MUSIC FROM HER HEART

Posted on April 19, 2011 by Judy

Click the blue link to play my song

(which has been changed to my heart, in first person):

 

MUSIC FROM MY HEART

One day, she began to play

Silence turned to song; it was the start

That day, sadness went away

And she was healed

With music from her heart

 

She thought she’d always mourn,

trauma from her past

But when she was reborn, healing came at last

So many tears she’d cry, she did grieve

So many years went by, she didn’t believe

Sorrow would leave . . .

CHORUS

When she began to write, she felt so alive

She found her insight; she didn’t just survive

She sang and her tears dried, no one guessed

About her pain inside, she expressed

She was blessed . . .

CHORUS

 With grief there was no sound, and it would seem

joy she had finally found

hope became her theme

now she could dream . . .

 

She was sad for so long,

now her life was filled with song

One day, she began to play

Silence turned to song; it was the start

All her sadness went away

She was healed

With music from her heart

music from her heart . . .


When I write song lyrics, I go through stacks of paper scrawling all the possibilities.

WHAT MY SONGS MEAN TO ME

My songs are momentary interludes that caress my soul.

My songs elevate the mundane and ordinary into something uplifting and ethereal.

My songs allow me to float away to another place.

My songs soothe me and remove all elements of stress from my life.

My songs are stories and each one is unique. Some are like “time machines” for me; they transport me back to my youth. Others tell a story about my life and I experience all of the same emotions I felt when I wrote the song.

My songs have music and words that came into my head and heart in a way that I do not completely understand. Sometimes the beauty of the process overwhelms me.

My songs take away my pain. Even sad songs, allow pain to “flow out of my heart” with their haunting melody.

My songs were something “heavy” before I was able to rediscover them this year. Now each song created represents “lightness.” The creation of a song leaves an empty space that will be filled with further creations that are possibly even more beautiful.

My songs are gifts. They were always there, and I was given a gift that I am simply sharing.

My songs allow me to express emotions through singing that are unlike any other form of expression. Most people understand emotions such as crying or laughing. However, the emotional expression of singing is unlike anything else for me.

When I sing my songs, I really do feel like my lyrics soar while my heart explodes!

“A melody became the start”

Over this past month, a new song began to emerge from inside of me. Despite all the challenges bombarding me (including physical pain from the burn on my arm), my creative explosion continued. If ever I needed something to “caress my soul” and “uplift me” this song was it! 

For such a long time, I assumed my “theme song” was the melody to my instrumental song, Farewell. I was glad to replace that melody with this one. It was very fitting for me to have a “new” theme song that conveys so much joy! 

I have shared some preliminary recordings of my “emerging song,” but with this post my song has its full arrangement now. 

I am also ready to share the story behind my “theme song.” My song, “Music From Her Heart,” emerged at a time when I had no expectations that there were any more songs from the past left for me to reinvent. 

Although I didn’t include this line of lyrics that I scrawled, it really was about how a “melody became the start.” I am sharing part of a voice lesson clip where I sang only the melody for my voice teacher, Peaches. I wondered what lyrics would “unfold for me.

Just like my last two songs (No Words For You and You Were There), the lyrics flowed out of me as if they were already written.

PEACHES LESSON 3/11/11 MUSIC FROM HER HEART

“It was comfort”

On my book’s introduction I wrote a simple explanation about why I gave up music for thirty years.

“Suddenly, the emotional music felt so empty as I embarked upon a time of responsibility and isolation. My deep friendships ended. I was now married, and my art career became my focus. All of the emotions that had fueled my songwriting were gone. It seemed more and more awkward to play music, and eventually my guitar became dusty and unused.”

All of my songs and the corresponding memories have now been peeled back like the layers on an onion. I could not access what was deep below until everything on top was first removed.

It was easy for me to relearn the songs where I had an old, cassette recording of them. Once I finished relearning those songs, all I had left were ten sheets of lyrics and chords with only a partial memory of how those songs went.

I had thought that the last song I composed before giving up my music was my wedding song, which I renamed “Together.”

But then I remembered that the song named, “Comfort,” was actually the very last song I composed before giving up music for thirty years.

I’ve been asked many times why the words and/or chords of an old song were more inspiring for me to “reinvent.” I have also wondered why I haven’t felt the desire to compose a completely, new song.

