What's In a Name?

N a m e s are undoubtedly an interesting concept. If you think about it, they are something we all passively inherit. You don’t get to choose it, even though you can legally modify it later in life. They are something that everyone knows you by. They become not only a title, something used to get someone’s attention, but they are then associated with a memory, a personality, and a soul. It’s like a word in the English language that becomes  the word for that person; in a way, the names begin to take on a personality of their own. In that sense, they are not “merely” titles, they mean so much more about who we are. There’s something sacred about parents choosing a name for their child. It shows the anticipation they had for 9 months (or longer), waiting for this soul to come into the world. It reveals their hopes for that child’s life and their love in painstakingly choosing the perfect name; most often they will choose names that are dear to them, adored even, and make their heart soft. They think of nicknames they will want to use for that child. Sometimes they will even name their child after someone else that was important to them to protect the memory and legacy of that person.

I was fortunate enough to inherit not just any name, but a name shared by my mother and my grandmother, who is Estonian. Growing up, it was hard for me to understand what an incredible woman my grandmother was. She escaped her homeland -- Estonia, during World War II just before the Nazi’s invaded, met my grandfather -- an American soldier in Germany, and moved to America to start a family with him. Her courage and bravery were unmatchable.  She made the connections and arrangements for her and her family to leave, she braved her circumstances like a fearless leader, and her sacrifices were the only way that our family could even come to be. She could be feisty and lively, vibrant and full of life, but always kind and loving. Her strong statements always collapsed into laughter and made her nothing less than adored by all of us.  She would talk about your life far more than she would talk about her own, and like any good Estonian, she would not dwell on communicating the emotional aspects of any story. The answers were always plain and simple. That’s the way it was. We had to flee, we had no choice. And things turned out how they did, what else do you want to know? Most of us in that situation might ask ourselves, "Why is this happening to me?" and it amazes me that she always seemed to see past her own comforts and even the life she might have "deserved"; rather than questioning why this enormous uprooting was happening in her life, she persisted through it and found a solution; she refused to dwell on the emotional aspects of this change and rather keep her chin raised, eyes on the horizon, and keep a fierce determination by her side, and all at such a young age.

It’s especially meaningful to me to share her name this week because we are celebrating her memorial, celebrating her life and the family she started. She became the matriarch of a large family and we owe her our history and our heritage. Because so many citizens had to flee during World War II and Estonia lost so much of their population, generations like me were granted citizenship so that the culture of Estonia might not be lost. It feels like a free and undeserved all-access pass, since I don’t speak a wick of Estonian and have only spent one week there in my entire life. But it is not something I take lightly; it is a true privilege, a way for me to carry my heritage and the sacrifice my grandmother made for our family, and I hope that I can make the most of that honor.

 

I would like to think I inherited some of these traits from her. I can’t say that I recognize them, but I would be honored if I had an ounce of her courage, a small dose of her resilience, and even a taste of her joy. She was always enjoying herself, and she meant more than she may ever have recognized to those around her. She called me  Kaia Kena , which is an Estonian name meaning “little sweetie.” I was her only granddaughter, and I savor the little Estonian we could get out of her. The most important thing she left me was her name and the legacy she started with it. When considering a name to go with my new music, Kaia Kena became an obvious choice, because of all that it represents in my heritage and the traits my grandmother had that I aspire to embody.

As a young child, my family reminds me how I saw my grandpa visit us as Santa Claus on Christmas. Not recognizing him, but realizing he was late for the party, I rushed under the Christmas tree to give him a present. I didn’t understand the concept of Santa or even really that I had picked up someone else’s present to give away ;) but from an early age, she saw something in me that compelled her to call me an Estonian “little sweetie.” The official definition of the word is “nice,” “lovely,” and “kind.” I can only aspire to live up to the name she has given me and the nickname that will define me my whole life. My whole family knows me as Kaia Kena (as we had to distinguish between me and my mom who also shares the same). I am Kaia Kena. It’s natural. It’s organic. It’s how I identify. And I’m excited to share not only this personal name, but more of my self and more of my heart in my music.

Cheers to a new season, a new name, a new start.

 

                With love,

                          KK

If I'm gonna tell a real story, I'm gonna start with my name.

