Call me superstitious, but I’ve not wanted to write about what I’ve been doing the last couple of months for fear that talking about it would make it disappear; but it’s time, especially considering how often I have bemoaned and lamented over unfulfilled dreams during the past couple of years.
Several months ago, my doctor put me on anti-depressants, which may have turned out to be one of the best decisions of my adult life. My internal voice that has always been so quick to point out my flaws and to discourage me has (for the most part) been muted. Instead, I can now hear my internal voice of bravery and courage.
In June, I took a risk. Well, maybe not exactly a risk. I decided to go to a meeting: one, little meeting for local songwriters. Now I’d been to one of these meetings before and vowed to never go back; however, due to some changes I’d read about in the group, I thought I’d give it one more shot. I’m glad I did. At the end of the meeting, I chatted with another songwriter and before I left, we’d decided to write together.
Shortly after, I started chatting with my online friend, Liz, about manifestation. Now I’d always heard hokey things about manifestation and considered folks who believed in it to be a bit whacko. But Liz made sense, and I knew that our backgrounds were somewhat similar. So I started doing a bit of investigating. Liz suggested that I write down exactly what I desired in life, then write down how I would feel if I had those things. So I wrote down my dreams and what I imagined it would feel like to have them fulfilled. While the dreams are never too far out of mind, I promptly forgot that little list I’d tucked away in my journal.
Meanwhile, over the next few weeks, I exchanged some emails with the songwriter I’d met at the meeting, and we started writing together. Then, I contacted a couple of friends in Nashville and set up writing appointments with them.
Last week, I went to another one of those songwriter meetings and set up more writing appointments. In the meantime, I’ve been sitting down at the piano, picking out chords and singing. (While I haven’t totally given up on guitar, I’ve set that beast aside for now.) I’ve spent several hours at the piano, playing and singing—hopefully getting my vocal chords in good shape again after not singing for so long.
Just the other day, as I was basking in a moment of joy at the piano, I remembered the list of dreams I’d written. I thought about how I’ve been actively pursuing those dreams and how I’ve focused on finding those feelings of joy and peace and purpose in doing what I’m passionate about.
Now I don’t know whether the manifestation thing is working for me, or if the anti-depressants give me a ridiculous amount of courage, or if God opened doors, or if I somehow unlocked the part of me that believed I could succeed. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things. Whatever the case, I’m singing again. I’m writing songs again. I’m happy again. And that’s a good place to be.