Simply remembering an old melody was a challenge for me. I believe that with the memory of an old melody, came wonderful feelings transporting me back to my youth. Certainly, the melody to “Music From Her Heart,” (originally named “Comfort”) was a very comforting and “catchy,” chorus melody. It was so joyful that it inspired me to write lyrics surrounding my “transformation.”

The timing was fantastic and it allowed me to give my book a title and a song to go with it!

I was transported back in time with a memory about my newest song.

I remembered the isolation of working as an artist and how I still had musical moments even as the melodies began to fade from my life.

Prior to having children, I would be painting all day long. Sometimes I felt lonely while my husband was at work. Occasionally, I still picked up my guitar, but became frustrated because my technical virtuosity was slipping away due to lack of practice.

I was gradually losing my “repertoire” and the thought of repetition to relearn the complex, classical guitar pieces was overwhelming for me. The truth was that I was actually tired of playing them. Playing classical guitar was very demanding and my standards were high.

I remembered being lonely one afternoon. I picked up my guitar and composed a catchy melody that I could not stop humming.

I was so excited that I even called my illustration teacher and mentor, Nancy and sang my tune over the telephone!

I never found adequate lyrics for my “catchy tune” or developed it into a complete song. The few lyrics I wrote were sweet, even though they didn’t rhyme well. I ended up using a lot of “la la la’s” to fill in the gaps. The last verse was perhaps the best; where I thought everything would be all right if I were holding my guitar.

The experience had me so frustrated with songwriting that I never wrote another song. After almost thirty years, my song is finally finished!

An old song sheet with the song I named “Comfort.” It was the very last song I composed – probably when I was twenty-two years old.

On 4/10/11 Judy wrote:

Hi Nanc! 

I hope you know that you are definitely part of my journey – big time! 

By the way, I wrote a new song that carries the title of my book. I am going to record it soon and when I do I can’t wait to share it with you. I still remember humming the melody to you over the phone when I was first illustrating. Do you remember how we used to talk on the phone for hours back then? 

I guess I remember the whole thing because it was really funny to play my guitar into a telephone. I never did that before or since! 

Love, Jude 

Hi Jude!

Yes, I do remember talking for hours with you while we worked. Isn’t that funny?

You worked with me through many drawings. 

It’s different now. I am more focused when I work on the computer. When I worked in pen and ink, it was during the rendering that we talked. I love thinking about that process and our talks. 

Perhaps when I hear the song you sang to me, it will come back, very sweetly, I’m sure. I hope your arm heals quickly.

Love Nan XXX 

On 4/17/11 Judy wrote: 

Hi Nancy, I’m attaching my new, “theme song.” I’m very excited about it – it’s my baby! 

Oh, Judy,

I’m sooooo happy for you. It’s like you have been freed from a prison of fear. How brave you are. Oh, that I could be so brave. 

It’s as if your pain is changed to joy.

Thank you for leading me closer to taking the step myself. 

Love Nan XXX 

Dearest Nancy,

I’ve thought about this. If I had to choose whether I could touch a lot of people in a small way or a few people in a big way – I’d choose the latter. 

I am very inspired knowing I’ve touched you. Keep taking those steps, Nanc. It’s never too late. Don’t give up hope! 

For me, bravery was so worth it to find joy. Your prison might be one of fear – but I think mine was of grief. Thank god, I am free. I look forward to the rest of my life now. 

It’s amazing that I wrote the melody to my “theme song”  twenty-eight years ago and I shared it with you! 

Love you so much, Jude 

Dear Judy,

Thanks for your thoughtful reply. Your emails are always so sincere. Your grief must have been unimaginable to have stolen so many years. 

I so desperately want to more freely express my ideas and feelings. But you are right, Judy. I will never give up. Your words are so encouraging. They give me new hope. Thank you!

Love Nan XXX 

Oh Nancy, I got teary reading your message. 

If I could make a wish . .  

It would be for you to experience what I have. I never believed it would happen. I am glad I held onto hope, even though it seemed unimaginable. 

If I inspire you not to give up hope, than I feel like I’ve succeeded beyond anything I’ve ever done in my life. 

Love you, Judy

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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YOU’LL SURROUND ME IN THE BREEZE

Posted on April 16, 2011 by Judy

A fallen tree is visible in the background.