      -Kendrick Lamar

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

A Hidden Message

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A few weeks ago we had a songwriting retreat through my school. We went to the YMCA in Winter Park, Snow Mountain Ranch. It’s a familiar place to me because I’ve spent two summers working there while doing a summer program with the Navigators. One morning on our retreat, we went to a clearing and outdoor chapel called Columbine Point that overlooks a valley. 

We had a few minutes to think quietly to ourselves and just pay attention to our sensory input; visually, aurally, etc. And as I looked towards the aspen grove to my left, I was reminded of a time four years ago when I wandered in there. Unable to stay away, I followed a ghost of myself to the same place I wandered four years earlier.

  It was a very different feeling, because in my memory, the sky was clear, the sun was up, and there was a cool breeze. Now the ground was cold with a thin layer of snow that had dusted the ground the night before. Now, I was in the same place, four years older, trying to uncover a memory beneath layers of dusted snow. I remember enjoying the day, smiling at the weather and beauty of where I was, and content with some sort of revelation I had received. Some sort of truth that I needed to know, that I wanted to remember. To solidify it in my brain, I decided to carve it into a tree stump I had seated myself on. Actually, it wasn’t a stump, it was an entire tree trunk that had fallen over at some point. I knew that this carving wouldn’t last, and that I didn’t even know how long that tree would be there since it was dead and its roots unearthed, but I knew carving it would at least allow me to remember it, carved, permanent, somewhere. I didn’t have a pocket knife or anything sharp to use except my pen, and I think I even colored in the text I was writing. The memory seemed so clear, everything about the moment and the day. I remember dried tears on my face. I remember the feeling of contentedness, of resting on something that seemed permanently true. And now, I can’t remember what it was. It was like there was a message that I knew I needed to remember, that was so close within my grasp, so vague in my memory but so present. And yet, I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t rediscover it. I made fresh footprints in the snow and walked around, searching for some sort of hint or reminder. I even wondered if it might still be there. I saw what looked like the same tree, enormous, hedged in by several branches sticking out from all directions, but it was covered in a wet layered of snow. 

 Even if it was the same tree, my message would be buried under the snow, and also under four years worth of deterioration. Would it even be legible? Unwilling to frantically destroy the beauty of the scene before me, I decided not to dig physically, only mentally. And I couldn’t retrieve what I was looking for. Hadn’t I written it down somewhere in my journal? Could the message really be irretrievable?

            Discouraged, and even more lost than I was when first walking into the aspens, I made my way towards a trail leading back to the clearing.

  Finally, it was nice to walk on a solid path instead of the overgrown and unlevel grass that was soaking my shoes with moisture from the snow. As I looked down, I found dozens of little spurs that had caught on my jeans, jacket, and sleeves. 

 Just typical, I thought to myself. An exact metaphor for how I was feeling. I was looking for a message I needed to tell myself, something I was saving for myself, and when I go searching, I come out empty-handed with spurs from my search. And one by one I had to pick them off. Oh perfect metaphor. It is time for me to pick off one by one the spurs that I have collected over the years and continue to search for the truth I needed to remember. I know it’s in me somewhere. I wrote it once, so I knew it once. How lost could it really be? And as lost as I might have felt then, how lost could I really be? How knows me better than me?

            Somehow, this experience really jossled me. But it also reminded me that I do have a past, worth examining. That I know things that I’ve forgotten, and it’s worth searching for.

Plus, the view from inside the aspen grove is very different than the view from the outside. Can you believe how beautiful that is? Just like, my perspective from four years ago is very different than now. And in that sense, I can be sure that someday, things that don't make sense will connect together in the context of a bigger picture.

I looked in my journal from that summer and I couldn't find anything about what I carved into that tree. But I feel confident that somewhere in there, I know what I'm supposed to know. And at the right time, it will come to mind.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it. Isaiah 30:21

White OR Black Sheep Dilemna

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I’ve experienced being one in a million: every day when I walk through the streets of  downtown Denver to go to school, every time I step onto a public bus full of all different kinds of people, even sitting at a coffee shop or in the library. Even though every person is different from each other, no one seems to really stand out…most of the time. But I’ve also been the black sheep before. When I went to a small rural town in Africa called Lira, me and my 12 friends were the only white people there, and everyone stopped dead in their tracks in the town square to watch us when we arrived—setting down wheel-barrels of goods to sell at the market, and unabashedly observing us with mouth agape and eyes bewildered.

