getting the guts

on monday night, i needed to go to the market, and since i had no quick food to fix at home beforehand, i decided to eat dinner at a local restaurant. since i haven't had seafood on-island beyond my favorite tuna steak burger (at Sunset Bar & Grille, in Maho), i looked for shrimp on a few restaurant menus, and found the best-looking shrimp entree at Pineapple Pete's (a restaurant where i've already been a handful of times). oh well, so much for adventure. when i arrived, there was a guitarist on stage playing covers. the longer i sat, the more i was awed by his super-smooth playing style and his mastery of the loop pedal to create a very full sound. he seemed very personable, especially when he chuckled at me being the only one clapping after a particularly good song. i didn't have the guts to say anything to him in person, but saw a tip jar and decided to write a short compliment on the back of my business card, and leave my email address. i had no real expectations of him (these things have gone negatively for me, in the past), but i hoped he would respond and help me find the great music scene i knew was hidden somewhere on this island.

imagine my surprise when he actually responded just a half-day later. his email was kind, and he invited me to come back out that night and hear him with the full band. my employer asked me to first attend a school function with her and her son, then go out to dinner with them, and she mentioned Pete's as an option. it seemed like a great transition -- dinner with them, and drinks while listening to the band -- so i decided to drive separately. i didn't know, when i arrived, if i would have the nerve to actually approach him, but i figured at the very least i would enjoy some good music and good rum. i saw him arrive, set up, and head for the bar (which i had JUST left, to sit at a table near the front), and summoned my courage. since i'd first introduced myself via business card, i decided the best way to get his attention (he was on his iPad) was to go sit beside him at the bar and drop my business card in front of him. cutesy, but effective -- he picked it up, looked closely at it, then turned to me with a smile. thus, i received my very first double cheek-kiss greeting and met Amin.

overall, the night was really good for me. we had some casual conversation, and the band did some really fun and masterful covers. Amin had spent the hour leading up to their set trying to convince me to sing a song with them, but would never produce a set list for me to choose one. of course, when the pressure's on, i'm never able to think of any common songs to sing. i know thousands of songs, casually, but if i don't really know the lyrics and vocal pattern well, my slight stage fright will obliterate them from my memory. the only song i could think to propose was "Sunday Morning" (haha, Honey James Band members), which they didn't know. however, bets are on as to whether they'll learn it before next week. it turns out that i do know many of the songs in their repertoire, so who knows. maybe the courage it took for me to put myself out there and compliment/contact someone new will also enable me to hit the stage with a really great st maarten band before i leave this island. at the very least, i feel like i've made some new, talented acquaintances. thank goodness for guts, eh?

on the horizon

it's been over a month since i've written anything down, in this particular place. it's been a pretty crazy month. sure, i've thought about blogging, but sitting down and taking the time to do it was too taxing. now, here i sit, absolutely exhausted and wondering where the time has gone.

looking at my loft, you really wouldn't think i've spent a good portion of the past month and a half working my booty off. it turns out that sorting your possessions is both time-consuming and tiring. i have body aches, bruises, and cuts to attest to my work. honestly, i really didn't realize how much clothing i had amassed until it was all laid out on the floor, waiting to be tried on and categorized, and forcing me to maneuver around it. i have definitely been thinking in terms of keep, toss, maybe (but needs work). that sorting process has been spilling over to other parts of my life as well, and i've been quick to let go of things and people who add little to nothing to my life. if you read this, though, don't automatically assume that if i haven't connected with you in the past month that i'm ready to let you go.

in addition to all of the work going into my home life, i also unexpectedly started nannying again full-time at the beginning of march. the two little ones are so happy to be spending time together again (they're from different families), but it's a lot of hard work and long days. on the average full-time day, i'm putting in eleven hours of nanny work. this is a huge increase from the six hour days i'd grown accustomed to working for the past six months. on the one weekday i'm not working all day, when one littlest one is with his grandmother and the eldest one is in preschool for the morning, i started taking music theory/piano/guitar lessons. it's going very well, i think, and i'm proud of the progress i'm making, slowly but steadily. it's got the inspiration flowing as well, and i began working on a new song. i've been jotting down little lyrics and melodies for future songs, too. it's exciting to have yet another artistic outlet for myself.