A lyric excerpt from my new song, “Music From Her Heart.”

It was mid-April, and the weather had begun to change. The intoxicating aroma of spring enveloped me. The gentle warmth invoked the feeling that summer was just around the corner. With seasonal change, my heart began to ache. It was a very slow and almost imperceptible process.

The change of seasons from summer to autumn always brought me sadness, due to Jason’s death in October. However, today I realized that even the impending springtime was another season of sadness for me.

I had hoped it would wait. It wasn’t Jason’s birthday until the end of May. The pain surrounding his “Anniversary of the Heart” was beginning far too soon! My definition of an “Anniversary of the Heart” is that it represents any date that holds sadness for the bereaved. Typically, it is anniversaries of death and birthdays.

With the seasonal change, I was feeling the “pain of anticipation.”

There was no containment of my feelings related my Anniversary of the Heart. As I share what this means for me, it could apply to anyone suffering with his or her grief. It might have been my child for me, but this actually to anyone who is grieving the loss of someone they loved.

Not only was my “Anniversary of the Heart” a sad day, there was a build-up to it that lasted for a period of sometimes even a month! Often, on the actual day there was some relief from the pain that began weeks earlier. Once the actual day passed, the aura of sadness gradually began to fade.

For me, there was always an extremely, exquisite pain on the day of my child’s birthday.

It represented the pain of what he might have been!

My son, Jason, who died in 1992 when he was five, will never age or grow up. Every year on his birthday in May, I used to wonder what he might have been like had he lived. Six months ago, I visited his grave with my youngest son when I attended a funeral at the same cemetery. Before that, I hadn’t gone for at least ten years.

I have accepted my son’s death now after almost two decades. Lest anyone tell me that I need to get on with my life, I have. I am joyful and no longer grieving my son intensely.

However, I am not the same person I was before his death. I was so innocent and unscathed by life. I used to view this as another loss.

Only recently, I see it as something I have gained. The insights that I have shared are significant for me.

The first few years of my bereavement were filled with pain from about any memory possible. It was one great blur of sadness and agony.

With time, my healing was due to “detachment,” and finally acceptance. I used to have tremendous longing and pain when I tried to imagine my child “growing up” on his birthdays. The slow process of acceptance began when that stopped for me.

The pain was not excruciating any longer, although it could be remembered for its intensity. I could describe it quite vividly. It was a black hole that swallowed up every speck of color in the world.

I don’t feel that kind of pain anymore – even on “Anniversaries of the Heart.”

However, this experience was mine, not anyone else’s. Grief is a very personal journey. It wasn’t until I had more detachment, that I could analyze my pain more accurately. After so many years, it has become more bittersweet. I feel tremendous appreciation for what I have, and the depth of my love for my living children fuels my life.

I used to live with the fear of facing future loss, but recently I decided to let go of that. There is no purpose to grieve for what might happen!

Recently, I’ve decided that surviving isn’t enough for me anymore. Now I am living again. To anyone suffering with grief, there is hope. I never believed I’d feel better; it just took a long time.

A paragraph from the eleven pages I wrote and read at Jasons funeral.

Yesterday, I was at the same cemetery for a “gravestone unveiling” ceremony. The sunshine bathed me. It was unseasonably warm, and I felt peaceful. The melody to my recent song was “looping” in head and in my heart.

I was glad to be supportive of my friend, Sonia, who was grieving her beloved husband. When she mentioned I could attend the ceremony, her words touched me. She said, “If you are there, I will feel uplifted. I always feel so happy when I’m in your presence.” 

I noticed that while I was standing during the ceremony, I felt light-headed. My bandaged, burned arm was bothering me, but I tried to ignore it. I found a place to sit down.

When everyone was leaving, I slowly walked to my car. It was very hot inside, and I could feel sweat trickling down my neck. Jason’s grave was on the other side of the cemetery, at the bottom of a hill. I parked and positioned my iPod so I could listen to my music as I got out. 

My newest song was playing. It soothed me as I navigated a fairly, steep hill wearing sandals. I was careful not to step on the gravestones. I decided to change the song playing on my iPod to “Beside Me Always.” My life has felt like a musical, and it was a very fitting song at that moment.

