Songwriting Workshop

Believe it or not, I had never been to a songwriting workshop before this year.  I've written songs with others, read books, and done a lot of self-teaching.  But this experience was different.  I knew it would be.

The past year has been filled with classes and learning.  I realized that, if I want to get anywhere in the music business, I will have to be at the top of my game.  And that means getting better at anything I'm already good at, like singing and playing the piano.  I'm usually very focused on developing totally new skills and learning brand new things.  However, the people I see who are successful take what they excel at and focus on making that part of themselves the best it can be. This realization led to me signing up for voice and piano lessons again, not to mention a few audio engineering courses.

A fellow songwriter friend, Monique Grezlik, and I drove to New Braunfels and spent two days luxuriating in our craft.  The workshop was led by Susan Gibson, best known for her song Wide Open Spaces, performed by the Dixie Chicks.  Let me tell you, she has dozens more that are equally fantastic.

Anyway, the simple act of setting aside an extended block of time for my craft made all the difference.  I wrote a new song, worked on others, learned new exercises to get the creative juices flowing, and met fellow songwriters who I hope to be friends with for many years.  Some co-writes are guaranteed after this adventure.

I want to encourage you all to set aside a big block of time for you to work on whatever your creative passion is. A couple hours here and there is fine, but a full day devoted to your craft yields serious results.  I liked having the time structured and guided, and I certainly took breaks. But the main thing is that I made the time, and the muses showed up.  If it happened for me, it can happen for you.

I posted a video of a recent song I wrote called This Time. I didn't write it during the workshop, but I performed it in a show afterward. Head on over to my new Video page to check it out and enjoy!

Go creative energy, go!

The Softer Side

I've been listening to meditation CDs again… Therefore, my mind is full of compelling—and sometimes questionable—statements. For instance: "Soften all the places that are rigid within you."

All of them? I want to go all soft? Really? I don't know. Does that sound like balance?

That's a question for me to answer personally, over time. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being completely gentle and quiet with myself for a while. I'm tired, my colon is still sensitive from an infection six weeks ago, my ear is only now healing from its own infection (thank you swimming pool!), I decided to take up strength training again (ouchy for the muscles), and I'm going through major work/life changes. The list could go on.

I want to put myself to bed, pat my forehead, and leave my body suspended beyond space and time. When I was really sick, I started setting boundaries to accomplish just this. I set an earlier time to get ready for bed. I removed some old commitments and tasks from my plate. It seemed that illness had wrested me from the hard-driving mentality I have historically operated under.

Lately, however, I find myself veering back into old patterns, and it affects how I deal with food. When I'm tired, I want to eat more. I don't always do it, but I often find myself eating more than I sense that my body needs. If I lack comfort in any area of life, I tend to try to get it through food. And I want this pattern to stop.

Food is my simple comfort, but I know other, simple ways to comfort myself. Zoning out isn't completely negative. I can play mindless games of solitaire, read a novel, listen to a radio program. I can even meditate, call someone, take a walk, or do some chores.

However, notice one thing: I only now arrive at sleep. Sleep. Why don't I go to sleep? Why do I insist on staying up and journaling so that I can figure out why I feel so out of sorts? I already know why I feel out of sorts. I'm tired. And sleep is the only cure, yet I keep pushing it away.  At night, I fear grieving the day.  I fear leaving it and all the possibilities it contained (and that I did not attain) behind.

Sleep is gentle.

But I'm a go-getter. I'm driven. I can accomplish more than the average human. I can push myself to the limit and bounce back. I can make it. I am called to achieve greatness.

Those are lies (or at the very least, untruths) I tell myself. What good is greatness if I'm too tired to enjoy it? 

I know countless individuals who struggle with sleep, who struggle with being gentle with themselves. When it gets late, instead of simply going to bed, I spend time mentally kicking myself for not going to bed sooner. When I do that, I'm wasting time. I already know the appropriate course of action, and I can choose to replay old tapes or to act on my own wisdom.

