Turning Points

All of us are used to turning points in our lives. Periods in our lives when one chapter ends and a new chapter begins, when autumn turns into winter, or winter turns into spring. Sometimes they are predictable, like the seasons, but most times, I think they are unexpected. 

I trust and welcome these encounters with change—regardless of if they are unforeseen, invited, unavoidable, chosen, or anywhere in between, they always seem to open a door to a next step. The changes we never anticipated always seem to have the deepest impact. 

In songwriting, or any creative field—writing, fine art, film, even fashion—we as designers, artists, creators, always seem to desire something bigger, to be unsatisfied with our current condition and looking ahead. Sometimes it manifests as writers block, where we stumble over our old ideas in search of new, creative genius in alive and living works of art, and sometimes, it looks like a sudden unexpected blast of inspiration that shakes us in the middle of the night and doesn’t subside until a song or an idea is entirely born. No matter how it comes, we all need turning points like these to grow. Take a look at what Google says about turning points:

It might be a “decisive change,” but sometimes it hits you like a ton of bricks, or a flow of words, or in the flash of a lightbulb (a metaphorical light bulb J). It could be a “crossroads, critical moment, decisive moment, moment of truth.” But what if it isn’t so much as a “turning” point, what if it’s not turning away from something, but more of a convergence point? That is where I am.

At the crossroads of soaking in inspiring classical and modern influences, a thirst for a million different sounds, electronic and acoustic, a hunger for all genres of music and their respective hybrids, and a daunting limitless unknown of how my passions, experiences, and technical skills all blend together. However, I’m encouraged. There has never been a better time to try something new. People do it every day, and with the convenience of the internet, we can share creative ideas more easily now than ever.

Welcome to the unknown: my new projects. From now on, I will be pushing forward in new ways, looking for new opportunities to break out, looking for new ways to express all that’s simmering in my heart, and send it out like a beacon on a live stage in the near future. Until I’m at that point, I can’t tell you what it will look like, what it will sound like, or what it will feel like, but I can guarantee that it will be a new organic and long-awaited arrival.

After being a part of another Durango Expo at the beginning of October, I’m more encouraged than ever to head in my own direction and trust that if it is authentic to me, it can make waves. I’m ready to stop doing what I think people expect or want, and thrilled to illuminate something inside of me that I didn’t realize was there. Stay tuned, and know that while I may not be out on stage as much, I’m doing something powerful and from the heart. Thank you for your support, can’t wait to share new things with you soon.

A Journey of A Thousand Miles

Imagine this. You receive a note that says, "I have always known your deepest desires and I intend to fill them. Follow the footsteps I have set out for you and your life will be full of purpose and delight and growth, and I will met you at the other end." 

So you set out to follow the set of footprints that lead you through a predictable path, first a forest, then a winding road. Nothing outrageous, nothing unpredictable--elementary school, middle school, high school--maybe a few unexpected turns, unforeseeable road blocks, a few narrow detours, but for the most part, the path was set with minimal surprises, at least none that you couldn't navigate by yourself or with the help of loved ones around you. You wander through these years gathering lessons about responsibility and maturity and respect, of challenges in learning to communicate, learning to reason, and finding the balance between following your gut instincts and listening to hard advice from friends or parents that you don't want to hear. All the typical lessons, the basic and foundational experiences you need to enter the "real" world.

Then just up ahead, you realize the familiar forest is ending. There's something new coming, something unfamiliar, something unpredictable. You see signs that say, "Caution: Experts with advanced training ONLY for this terrain." Are you qualified? Are you equipped? Are you committed?

Slowly the trees start to spread out and the familiar thick wood grows sparser and thinner as you travel along. Signs say, "Drought ahead. Conserve water." You check your canteen, half full, and try to imagine what this next season will look like. Who will be there to support you? To suffer with you? Do you know everything you need to know?

The road grows dryer and the dirt turns from soft loose gravel to hard packed red clay, cracked and parched from the drought. You walk and walk and walk, waiting for your feet to ache, waiting for your mouth to turn to cotton, waiting for your heart to lose faith, but the feeling never comes. You think back to the note that set you on this journey and you have hope, for plans that will prosper you, plans for a future and a purpose.