Jason was buried in an area surrounded by the graves of young children. I always looked at those other gravestones with sadness. I didn’t need to know the stories, as I easily conjured up the anguish I knew resulted from the death of every, young child. 

I continued trudging past many rows of gravestones; I realized none of them were for children. Then I noticed the fallen tree. I walked around it. I began to feel the heat, but a breeze helped to cool me. It was interesting, because at that moment my voice was singing the lyric line, “You’ll surround me in the breeze that’s blowing.” 

It was getting difficult for me to continue walking on the hillside. The combination of my wounded arm and the heat was affecting me. I didn’t want to give up, but I felt I had no choice. I looked again at the fallen tree. It occurred to me that Jason’s grave was under it and that was why I could not find it.

I tried very hard to allow my emotions to flow freely. Once upon a time, I cried enough tears to fill an ocean. My “well of tears” had dried up. I knew I had fewer tears because I could not remember much about my dead child anymore. After all, it had been over eighteen years since he died.

I accepted the loss of those memories, because detachment was part of the grief process for me. “Time heals” was simply about the loss of memories and resulting anesthesia for the gut-wrenching pain.

There was irony. A tree had died – a capricious circumstance, just as death sometimes is. His grave was as inaccessible as the memories of him were at that moment.

I remembered how often I had looked at that tree while visiting Jason’s grave. In its shade I looked into the sky pondering an explanation. My son was cheated out of a full life, and most plants and trees outlived him.

As I walked closer to where I was parked, I felt faint. I stopped and sat down on the grass. The breeze enveloped me and I closed my eyes. 

And then I found a memory . . . 

It was a sensation, actually. I remembered how Jason’s tiny body would comfortably lay against my chest. His tousled, light brown hair would tickle my cheek and his soft head would rest upon my shoulder.

As the memory came to me, I felt grief rip and tear through my heart. I gasped as it quickly rushed out of me and into the breeze. As the grief exited, calmness flowed through me. For that moment, he was “beside me” once again. I did not need to see his grave to know where he was.

A single tear trickled down my cheek.

I left the cemetery. There were no more tears.

This paragraph from my funeral speech reminded me of how my mother was so devoted to helping me.

A thank you card from my mother I came across while writing this story. She prayed I would always continue to be thoughtful and caring.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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HOPE BECAME HER THEME

Posted on April 14, 2011 by Judy

When I visited my mom today at lunch, she was so happy. She just had her hair done. Even with mild pneumonia, she still can smile.

Tomorrow, I am going to visit Jason’s grave. It is getting closer to his “anniversary of the heart.” As May approaches, the poignancy of his life and death envelops me. I will be at the cemetery to attend the unveiling for the gravestone of my friend, Sonia’s husband.

I would like to write about my theme of “having hope.”

I wrote about hope almost to the day a year ago when my journey first began. My post was entitled: #85 THERE WAS HOPE FOR ME 

For decades, I lived my life a certain way. I grieved and continued to face many challenges. Stress and worry always felt familiar, and I was simply numb from so much “scar tissue.” There was a lyric line in my song “Laughter and Tears,” that spoke to that. It was:

“Numbness and pain left no room in my heart.” 

It became a “habit” for me to hide any emotion. 

I didn’t expect that anything would ever change, even though I was always grateful for so much in my life. 

My journey began when I decided to take a different path. When my “new path” appeared, I was ready to follow it. I was so tired of the path that I was on for so many years. 

My new path represented hope! 

With that path, everything changed for me. I opened up my heart to the world. When my heart opened up, I found my music. 

Every human must find their own path and it is never too late. Never give up hope! 

I held onto the hope that someday I would be happy again. Even if it took decades, it was worth hoping for. 

There was hope for me!

I don’t know why we’re all so serious in this picture!

“Life is full of challenges and blessings”

I have had a tendency to see things as “black and white.” Today, I’ve decided to categorize my thoughts in a different way. 

Therefore, my “good and bad list” will be replaced instead with a list of “challenges and blessings.” 

As I drove to record my new song, I wondered how I could express my joy while singing. At my last voice lesson a few days earlier, my teacher, Peaches said to me, “Your voice is a little tight today.” It wasn’t hard for me to figure out why. Our voice is very affected by our emotions. 

After yelling at one of my teenagers the night before, my throat felt sore. Fortunately, the next morning my voice didn’t hurt anymore. 

