loss or something. I’ve resurfaced and then gone back under. But today I come kicking back up to the surface, my lungs gasping for air. I’m mad. I’m inspired. I’ve been laid flat and I’m coming up swinging.

Things are going to change. And this time I’m determined my words won’t come back to taunt me.

This time they won’t merely be a record of what I failed to do, but the beginning of what I finally accomplished.

Stacey showed me the “final” version of The Last Farewell. I put “final” in quotes, because he said he wants to make one more mix with a little less reverb on the voice, to see if the lyrics will a little clearer.

But I love, love, love what he has done with the arrangement and production. As usual, he has managed to capture the emotion and intent of the song. It’s beautiful. You know you’ve done good when the song you wrote, the picture you’ve painted, the sculpture you’ve created touches you as if you’re experiencing something someone else has created for the first time.

That is why I believe, in some way, the song, the work of art seeks the artist. No art is ever made from scratch, as if put together by nuts and bolts, but as a soul seeking to be born.

It feels so good to be able to record. It feels good to do something for someone who grieves. It’s really all I want to do with my music. To offer comfort and a little hope. Little is all you need. That’s how powerful Life is.

Yesterday, Stacey and I were in the studio actually recording! We do that so infrequently these days, but that’s, definitely, changing this year.

The song, The Last Farewell, is based on a poem written by the father of a young student killed in the Tiananmen Square Massacre. The father passed away not too long afterward. I’m not sure of what, but I believe, in part, he must have died of a broken heart.

I’ve had this poem for quite a while and put, what I felt, was the essence of it in lyric form. Originally, I wanted to sing it over a traditional Chinese lullaby, but a melody kept insisting itself upon the phrases, so I acquiesced. We laid down the initial tracks last year and only returned to them now to put in the finishing touches. Stacey will do a tad bit more of his magic arranging and it will be done.

I’m looking forward to singing this song at the 20th Anniversary of Tiananmen Square Massacre Candlelight Vigil this year in Washington, D.C., May 30th. To me, going to the vigil has always been about offering healing.

I hope this song will be a vehicle for that in whatever small measure.

I don’t listen to the radio often, and I watch television even less. But when I’m in the car with my daughter, sometimes we’ll turn on the radio, and if it decides to work, we listen to some music. I’m not impressed. But I found a program I like listening to. It’s John Tesh “Intelligence for Your Life”. The music is your standard music, but it’s what he shares in between that’s uplifting, challenging and interesting.

Just the other day, I happened across his blog. This morning (I had to subscribe), I received his blog post, entitled “Having a Greater Impact on the Lives of Others” (in its entirety) in my inbox.

The message is the reminder to “start living outside of yourself”. But what really jumped out at me was this quote.

You can’t wait to get all your needs met before you notice the needs of others.

You know, I think I’ve been doing that – waiting to get my needs met. That somewhere along the road being a single mom and homeschooling my child, I’ve developed a kind of tunnel vision called survival.

Which is important, especially when you have a child, but there’s got to be more than that. And I think the growing frustration I’ve been feeling and the constant feeling of exhaustion comes not only from physical and emotional stress, but from feeling constricted.

Because I haven’t been writing or singing or recording. And I can’t remember the last vigil I sang at, and when I don’t allow myself to create and share in that creation, I die – slowly. Imperceptibly, perhaps, but steadily.

It’s not just a question of time, although that is a factor. And it’s not just about money, although being able to take care of yourself and your child is no small matter. But if I wait for all those things to be just so, then I may wind up waiting forever.

I’ve been away, from myself, from my art. I see the difference I make when I sing at vigils. I feel the difference in me. It’s been too long since I’ve brought my creativity to that healing place, to the hearts those songs were meant to touch.

And if I’m going to be homeschooling my child, if I’m going to be teaching her anything, I want it to be to live an authentic life. And there is nothing more real than to let the love flow in and through you in the way you were designed to.

It would be foolish…and selfish not to.

A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.

Proverb: China

His name is Ken Novin. And he’s my ex-husband from my first marriage.

Yesterday was his birthday. At the last minute, my oldest daughter called and said there had been a change of plans and asked if I would like to go with them to an arcade place with the grandchildren and her dad.

At first, I said no, because I had just dropped my youngest off with her dad. I couldn’t go someplace like that without her and not feel guilty. She adores Kenny and would have been very disappointed not to have been able to celebrate his birthday with her nephews and nieces, although because of their ages, she sees them more as brothers and sister.

Actually, I wouldn’t choose to go someplace like that with her for that matter, and be very hard pressed to volunteer to take her in the first place!

But my oldest daughter called again and asked, and this time I had to say yes. It was, after all, Kenny’s birthday, my two oldest would be there and I just had to see my grandson bowl!

We had a bit of a glitch at the restaurant we stopped off at first. It was Hooters (he loves those chicken wings) – my first time, and probably last, (unless it’s for extenuating circumstances like last night.) Too many T.V.’s for me, all of them sports (I know, it’s the nature of the place), too many guys checking everybody out and the service was absolutely horrible. We waited over an hour and a half for our food, and then the adults got their food and were done, before my grandson got his! (His papaw shared).

