I feel very fortunate. I’ve come into this thing called “music”. Wholeheartedly. Not just listening or dancing to, but participating, writing, playing, performing, creating, hearing, watching. I don’t know if I would have it any other way. I am discovering and learning and becoming. The passion grows with each discovery or teaching no matter how small.
How lucky to have the outlet of music to the craziness of life. The creativity, the emotion, the refuge from insanity even. Music is emotion. From the souls of the rejected, the loved, the abandoned, the joyous, the tormented. Music lets me have a place to get out and let out all those things and life moments I cannot express in the real world or that I keep inside myself. A vehicle of expression that may not otherwise be accepted w/o judgment or risk of misunderstanding or de-validation.
Music is my punching pillow, my dream weaver, my kleenex tissue. It is my bed of roses, my Freddie Kruger, my blue sky. It is a boyfriend, a lover and a great Saturday night date when there is no other. How fortunate to be arriving here now and to have a never ending supply of ways to get my fill. Wherever one goes, there’s music somewhere. To appreciate the strum of a six string from someone on the street, or the wallop of a howl from a jam at an open mic or discovering new music and venues, or even a lyric that I may even write that I actually paired up w/ a melody that comes together and is actually somewhat coherent, is a blessing and fills me so.
I’m a late (late) bloomer. Glad to be flowering rather than sinking into the challenge of life that temps you to shrink, fear, settle, give-up and hide.
I’m choosing to bloom. Come with me…there’s plenty of room.