It's time to recognize that getting enough sleep, resting, pampering myself, and allowing myself to be a less-than-productive human being is necessary. I may rail against the idea of softening all the rigid places within me, but when I do, my colon feels better, I fall to sleep easily, I feel in step with others and calm as I go through my day. When I'm gentler with myself, I'm gentler with others.

I'm still mulling over the idea of completely letting go of rigidity. A little part of me insists that there are times in life when I need to push. Sometimes, it's necessary to go beyond my feelings and intellect, or to briefly don a hard shield of protection. That's what the little voice is saying. But does that voice know the truth? Have I ever really let go of all rigidity? If I never have, how can I say that it won't work?

In any case, for me, now is all about balance. I am living in the moment and trying to incorporate a practice of gentleness in my thoughts and actions—toward myself and others. Perhaps the more softness I acquire, the more I will realize how defeating rigidity really is. 

I'm sure I'll have more insightful answers once I've gotten a solid eight hours of sleep.

Chasing Flies

I’m chasing a fly. Stupid fly, buzzing and rustling my blinds and spreading its who-knows-what germs all around. That tiny hole in my window screen gave him just the space he needed to break in. Seriously, get lost!

Sometimes, in life, I feel like I’m chasing flies. Little annoyances that aren’t really doing anything to hurt me somehow attract my complete focus. I can ignore them for a while, but before I know it, I can hear nothing but their buzzing. At that point, nothing else matters but swatting the fly or shooing it out the door.

I stop doing whatever task I’m involved with to stand up and hunt down the fly. Is this really a good thing? Would life be better if I could sustain focus on one goal at a time? Are all the germs or bad things I imagine these annoyances are bringing not really so dangerous as I imagine? Perhaps the fly would go away on its own if I simply ignored it and continued the task at hand.

I get frustrated when little things take up more of my time than necessary. Chasing down the fly seems like a simple enough task, especially if I’m in an enclosed place. Surely it won’t take more than a minute or two to swat it or at least get it out the open door. But it always takes longer. The creature eludes me; I smack it with a notebook, and somehow it flies away, unscathed. The fly sucks the time away.

I don’t want these trivial tasks or bothers to consume my days and preoccupy my mind. This means learning to let thoughts come and go as they may without clinging to them, without letting them penetrate the forefront of my thoughts when I want to focus on something else.

Meditation helps with this practice immensely. If I can sit for fifteen or twenty minutes and think a million thoughts without acting on them during a meditation session, I can do it when trying to blog or work or write a song.

This also means trusting myself to remember those “important” thoughts when I do have the time or mental space to do so. If I am working on a particular task, I don’t have to immediately stand up and pay my bills or do the laundry just because a thought that I should do those things floats by. I can remind myself of what I’m working on now and trust that I will accomplish to-dos that need to be done at a later time. I can trust myself to remember and follow through later.

Trust in myself is key. If I don’t trust myself to do things that need to be done, I’ll spend all day chasing flies instead of sitting down and doing work I am truly passionate about. Distractions need not become full-time occupations.

I must learn that I can choose not to act on obsessive thoughts and that I can trust myself to succeed at this life thing. I can let the flies buzz until I’m finished writing/playing/preparing; then, if they are still around, I’ll have plenty of time to shoo them out the door.

What Has Value?

I have been out blowing and going, brewing and doing, rambling and racing. Now, it’s time for rest. Once again, I ask, “What nourishes me?” Today, that is sitting at the piano, relaxing into the music. No need for tangible results.

I tend to be so tied to doing things that can be measured or that result in a physical product. I am inclined to clean my bathroom or finish a home improvement project before I sit down to write, play, read, or think. In the midst of my errand running, with the satisfaction of a checked-off to-do list, I can miss the extreme value writing, playing, reading, and thinking hold. Even if I do not complete a song or an article, the time spent thinking and pondering IS worthwhile. People just can’t see it, and I tend to like things that I think will win me favor with people.

