But who doesn’t? This is like my dirty little secret. I shut it up for two reasons: money and fear. I use the excuse, “Oh, you are just wanting to run away and escape. This is no solution.”
Or iiiiiiis it?
At the moment, I leave songs unfinished, bits of verses and random choruses, and instrumental sections that will one day have trumpets and violas and ukulele and congas and double bass kick drums and haunting strings. I am sad that I don’t (write music). It’s like I am living my own funeral every day. Why bother? I cannot make a living at it. Wow that sounds so sad. Sorry. Writing songs is all I really wanted to do as a kid and I made up plenty in my head. Then in my 20’s I had my band, Screaming Venus, and wrote the songs but burnt out on trying to keep a band together (we had RGS, revolving guitar player syndrome). I wonder if I could be a decent composer. Will I ever find out? Will I ever be skilled enough at piano to play what I hear and feel? Will I ever answer that?
I dream I wake up in Portugal on a hill in a row of white stucco apartment houses overlooking the sea. I pay like twenty bucks a week for a two bedroom! Mango, (hey how’d you get here!?) wakes me up for her morning ride. She looks straight ahead from the basket on the bike, wind in her fur, as we head to the market for her fresh fish. I grab a loaf of that bread you see in the movies at European markets, fresh and fluffy, and some pomegranates or whatever is juicy and bright. Off we go! We take the coastal path home. The gravel shakes the bike and Mango braces down but never takes her eyes off the road. After breakfast and a run, we sit down for a two hour music writing session. Mango is ready for lunch so we eat. I get in two more hours of music and two for my online business (this will take a lead later).
At sundown Mango and I bike into town where we meet musicians and artists. I joined an improv comedy team that is very low commitment: just show up and play once a week. Sometimes I bring my keyboard or guitar and play to their absurdities. Other musicians show up; trumpet players, drummers, guitarists, and kids of all ages. This is the light I have been craving. This is the love that was missing. This was the art that was dying. Finally, Mango is tired and stuffed from all the goodies my new friends always bring her. She jumps in the basket and off we go! …..
Then I don’t wake up because it wasn’t a dream. Or maybe I do and start this here where I am as best I can till I make that dream a thing. Or maybe going is what I need to make it a thing. Right?!
Do you have a secret of a dream? What would it feel like fleshed out in real time? What could you do that would make your past ten-year-old self drop to her knees and thank you for (after slapping you first for taking so long)? What would you cry to honor in yourself? I invite you to dream it out on paper. Just for kicks.
Or we could just do what we are doing.
This blog post is in response to Natalie’s 10 Day Freedom Plan Blog Challenge Day 9