Today is about something I gave up…and shouldn’t have

I haven’t forgotten about my picture, and I am going to deal with her and with it, but that is a process that will be woven through everything. It won’t be easy, and while I am ready to deal with the hard, I need to go at my own pace, while doing some of the other things as well. The picture has moved from my wallet to my dresser, which keeps it as something I want to face rather than just pull out when I need to hurt me.

Plus, she is part of this discussion.

At one point in my life, I loved music. I loved singing, I loved playing. I hated practicing. By the time I got to college, I quit playing in Concert and Jazz band, I quit singing in choir. I was never going to be good enough, so why bother continuing it put effort into it.

So what did I do? I fell for a guy who was determined to play music.

The truth is, James’ love of music gave me an excuse to push that further and further out of my life. As he got better and better, and I stayed the same, there was less and less point in trying. Why bother?

Not only did I give up playing music, I gave up listening to music just for me.

I used to sit in my office and play music on my computer and sing. I got in trouble a couple of times for singing too loudly. I then had a friend who made me feel badly because I liked pop music. So I quit turning music on, even when I was alone.

What’s funny is that. I never got rid of my music. Even though James has shelves of CD’s and records, I never got rid of my CD’s. I just stopped listening to them.

I still have my flute and saxophone music from marching band.

I can’t bring myself to get rid of the music, but I have all but stopped playing, singing, or (until recently) listening.

I quit playing because there seemed no point. I wasn’t ever going to perform, I wasn’t ever going to play for others, and honestly, I kind of wish for a band (anyone know a bass player?). I quit listening because music was so important and having it questioned just hurt. I gave up because what I wrote, what I played, what I listened to was actually deeply meaningful and I was tired of having that questioned and criticized. Easier to quit than just be okay with being something other than the best.

It isn’t going to be easy, but there are things that I miss about listening to and playing music just for me.

The instruments we have are James’. Well…okay the keyboard and the Moog are mine. And I have a guitar.

I was actually going to write that maybe I needed to get a guitar of my own, but I have one. It’s not a Martin or a Taylor, it’s a Washburn. It’s an okay instrument, but while I haven’t played it in years, I can’t get rid of it.

I can’t get rid of it because it was given to me for my college graduation. Kent Gilbert and Liz Menefee (and their spouses) purchased it for me. They loved the music I played on my mother’s guitar and they wanted me to have on of my own.

These two people always did their best to let me know that I did belong. Liz Menefee spent many Sunday Morning hours talking with me about whatever religion I wanted to discuss and answering questions about spiritual life. Kent joined Union Church as pastor after taking the time to talk with an 18-year-old kid who desperately wanted to make sure that the new minister we were hiring wouldn’t treat any other youth as dismissively as she had felt treated by the previous minister. They accepted me, just as me…How crazy is that?

That guitar is my reminder that to some, I did belong even as the awkward, frizzy haired, me. And now I need to take back my music…just because I enjoy it. I will never be a rockstar, I will never even have an album produced, but the writing, the playing, the joy is something I need back. And if I want to play Taylor Swift covers…well, that’s my own damn business.

Time to clean off the dust, put on new/softer strings, and accept that I may only really be able to play three chords, but with three chords come an infinite number of songs that can be sung.

Sometimes…it is important to find the gratitude in with the pain.