I paused my “practice singing” while driving to make a phone call. I needed to check on my mother. Her caregiver said, “When I arrived she was screaming your name in the dining room. ”She’s been coughing a lot and the facility ordered breathing treatments and a chest x-ray.

(A challenge!) 

My mother was asleep, so I planned to call her after my recording session. 

After that phone call, I checked on my 86-year-old father who was going to have surgery in the afternoon. I propped up his spirits.

(A blessing!) 

I arrived at my arranger, George’s guesthouse. The very first thing I did was sing my new song for him. My arm was well bandaged so I could play my guitar. The movements hurt, but I was grateful that I was able to play without mistakes.

(A blessing!) 

I sang my song and I was healed!

In this picture, my dad received his Phd from USC. I was probably 11 years old. Those glasses are unbelievable!

Normally, when driving home I always listen to my newest, song recording. I called my mother instead. She didn’t mention anything about her morning “episode.” She sounded clearer and said to me, “I love hearing your voice and I am so lucky to have a daughter like you!”

(A blessing!) 

I had a voicemail message from my mother’s nurse. The x-ray showed pneumonia and she would need antibiotics.

(A challenge!) 

I came home and carried in my guitar. In my other hand, I carried a hard drive with recovered files I had picked up from a computer recovery service. For $150, I had all of my important art files back that I had accidentally erased last week. Even though I needed to re-organize everything, it was a huge relief to know that years of digitally scanning my artwork were not lost.

(A blessing!)

I changed my bandage and noticed that my arm did not hurt as much as it had the last few days. Thankfully, it really was getting better.

(A blessing!) 

It was dinnertime and my family was hungry. We all went out to dinner at a local “fresh,” Mexican restaurant. Everyone got along, and I relished listening to the animated conversations – even more than my food. I could still hear my new song recording “looping” in my head.

(A blessing!)

Yesterday, my father had surgery in the afternoon. It wasn’t until later in the evening when he was able to speak with me. He was disappointed; the procedure to “zap” his kidney stones was unsuccessful, but the surgeon said the next attempt in a few weeks time should work. 

While I was speaking to my dad, he began to moan and cry out loudly. I waited and listened to his agonizing cries. Then he hung up on me. While I waited to call back, my heart ached for him.

(A challenge!)

My life is so full of challenges and blessings. But whenever I listen to my beautiful song that tells my story, my heart soars.

Excerpt from a friend’s card:

I was so sorry to hear about that terrible burn you got. How awful for you. You deal with so much between your son’s arm injury, your mom’s dementia and your dad’s recent hospitalization yet, you are eternally optimistic – a true inspiration to me. You can see in the enclosed picture how happy you always look and what a beautiful smile you have. 

My newest song will be completed this weekend. Below is the third verse I wrote last week, and after that I was ready to record my song. 

With grief there is no sound, and it would seem

that joy she’d finally found

hope became her theme

‘cause she could dream . . . 

I started out with all my rhymes at the top of the page.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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SILENCE TURNED TO SONG

Posted on April 12, 2011 by Judy

“A soothing voice was all that was required”

I love the words “silence turned to song” from my most recent song, “The Music From Her Heart.” I hear music in my mind when I fall asleep and when I awaken. Not audible music I am listening to, but I am singing in my mind.

I realize I am not contemporary with my music at all. I stopped listening to music a long time ago. Certainly, there was nothing on the radio that inspired me much. I was busy surviving and did not have any desire to revisit my musical past.

That time in my life I consider “the silence.” At this time, hearing melodies in my mind represents joy and wonderment with life.

I am eager to finish my book so I will have something to market and share. Once I am satisfied with my “draft,” I have no idea how long it will take to publish my book. I do know that on my end, I want it to be my best effort but not to the point of having perfectionism prevent me from finishing it.

Just the other day, George (my arranger), asked me, “Hey Jude, are you ever going to sell a CD?”

I told him how I felt. I am not a professional singer and the beauty of my music is in having my audience understand the honesty behind my songs. I first want to sell my book with my music to create something unique. Later on, I could sell my music alone, hopefully.

As I wrote the above sentence, the realization for me was that I was selling myself!

On Sunday night, I enjoyed playing so much at Border’s. It had been two weeks since my last performance.

