Thought I knew a lot about this… have recently found out, I know nothing (insert clip from Bluey: “Dad, what’s your name?” “Dad” “What am I touching?” “Nose” “What am I holding?” “Nothing” “Dad, knows, nothing… hehehehehe.”
Today I asked myself why I am writing this in a public place? 1st off, I seriously doubt anyone will ready this. At least not in the near future. I don’t know how many people visit my website… I don’t check the data. Second, I find myself motivated when I believe what I”m experiencing is shared. Not sure why we hide so much. I mean, I do know why, so I’m trying not too. This feels like a safe space. Sure, take a look inside my journal. I’m probably going to write a song bout it anyway. Why not have all the musings about it available for consumption as well?
So here I am today.
Hung out with my friend Tyler. he did not give me permission to use his real name, but he’s also not going to read this so he’ll never know… as long as you don’t tell.
Brought him up to speed on my current direction with music: my belief that God is pushing me back into the industry. Back into the community and the relationships that I left almost 9 years ago. however, this time doing it differently. 1. not alone. 2. with intention and purpose 3. being compelled by God through obedience and faith and not through forced or aimless self-indulgence.
Tyler listens well. He is a good listener and if you know me at all, I need good listeners around because I need a pretty large wall for all my words. i.e. this space.
I got all my words out and left Tyler’s place. It was maybe 43 seconds away when it hit me. I feel it in my stomach. I can actually feel it a little right now. The feeling could be described many ways. Its tight. I bet my watch would say I’m stressed. It is sorta like nervous, but with less excitement. Sorta like guilt, but with less numbness. Shame and fear. Fear for sure. Definitely feeling like I did something wrong. Definitely afraid I’ve messed up. and then the stories start FLYING. How cow I can make up some stories. Today’s headlines were mostly around how I don’t belong in the music industry. how I’m not as good as I think I am. How I will never find my place and those who are already entrenched don’t want me there. I don’t have anything to offer. I used to be good, but now I’m just old. I don’t even have a place to write. Dare I go on??!?!
Here I what I’m noticing. In the past, I hated these feelings so much that I simply avoided any interactions or circumstances that could potentially cause them. For several years I wouldn’t even jog or drive down music row because of how it made me feel. I picture Jenny from Forrest Gump seeing her old childhood home for the first time since she left. and what did she do? She threw rocks at it.
I was hurt by, through, and because of the music industry. Some of my own doing and some simply by proxy. I because someone I hated when I was there. and now, it’s as though I’m walking back up to the front door and knocking, quietly asking if I can come back in.
Today with Tyler was another visit to the front porch. I looked in the windows some. Smelled something good coming out of the kitchen, then said goodbye and drove away. I wonder if I’ll go in? I wonder if I’ll stay? I wonder if they have a room? A friend? A warm fire in the fireplace?
I wonder who all lives there now? Did they see me wondering around?
Do they know about the loose 3rd step that creaks at night
Have the found the box of cards I hid
Have they painted any walls or did they leave it just as it is.
Yeah I went back to that old house.
Just to see if it’s still there.
I went back to see what I would feel.
It looks smaller now that it did back then
The house I grew up in.
rob
