Here We Go
Dear Blog,
Much of today has been spent walking around Boothbay Harbor with Joe, and it's been so relaxing. The sky is overcast, the water of the harbor shining like a smooth plate of silver while a mist encroaching on the shopfronts settles on the benches, awnings, and the cheeks of the tourists. Foghorns sound every now and again and the party of boats at the docks barely sway. Maine pace, to begin with, is already slow and easy but the pace of Boothbay Harbor on a day like today is at a crawl. With a clear mind and a quiet heart it's a perfect time to reflect on where I've been and where I want to be going with my life. Yes, it's going to be one of those posts today.
For anyone who doesn't know, music plays a very important role in my life. I remember being a little girl watching my dad play his guitar. At first, my interest was geared more toward the instrument itself than the music that derived from it. Once alone I'd go up to the venerable Yamaha and run my fingers along the mother of pearl detailing in the wood and the flowers and birds carved into the turtle shell pick-guard. Grazing the strings with a fingernail I'd wonder at how this brassy, hollow chord could transform into so many others with the proper placement of the finger pads. What I felt when I touched the cedar surface and smelled the must of wood that breathed and flexed with the weather, was love. The strap, worn from my fathers shoulders as he danced and played was soft as satin in my hands as I placed it over my own shoulders. I also felt a tinge of envy. If only could make the guitar spill the luminously sweet sounds I knew it could, other than the unmelodic arpeggio of its resting state. It wasn't until the summer after my Senior year in high school that I learned my first song on guitar by watching the shapes and the patterns that my dad's hands made along the neck of the guitar as he picked "Blackbird" out of the hollow body. Once I knew a few basic chords I was hooked and I've been songwriting every since.
Another memory, as relevant as the last, was the first time I sang for my great-grandma. She told me I had to try to do something with this "gift" but I couldn't see it that way. I felt, and still struggle with a feeling of mediocrity. I promised her I'd try but to be perfectly honest, I couldn't commit. Why try if you aren't even sure that music is what you're most passionate about in the first place? I couldn't fling myself head first into music when I had no self-confidence in the business. I'd met with some prominent producers and realized that I didn't want to have to convince anybody that I was worth listening to. That wasn't why I wrote. I wrote songs because it was an innate compulsion I couldn't repress and the people I wanted to share it with wouldn't judge me-parents, friends, family... and a world full of people I'd never actually met, on youtube. It's always felt more like a personal archive of songs I've learned and written than a virtual show. So, once in college I joined a cappella, chamber choir and a band. I took voice lessons and wrote my own songs all hours day and night when the feeling would strike. I kept up with music, but when it came to putting myself out there and making a career of it, let's face it-I was really scared. I still am really scared. I think I just might actually really desperately love to be able to write music to get by. I probably need to really try to make this music thing happen in a way that doesn't feel too like the superficial, shallow, Lady Gaga/Katy Perry gotta have big breasts and long legs all talent or no talent at all business that I think the music industry is. And besides, I never took more than a few formal guitar lessons, I'm mostly self-taught and couldn't improvise in a jam session to save my life. I never studied music theory and though many assume I was a music major in College, I studied Visual Arts and Spanish. I wanted music to be with me on my own terms-to be my companion. I didn't want music to ever become a job, an obligation that I resented because when it comes down to it, I may be too much of a free spirit, and obligation--even to the things I love--can sometimes drive me away.
Now I'm moving to Boston. A fresh start for me in a place where someone might actually be able to get a little notoriety (if so desired). I've been stressing like crazy about what jobs to apply for and what career to pursue. Maybe I should wait tables and be creative on the side. Maybe I should look for a creatively oriented career and still try to be creative on the side. Madness. Today, however, I may have found a break in my mental occupational block. Today I got an email from a family member and that short little email was all it took! Basically what it boiled down to was: "Try. You can work in a museum later. Now is the time, and (perhaps what I needed someone to say to me more than anything else...) don't be afraid." So you know what? I am gonna try. I mean full commitment, all-in, no toes-in-the-water crap I mean a full out cannonball short of moving to NY or L.A. to make it happen.
All I can say to you--sender of brief but heavy emails--is thank you. You really shook me up with that one. It was one of those moments where you lose your breath a second because someone just told you the truth about yourself and you didn't expect it. And I think I needed it. I'm starting to feel more excited about it all and I don't want to look back and see that I've wasted my time with a half-assed attempt at my dreams. Thanks for the encouragement, it came at just the right time. Or at least, we'll see what happens. Love you so. Here we go!
P.S. For something more light than this post, enjoy these baby animals.