The burn on my right arm ached as it rubbed against my guitar. However, my singing soothed and enveloped me in comfort. I felt like the microphone was my friend. I understood how to use it to help my voice sound better.

The audience was completely unfamiliar. I wasn’t sure if they liked my music, but after a few of my songs I started to receive applause. My heart sang! I had no expectations of anything more as I sang and tried to do my best. I could feel that my singing had really improved and it felt great.

The next morning, my arm wasn’t bending too well. I had tried sleeping without the bandages on it; there was so much freedom without the slimy covering. But having it so exposed was exquisitely painful, especially when I rested it upon my pillow. Each movement hurt, so I tried to stay as still as possible.

It had been a week since I burned my arm when I spilled a mug of hot tea. The impact of what happened to my “important” arm had now sunk in.

No more blisters – it is healing!

Yesterday morning, I spoke with my father who was in the hospital. He was going to have a procedure that would try to “zap” and eliminate his kidney stones. That attempt was not successful and another try would be attempted later on this week.

It was interesting that my father needed little time from me compared to my mother. He was very appreciative that he had a nurse who was giving him a lot of attention. I was pleased to hear he was a good patient and I especially appreciated that he was aware of everything.

He said to me, “I know your life! Please! Please, do not waste time to visit and just talk to me on the phone instead! Hearing your voice is all I need.”

This week, I missed the sympathy I knew I would have gotten from my mother. Instead, I was very careful to hide my wound from her. With dementia, there was no reason to add anything else to her imagined fears.

No sooner had I gotten off the phone with my father, I received a call from my mother’s nursing facility notifying me that she had “unexplained” bruises on her legs. After I hung up, there was another stressful call. My mother’s wonderful caregiver, Miriam, was on the phone. I didn’t want Miriam to know that I planned to visit later on to surprise her on her birthday.

She desperately needed my help to calm my mother. She told me that my mother was certain my husband and father had died the night before in a car accident. My mother was sobbing hysterically because it was very real for her.

Miriam couldn’t convince her otherwise and was actually worried that something might have happened to my father, because he happened to be in the hospital.

It took me about ten minutes to gently persuade my mother that everyone was fine. My mother could not find the words, but I knew what she meant when she said to me shakily, “Your voice is all I need.”

Thankfully, my voice calmed her. She believed me when I told her that it was all a bad dream. I realized that my poor mother’s life was now a nightmare for her and the day would come when my voice would not be enough.

All the voice lessons in the world to improve my singing was not as important for me as knowing my voice could make such a huge difference for my parents!

“Showing appreciation

It was Miriam’s birthday; I had wrapped up an iPod Nano and purchased a cake. I was looking forward to surprising her. There simply was no way for me to ever truly express my appreciation, but I was excited to have an opportunity to do something special for her.

I had found an excellent card. Although I often share a lot, I’m not sharing my personal message. I wanted it to be special, unique and only for her. I am sharing the card I purchased, which set the stage for my own words.My mother enjoyed watching Miriam blow out her candles. I found out Miriam was thirty-three years old; there was so much I didn’t know about her. Together, all three of us had some cake and Miriam looked delighted with her gift.

I brought my mom a bag of peanuts – she always loves feeding the squirrels. She and Miriam were headed outside to enjoy the beautiful weather.

She read my card and tears trickled down her cheeks. We hugged each other tightly.

Yesterday was a challenging day. Although having my burn made things a little more painful, I managed with it.

A year ago, I had named one of my more stressful days, “Just Another Manic Monday.” I thought about that title, yesterday. But I realized that with my transformation, it might have been challenging like many days I’ve experienced but it was not manic.

Manic implies a sense of “being out of control.” I realize that I don’t have control over many things. The one thing I do try to control is my own attitude.

Rather than being “tossed around by life,” I decided to keep smiling and humming my songs. Last night, I decided I could perform my new song at the open mic in the evening and looked forward to it.

My performance wasn’t the way I would have liked for my new song. I rushed through it because I was pumped full of adrenaline. I’m not even going to share it.

But I could still hear the echo in my head of the announcer’s voice when I was finished.

He said, “That’s going to heal up soon, I hope – Hopefully, it looks worse than it is. How about a trooper here? She’s got an injury and she’s still gonna come out and play! Ain’t nothing gonna stop her!

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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