Going to the Durango Songwriter’s EXPO the weekend before last, I didn’t know which position I would be in. I think every first-year Durango songwriter almost expects to be the exception—to be the black sheep that the industry has been waiting for and that stands out among the others. I saw many people who seemed to be in that boat, only to find that when their song was over, the clapping audience was full of appreciative, yet competitive songwriters who also hoped to stand out.

I can’t say I didn’t wonder how I would be received there, but I’m also a realist. I knew who was going, and I knew I wasn’t going to be the best. I heard that the Durango environment is full of songwriters who are eager to co-write, enthused to network, and unconditionally accepting and supportive of each other. Even still, I doubted if underneath that supportive façade there wasn’t a competitive side of the Expo I didn’t know about. Would I be just another face among the crowd?

Going into an expo where you get the opportunity to play your music for industry professionals: publishers, label representatives, and supervisors, can be an intimidating experience, and also a sobering one. I know several people who have walked away from the conference feeling golden, inspired, and motivated, while many others leave discouraged, rejected, and dismayed. It’s only to be expected that when one gets in the company of so many incredible songwriters, they could respond by feeling creatively inspired or jealously underappreciated.

Without any realistic expectations, I showed up hoping to glean whatever morsels of wisdom I could from this experience, whether it be good, bad or ugly. I brought two semi-final mixes: Autumn Song and Evermore True, and high hopes for being organized enough to make the most of this opportunity. I assumed the position of a white sheep, and almost immediately sensed that I was actually in the company of all black sheep—each songwriter was so talented and unique, and I felt like I could appreciate every one of them for who they were, no matter what the professionals said. If anything, it showed me a whole new perspective on the mainstream industry and how it functions.

On Wednesday night, there was a “Meet & Greet” at the Walnut Room for the Expo, which was an open mic where people could get to know each other. I came with a few friends from school and didn’t even to expect to get on the list because we were late. Somehow, they pushed me in between a few people and low and behold, it was well received! Because of that performance, they invited me to play in the Thursday night showcase, an honor I never expected.

See a video of the performance here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyPeSlBDf9o

Thursday was check-in night and after the showcase, songwriters swarmed the hallways and lobby areas, eager to start co-writing and sharing their songs until early into the morning, and this didn’t stop until the weekend was officially over Sunday morning. I sensed that these songwriters were genuinely jazzed to be in the company of so many creative geniuses. Throughout the day Friday and Saturday, I alternated between three listening sessions and workshops with professionals in the industry. Feeling somewhat like an outsider looking in, I gaining tid-bits of knowledge and insight that gave me a wider perspective into the industry and what they’re looking for, which made me consider where I want to go next with music.

Most of all, it helped me to realize there are two very different music worlds co-existing right now. Artists can choose to be mainstream and join the radio culture of writing hit-songs, which are very specific: form, hook, memorable melody, and catchy chorus. Or, artists can be innovative, unique, and creative, expressing themselves freely but risking never being noticed or “successful” in the most generic sense. Every artist has that choice: to fit in or stand apart. Few can be both mainstream and innovative, but Bon Iver is a classic example of someone who was only out to be creative and do his own thing, yet ended up with a Grammy! My next EP is kind of a hybrid: taking songs that don’t have a traditional form, and don’t necessarily have all of the traditional components, but are produced in a more mainstream way. I'm not sure what's next, but if it's possible, I'd love to hybrid the mainstream and the innovative.

No matter what, I will always strive to be authentic and creative. I was amazed that although my songs are not the specific hit-songs they are looking for, they were still surprisingly well-received, so maybe there’s hope for me yet. I got very minimal negative comments, and everything I heard was constructive and will help me move forward in my songwriting in the future. Black sheep or white sheep, I found myself in the company of so many incredible artists and supportive friends, I couldn’t have asked for a better experience, and I can’t wait to continue networking and collaborating with them in the near future.

I can’t wait to finish the EP and share it with you. Keep up with my progress on my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/kaianutting and look out for my EP when it is released November 8^th!