Much of today has been spent walking around Boothbay Harbor with Joe, and it's been so relaxing. The sky is overcast, the water of the harbor shining like a smooth plate of silver while a mist encroaching on the shopfronts settles on the benches, awnings, and the cheeks of the tourists. Foghorns sound every now and again and the party of boats at the docks barely sway. Maine pace, to begin with, is already slow and easy but the pace of Boothbay Harbor on a day like today is at a crawl. With a clear mind and a quiet heart it's a perfect time to reflect on where I've been and where I want to be going with my life. Yes, it's going to be one of those posts today.
For anyone who doesn't know, music plays a very important role in my life. I remember being a little girl watching my dad play his guitar. At first, my interest was geared more toward the instrument itself than the music that derived from it. Once alone I'd go up to the venerable Yamaha and run my fingers along the mother of pearl detailing in the wood and the flowers and birds carved into the turtle shell pick-guard. Grazing the strings with a fingernail I'd wonder at how this brassy, hollow chord could transform into so many others with the proper placement of the finger pads. What I felt when I touched the cedar surface and smelled the must of wood that breathed and flexed with the weather, was love. The strap, worn from my fathers shoulders as he danced and played was soft as satin in my hands as I placed it over my own shoulders. I also felt a tinge of envy. If only could make the guitar spill the luminously sweet sounds I knew it could, other than the unmelodic arpeggio of its resting state. It wasn't until the summer after my Senior year in high school that I learned my first song on guitar by watching the shapes and the patterns that my dad's hands made along the neck of the guitar as he picked "Blackbird" out of the hollow body. Once I knew a few basic chords I was hooked and I've been songwriting every since.
Another memory, as relevant as the last, was the first time I sang for my great-grandma. She told me I had to try to do something with this "gift" but I couldn't see it that way. I felt, and still struggle with a feeling of mediocrity. I promised her I'd try but to be perfectly honest, I couldn't commit. Why try if you aren't even sure that music is what you're most passionate about in the first place? I couldn't fling myself head first into music when I had no self-confidence in the business. I'd met with some prominent producers and realized that I didn't want to have to convince anybody that I was worth listening to. That wasn't why I wrote. I wrote songs because it was an innate compulsion I couldn't repress and the people I wanted to share it with wouldn't judge me-parents, friends, family... and a world full of people I'd never actually met, on youtube. It's always felt more like a personal archive of songs I've learned and written than a virtual show. So, once in college I joined a cappella, chamber choir and a band. I took voice lessons and wrote my own songs all hours day and night when the feeling would strike. I kept up with music, but when it came to putting myself out there and making a career of it, let's face it-I was really scared. I still am really scared. I think I just might actually really desperately love to be able to write music to get by. I probably need to really try to make this music thing happen in a way that doesn't feel too like the superficial, shallow, Lady Gaga/Katy Perry gotta have big breasts and long legs all talent or no talent at all business that I think the music industry is. And besides, I never took more than a few formal guitar lessons, I'm mostly self-taught and couldn't improvise in a jam session to save my life. I never studied music theory and though many assume I was a music major in College, I studied Visual Arts and Spanish. I wanted music to be with me on my own terms-to be my companion. I didn't want music to ever become a job, an obligation that I resented because when it comes down to it, I may be too much of a free spirit, and obligation--even to the things I love--can sometimes drive me away.
Now I'm moving to Boston. A fresh start for me in a place where someone might actually be able to get a little notoriety (if so desired). I've been stressing like crazy about what jobs to apply for and what career to pursue. Maybe I should wait tables and be creative on the side. Maybe I should look for a creatively oriented career and still try to be creative on the side. Madness. Today, however, I may have found a break in my mental occupational block. Today I got an email from a family member and that short little email was all it took! Basically what it boiled down to was: "Try. You can work in a museum later. Now is the time, and (perhaps what I needed someone to say to me more than anything else...) don't be afraid." So you know what? I am gonna try. I mean full commitment, all-in, no toes-in-the-water crap I mean a full out cannonball short of moving to NY or L.A. to make it happen.
All I can say to you--sender of brief but heavy emails--is thank you. You really shook me up with that one. It was one of those moments where you lose your breath a second because someone just told you the truth about yourself and you didn't expect it. And I think I needed it. I'm starting to feel more excited about it all and I don't want to look back and see that I've wasted my time with a half-assed attempt at my dreams. Thanks for the encouragement, it came at just the right time. Or at least, we'll see what happens. Love you so. Here we go!
P.S. For something more light than this post, enjoy these baby animals.
<3 Em
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