Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The bug and why I need a voice recorder

I got the chance a few weekends ago to hear snippets of live music, which deeply satisfies my soul. Even when the genre isn't my fave and even when the musicians are less-than-profession (and sometimes especially then),  it moves in me, affects me, whispers longings. I walk away with more questions than I sat down holding.

 I've been doing a lot of driving. And when I get to driving, I get to thinking...and thinking...and praying...and thinking...and dreaming. I think of things I need to put on a "to do" list (some of them things I wish were on a "to don't" list). I think of things I need or want to tell people: "The sunshine on this drive is reminding me of you!" "Let's get coffee this week." Unfortunately texting and driving aside from killing people, really makes my parents agitated, so I try to refrain from this. Pulling out a notebook to keep track of thoughts is also tricky and treacherous. Hence why I need a voice recorder: to chronicle these flashes of brilliance (okay, I just mean the ideas).

Somewhere between Beaverhead Rock and Twin Bridges a few weeks ago, I was thinking about the creative process, writing, even performing, and how it always poses a risk. It always requires ripping open the shirt to expose bare breasts, so to speak: vulnerability. I've known this and ruminated on it many times before, but some sort of sunshine-drunk moment of joy made me willing to step into the risk in a new way; to really play, to be a fool, a child, to poke at my security and throw it off balance. I don't have much in my journal to show for it yet, but I've removed the mental barrier that had rusted the intimidating songwriting door shut. I'm willing for a while to sound cliche, to use a boring melody, to be okay with a few mediocre lines if it means doing it, getting it out, cutting out the rust, improving. I'll be singing closets full of silly songs before I uncover the gem I'm dreaming of, I'm sure, but I'm excited for the end result almost as much as I anticipate the beauty of the process.

1 comment:

  1. I love your picture of vulnerability; "ripping open the shirt to expose bare breasts." Especially because I've recently found myself delving more into my own artistic side. My first endeavor at real art was actually taking off my shirt, exposing my breasts, and using them to paint a picture (with people I had never met before) which would be sold to raise money for breast cancer research. This feeling of vulnerability is scary, and uncomfortable, but so freeing and in turn freeing to others as well.