early march also marked the beginning of the outdoor photography season, and suddenly clients are clamoring for my attention (an awesome thing... i can't even begin to describe how great that makes me feel). i photographed the first wedding of the season, and have also stayed very busy with portrait sessions as well. i photographed four sessions this month, and i have two more booked in april. i have done little to no advertising for this. i don't feel like i deserve it at all. most of them are repeat clients, and if you know anything about the business world... it means i must be doing something right.

the toll it's all taking on my body is profound. i am losing weight. i am eating more frequently, because my body craves fuel. i no longer rely on caffeine for a boost, and keep no more sodas at home. once i get going in the morning, i'm usually a relentless force until some sixteen hours later. i fall into bed, sleep hard, and wake up just refreshed enough to get going. lately, in the mornings, i've had to make a choice between taking a short nap (while the little one naps) or making further progress with some form of work (home, photography, or music). all but one morning, i have chosen progress.

so, where is the mention of new york in this? i'm almost halfway to the deadline i'd set for myself. i honestly have no clue whether i'll meet it or not. my life is very rich here, and though it ebbs and flows, i get the feeling i'm building something amazing right where i'm at. i haven't made a decision one way or another, right now, as to when and whether i'll end up in my city of dreams. right now, though, i think i'm going to go get a well-deserved massage before tackling the upcoming week.

have piano, will travel?

since i can’t seem to write clearly about what’s really on my heart (oh boy), i will forge ahead with what’s on my fingertips. tomorrow, i have my first formal music lesson in five years. i didn’t quite tell the whole story of my music evolution in “have guitar, will travel”, so it’s definitely time to fill in a few holes and get self-examining.


my evolution as an artist has been through quite a number of phases and mediums. music and storytelling have always been dual-held interests of mine, though. when i was very young, i would sneak out of bed at night and turn the radio on, putting my ear right to the speaker so i wouldn’t have to turn it up above a whisper. i was always fascinated with putting together the meaning behind the songs. i met a boy (literally, we were nine!) who introduced me to alternative music, and snuck tapes to me under our catholic school desks. as for the storytelling, i delved into poetry and personal journaling as an early teen and, to my shock, was published in a few anthologies. i considered trying to self-publish my poetry, as well as short novel ideas i kept stumbling through, but nothing ever really came of it (though it did spark my interest in an english/creative writing concentration in college). 


musically, beyond being a rabid listener and shower singer, i studied flute from age 11 through 15 (though i originally wanted to play drums!). i begged for a guitar for christmas at age 13, but didn't learn to play it at all until age 15, shortly after i wrote the lyrics and melody to my first simple song. my best friend, at the time, taught me the chords i needed based on the melody i sang. i played my first solo show a short four months later, built almost entirely of my own songs, and kept playing shows through age 23. i realize now that there’s a lot of undescribed space in between ages 15 and 23. these were prolific, busy years, for me. as i said in “have guitar, will travel,” :

“throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life. moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there.”


unfortunately, that’s not the whole story. there’s a much deeper reason, and it contributed to why i not only stopped playing and writing music, but even stopped attending shows and buying new tunes. in case you haven’t gotten the picture yet, i have pursued none of these arts to the true professional level, or any end, for that matter. so, what’s holding me back? fear, bigger and badder than “lost the nerve” could begin to describe. actually, the fear even kept me from taking in new music, lest i be inspired or challenged, and thus reminded of my failures. it perpetuates. if i want to move forward, and i do, the only thing i can do is to face it, and myself, inside and out. scary and nervous-making, yes. the weight of it is much like the impending doom of a piano dangling over my head, in cartoon-like fashion.