Over the years, however, I have learned that I can FEEL the value of abstract activity. My family never really valued intangibles; therefore, I became highly achievement-oriented, filling my life with goals like cross country race times, grades, levels of extracurricular involvement, and eventually numbers on a scale or calories eaten in a day. I am beginning to see that striving toward such targets may offer far fewer benefits than enjoying less concrete activities.

My brain needs imagination time to function properly and come up with new ideas when I eventually get to work or encounter a difficult project. Imagining during my free time prepares my mind for creative thinking in a product-driven environment. On my own, I can think and play without creating an end product.

When deciding not to work on another item on my task list, it can be very difficult to shirk old beliefs that shout, “Why are you sitting around doing this? Why are you walking around aimlessly at night or lying in the middle of the living room floor? Why are you not finishing up that song or cleaning the bookshelves or preparing lunch for tomorrow? What you’re doing now matters to NO ONE!”

“Well,” I reply, “this matters to me. And because I allow myself the freedom to spend time without goals, products, or measures, I feel less hemmed in by all the things in my life that require me to meet expectations and quotas. Participating in activities without goals enhances my positive emotions and creative ideas—a priceless result. I feel invigorated, rather than drained, by these pursuits. The fact that I am doing this now will matter to someone, someday. And even if that person is only me, that is enough.”

The value system for activity that I have in place is pretty hard-wired from childhood. But by experimenting with letting myself go and doing things that seemingly have no point, I can see if life gets better or worse when I shift my focus and priorities.

We can all afford to take a look at our fundamental beliefs. Are there things you believe and don’t know why? Examine those. Then, do something contrary to the belief. Does your belief still seem founded in truth?

As for me, I’m off to the piano. Maybe a song will come out of this. Maybe not. Maybe all that really matters is that I make music.

Trust the Instinct

Somewhere along the way, I picked up the notion that I should second-guess every inclination. However, life as of late has repeatedly confirmed the validity of my natural instincts. So - why do I resist trusting myself?

It’s difficult to believe in something without outside confirmation. I long for someone or something else to say, “Yes, Michelle, that is the best course of action,” no matter how strongly I already feel that sentiment. How will I know who to trust, what career path to go down, where to live, which shirt to wear, or whether I should run my errands before or after lunch?

Despite my doubts, I have a fantastic track record of predicting which friendships I will want to deepen after only a couple of meetings. I also seem to finish tasks that need to be accomplished on time, without too much stress… except during the process of deciding which task to take on first. I am now trying to remember that, just as I am now attune to when I am hungry and typically what I am hungry for, I know the best actions to take or if there are multiple, equally beneficial courses that present themselves during the day. Somewhere inside me, I contain this wisdom.

Trusting that gift of wisdom is a process. I am continually learning to discern between ego-powered impulse and true, universal intuition. When peace rests beneath the instinct, it’s usually worth following.

Even if I mess up and follow a course that I wish I hadn’t, life has never ended. I approach things with an open, true heart, and if I make a mistake, it can’t keep me down for long. I simply learn. I make the choice and move on. And I must say, Little Miss Indecisive is making some big strides. Who knew I would ever believe that there are no mistakes? Truly.

Now that I trust instinct, I find that my life follows a miraculous sort of rhythm. I end up synching with other people’s schedules and having time for everything. I watch the lives of people who agonize far less about daily decisions and take note of those who seem in tune with something greater. It is possible to follow a natural course, not over-think things, and still live a successful life (though it might not be successful in the way I initially envisioned it).

Growing up, I never conceived that a person could excel and enjoy life without pre-plotting every step. Letting go of my compulsive need to plan and control is difficult, but I’m learning firsthand how healthy and freeing it is to let life take its course rather than remaining chained to the construction of personal forecasts and predictions. If I spend all my time building nets to catch myself in case I should fall, I have no time left to climb the ladders and take the leaps that make living a worthwhile adventure.

Here’s to trusting myself to know when to make healthy preparations and when to release my fears and simply LIVE.