My son let his displeasure be known, without being ignorant, but was very direct and clean in his anger. I was impressed. The latest dinner was free and the rest was substantially reduced. I won’t be returning, but then I wouldn’t anyway.

But that did not ruin the night, no. We went to the arcade…it was a cultural shock for me, (does everything have to scream out at you???) but I so enjoyed watching my little grandson roll that little bowling ball down the lane…his running to release the ball getting further and further down the lane! He was awesome.

The most special part of the night to me though was on my way home. It was just past midnight. Kenny, very tired, and who should have gone straight to bed, called me up after I had been on the road for five minutes and laughingly asked, “Are you awake?”

He talked to me, telling me how deeply he was touched by the present given to him by his two kids this morning – a photo album of his parents, his family, childhood up to present day.

He was moved to tears when he first saw it, and as he spoke I could hear the emotion and gratefulness in his voice.

And that was the highlight of the evening to me. Not the night out, but the ride home, talking on the phone with a dear friend who was tired enough to have fallen asleep immediately, but who cared enough about me to talk to me, keeping me awake, until I was in my parking space by my house.

I would have been fine, but his caring made me better.

I went to bed, grateful for this snap shot of a moment. I will cherish it in my heart as much as any photograph lovingly placed in an album.

Happy birthday, Kenny. And many more.

And that’s what I feel like I’ve done with my music and writing. But how do you balance the needs of those around you with the needs of your personal drive…only I’m feeling more and more like I’m barely trudging along on foot!

You know, sometimes it’s so hard to see what’s going on with your own self. I’ve been told quite a few times by quite a few people that I have wonderful insight and give advice that they have found helpful.

But sometimes, helping others isn’t helping others as much as avoiding helping yourself to accept the challenges of your own life. Because when you’re so busy tending to another person’s life, you get to not tend to yours. And as much as some of us like to complain about that, that really is the payoff.

I wonder how much of that is involved here. I know, at the very least, it does carry some weight. So what am I going to do about it?…

A friend in the business and from my past just popped into my reality a couple days ago. He wanted a lyric to a song I wrote back in 1990 as he’s wants to produce the song for a young upcoming talent he’s discovered. And it’s funny, because I was just thinking about that song…

And I could feel music inside of me and a desire to write and record again, and I wondered how I wandered so far from what I love doing. I haven’t written a song since August, and that was the first song I had written in a year.

Should I sing again…and to whom? Tonight I sang to my granddaughter, two months old. She smiled at me…stopped her fussing and smiled. And it made my heart melt and filled me with a delicious warm feeling.

I love my creativity…I just wish I felt more secure about balancing it with the rest of my life. It’s almost an all or nothing prospect for me. When that creative passion flows, it leaves little room for anything else. I could go for days without eating or sleeping…okay, maybe not that long, at least, at this stage of my life, but it would be all consuming.

At least that’s my fear…at least that’s what I’ve been told. But I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Because some people are so threatened by something they don’t understand, that the very thing that attracted them to an artist will be the very thing they become insanely jealous of. Even a little bit of time is met with resentment.

One thing I know….I wouldn’t be writing this post if I wasn’t contemplating opening those doors again.

Today, a friend of mine has agreed to help me edit my book on covert aggression, “Where There’s Smoke”. I’m revising and extending the book. She said she would go over it, as I worked on it, look for typo’s, point out passages that might need clarification and otherwise critique it.

I am ecstatic.

I realized today that I do too much on my own. I’m fiercely independent, and for the most part I like it. But I’m also stretched too thin, and am starting to feel the pressures of being a single mom…homeschooling…supporting myself and my child…making time for people I love…juggling my creative projects. Social life? I have none.

Lucky for me, I don’t care much about that. Seeing my grandchild, having lunch with my son or an afternoon with my oldest daughter and spending the day with my youngest, discovering and learning new things is social life enough for me.

But my creative projects have suffered. Last August, when my youngest daughter went to the beach, I wrote and recorded a song. It was the first time last year, and I haven’t stepped foot in that studio since.

This is not how I want things to be, but I wouldn’t stop homeschooling my daughter for anything. It’s challenging enough as a single mom, but it’s also very rewarding, and given her learning style, I know I am doing the right thing by her.

Still, it – like so many other things – is something I am responsible for entirely on my own.

Something inside of me snapped today and I thought, “I would so love to have some support in one area of my life!”, and I sent off an email to someone and asked for help. So unlike me [smiling to myself now] but change is good.

And she said yes, and I like it. Oh, to be in a position to be encouraged, to have to answer to someone who cares enough for my creative progress! I am elated and inspired.

Everyone needs a little help. I know a lot of good people, and have the blessing of being able to call a few of them my friend. But I do notice that I usually find myself in a caretaker position. And while that feels natural to me, it’s also healthy to let someone else support you. Not necessarily carry you, but support you.

It’s a strange feeling. I never really felt that growing up.

I guess it’s not too late. At any rate, it will be wonderful to actually not wear all the hats this time. It’s more than a little help. It’s a blessing.