for what mass media requires, i am not skinny enough, pretty enough, compelling or talented enough to sustain a music career. don’t fight me on that, please. i know where i stand, and trust me, i don’t want to BE those things only in order to be considered successful. if i honestly look at my life right now, yes, those are things i want, but for shallow reasons -- to get the boy, to gain the recognition. my heart of hearts knows that i need none of them to accomplish what i want -- the form of expression, the thrill of spilling my heart. it’s complicated even further though, because i’m so terrified of failing at anything i do, that i seem to get paralyzed halfway through doing it. that’s something ingrained in me from childhood. failure was unacceptable for me, even in small ways. trying to break out of what my heart has been conditioned to believe, even though my head knows it’s not true, has been a failure in and of itself.


while the skinny-pretty-compelling-talented line might by true, if i actually get something out of playing shows, spilling my heart (which i do, in an incredible way)... then why let that hold me back? i'm not asking for super-stardom, a record contract, or even paying shows. i just want to express. my heart aches for it, even now. lately, i've been grasping for it in small ways; karaoke at a birthday party, helping a friend lead a group of college kids in song, surrounding myself with musicians and attending shows, finding new music. i've also found myself finally penning lyrics again. sure, i've laid down a line or two in times of complete emotional distress over the past few years, but recently it's been pouring out, so much so that i HAVE to write it into a lyric journal or record a melody into my phone. i haven't formed a whole song yet, by any means, but i have a dozen different places to start.


ultimately, it all comes down to shifting my measure of success and failure. i don’t desire to be a professional musician. i desire to be an artist. i’ve thought hard about it, and my only real goal is this -- be competent enough in all of my art forms to express myself however i currently see fit. yes, i want to get back onstage with my own original material, and play just one completed new song live before the end of the year, but that’s kind of a sub-goal. the most important part is to work on on becoming a better artist, a better person. maybe i won’t meet society’s definition of success when it comes to any of my art, but as long as i’m not actually held back by myself, then it’s not a failure. so, off to my piano lesson -- here's hoping it'll be better under my fingers, than over my head.

have guitar, will travel

sometimes i forget that i lived a life before this one, that my expression has evolved many times to make me the person and artist i am today. while cleaning out my closet, i unearthed my guitars. there are three. the first, a purple electric, was a gift i begged for when i was thirteen years old. it was more the idea of being a guitarist that i wanted, and so it sat for at least two years before i ever really endeavored to play it. a dear friend taught me some chords, which turned into songs, which pushed me into playing shows with my original material. throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life.

moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there. during college, my heart got ripped out of my chest in a multitude of ways. for catharsis, i started writing lyrics again, and found myself singing songs under my breath again. after one particularly tumultuous semester and the decision to drop out of school, i decided to enlist as a summer camp counselor. i knew i wouldn't be able to take my electric rig with me, and thus i purchased my second guitar, a black acoustic.

that guitar traveled everywhere with me. its case still has homeland security tape and airport claim tags attached to it, from my very first airplane trip. because it's the first guitar i bought for myself, it's more special to me than the third guitar (a white electric i bought while trying to revive my music mini-career for all the wrong reasons). it's that simple black acoustic that called me from its case, interrupting my organization progress. i picked up my old friend, and played a few songs. some were my own. some were songs of others i like and sing particularly well. of course, my voice is not in shape and my fingertip callouses have faded. i couldn't play for too long without it hurting in various ways, and without being reminded of old hurts, as well, the catalyst behind so many of my songs. when i sang my last note, loud and strong, it lingered in the room, bouncing off the walls of my loft.

in so many ways, i'm still that girl with the black guitar who nervously stepped onstage and could barely sing loud enough for anyone to hear. i am still self-conscious and self-critical, and i still don't believe i have the guts to follow my dreams. the echo of my own voice, so much stronger than it used to be, tells me that i am also a new sort of girl, a girl not afraid to lay her soul bare and take chances with her life. i'm still self-conscious, but i don't let it hold me back. i'm still self-critical, but i use it to make myself better. i DO have the guts to follow my dreams. they're just different dreams, now. they will always evolve, as will i. i wonder how long i will carry the black guitar with me, how many more airport claim tags it might accumulate, and from what cities. how many more songs will i write on her strings? will our next time together find me stronger or weaker? will i ever sell her? will i ever be able? after all, i am still the girl with the black guitar, only now i carry her, instead of her carrying me.