You begin to see signs up ahead that say, "Water. 100 miles." Then "Water.  50 miles." Then, "Water. 25 miles." "10miles." "5miles." "1mile." Then "Water source. Next right." Gratefully, you prepare your canteen. Your heart never gave up, but your feet grew sore and your cracked lips craved more than the last drops of your water. You approach the sign, grateful to have made it with minimal discomfort and considerable hope. You never threw in the towel, never turned back for home, and never sat down discouraged and quit. You did have the preparation. You were equipped. You had just enough of what you needed. You succeeded and made it through the valley.

Then, you notice something interesting. You blink your eyes and look twice, even three times. There must be some mistake. The footprints don't lead to the water, in fact they don't even come close. They take an abrupt turn to the sharp right, as if passing the sign to the water source. The sign must have been seen, for it could not be overlooked from where these footprints stood. Wouldn't the One who had gone before know that water would be needed? He had made the same journey Himself. Why would He pass by something so vital, so satisfying, and so desirable. Did He not promise to grant me my deepest desires?

My heart sank as I saw the next sign ahead. "Fill up. No water for 500 miles." That was twice the distance I had just managed! And I had already rationed my water for the distance to this water, and had nothing left. Now I understood it so clearly. That was not the test. That was the training. The true test still lie ahead--a leap of faith--a journey without the familiar, without the resources, and without a full measure of hope, but a discouraged and wary heart, for this was the true intended test.

In faith, I closed my canteen, licked my cracked lips, and took the first step of faith. An abrupt step, sharp right, into the first true test that all my training was intended for, in full assurance that at the end are plans to prosper me, plans for a hope and a future. A purpose bigger than I could envision, and a journey more wild than I could have anticipated.

The journey of a thousand miles starts with one step.  ~Lao Tzu

Divine Appointments

Even though it’s already almost April, I am still thinking of this as a new year, and a new season in my life.

Graduating in May, the future ahead of me feels like a sea of infinite possibilities. This year already has felt like a new chapter in my life because last summer, I felt like for the first time, I started pursuing music seriously as a career. But I’m still making sense of all that has happened during the last five years of college, and I’m still learning how to be who I want to be. And through that search, I’m finding how important it is to process the past, because who I’ve been has deeply influenced who I am now, and who I’m becoming.

I mentioned last July that I met two homeless men who changed my life after a concert I had at a church in Boulder. One man’s name was Onesimus and about a month ago, I found his name in a newspaper. The story read “Before the Lord: Homeless Man Shares Strife that Led to Current Path.” The article was a beautiful depiction of a man who had found his purpose in life without pursuing the American dream, but by becoming a minister among the homeless, even succumbing to homelessness himself to accomplish his purpose. There’s something incredible about someone who’s willing to give up the comforts of modern day society by choice: to know that life has a deeper meaning than the things you own, the reputation you carry, and the accolades you receive. He blessed me by affirming that my music has meaning and purpose. Even though I may never see him again, he touched my life permanently, without material objects, but merely by his presence and his words. That’s something worth living for.

One thing that particularly stood out to me from the story was this quote:

“You’re not truly free from your past until you can be truly thankful for it.”

That means more coming from someone who had been through child abuse that made him constantly run away from home, health difficulties including a cancerous tumor, an unfortunate divorce including four miscarriages, and substance abuse.

Thinking back on my own life and struggles, which are nothing compared to that, I can’t even imagine being grateful for them. Especially when something is fresh, it’s hard to see the bigger picture. But I think he’s right. How can we possibly accept the things we’ve gone through if we don’t appreciate them. Yet, if we can find meaning in suffering and see a broader picture of how that has shaped who we are today, haven’t we conquered it? Isn’t being trapped in regret, guilt, disappointment and grief only a way that the past clings to us? And somehow, the answer to this freedom is a gratitude for the struggles that brought us to the place we are now.

Sometime after all of his incredible difficulties, he gave his life to Jesus, abandoned all of his worldly possessions and sold all he had, and has lived homelessly ever since. Not only has he become grateful for his past, but he’s used it to give back to those who are facing the same challenges he did. Not only is he free from his past, he is making the most of it. Day by day, step by step, I desire to be like him, forsaking the past and allowing myself to be shaped by my circumstances, trusting all along that it is for the better. And I pray that someday, I may be equipped to give back the way this man has.

Read the rest of the story here:

http://www.boulderweekly.com/article-10508-before-the-lord.html

Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be complete, go and sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” Matthew 19:20-21