It's a Life

What inspires you? That is the easiest question I have ever been asked. I hate questions that have more than one answer. How could you ever know if you were right or wrong? There was only one answer for this one: Music. Yes, I know that was a one word answer. I’m sure you expected a longer answer, especially when I’m the one answering. I love going into detail and it’s an unusual answer for me. I sat here thinking about what inspires me the most and I kept thinking of my favorite songs. I came to the conclusion that music not only inspires me, but it also defines me. Is that weird? I know you’re probably wondering: how can something as simple as music define a person?
I could tell you that “the words speak to me” or that I am in love with a celebrity and am determined to be famous. But that would be a lie. It’s a little more complicated than that. When I was a little girl I absolutely hated dolls. When Christmas came around I asked for a piano. For my birthday I asked for a microphone. So you see music has always been a part of my life. I blame this on my father. When I was younger my father had a church of his own and he loved preaching. However, owning a church requires money. We ended up losing our church and my father decided to open a recording studio in our garage.
I loved hanging out in there. I would see so many groups and singers come in and out of there every day, each one looking happier than the last. I could never get bored of sitting in that room. It was always something amazing for me to witness a person sing. It felt as if they were pouring their souls out and I was there to see it. I loved sitting in the recording booth. I would pretend I was one of my father’s many clients, even though I wasn’t even tall enough to reach the microphone. One day I was standing in there just taking in that smell of soundproof foam. It made me dizzy and I felt like it would smother me if I sang one wrong note. I was always told I had a beautiful voice. I never responded with what I was really thinking. I was always shrugged and said, “Thanks,” because I didn’t think they would understand when I said I was only imitating someone else’s voice.
Well the song of that day was by Alana Grace, “Black Roses Red.” I sang the words at the top of my lungs knowing no one could hear me because everything was sound proof. It was just me and the sound of my voice. I thought I hit the notes pretty well. Then my father walked in and said he could hear me in the house. I looked at him and I guess the confusion showed on my face because he then told me I had left the door to booth open. I immediately felt embarrassed. Like someone had walked in on me in the shower.
I left and cried until I finished writing my first song. I titled it “Never” and it was amazing in my opinion. I didn’t really try to write a song. It just poured out onto the paper until there was nothing left in me. I never showed it to anyone. I never mentioned it to anyone. As far as anyone knows, it doesn’t exist. That day I learned the true meaning of a being a songwriter. A songwriter is a poet. A poet unafraid to say what she really feels. No censoring and no sugarcoating, nothing but pure feeling.
That is what inspires me about music. It’s poetry without limits. Jay Z’s “I made It” was the song playing in my head at my eighth grade graduation. Emma Robert’s “Dummy” was the song I listened to after my first break up. To this day, there is a song for every moment in my life worth
remembering. Music has never been or will ever be “simple” to me. I am Music.