Now that I had the love of my children, without any strings, and I had cut the strings from a guilt-ridden relationship, I should have been perfectly content. The only trouble was that I still hadn't dealt with my guilt, or any other emotions and issues. Starting from my very first rejection, everything that had ever hurt me was bottled up inside. The old thoughts of self-blame kept me from sharing my feelings with anyone. I had so many voices screaming inside my head, I thought I would be arrested for disturbing the peace.
At least as a child, when I rehearsed with my mother, I could escape from myself into a character that could say or do anything. I didn't have to worry about what anybody thought, because it wasn't really me. If there were only some way to get these voices in my head to stop shouting, I might be able to get just one good night's sleep! And, where was God during all of this? He used to talk to me all the time when I was young. Hadn't I redeemed myself yet by having such beautiful children? Oh well, the voices in my head were so loud, I probably wouldn't have heard Him anyway!
I needed to find something to do. To my children, I was special. You would think that would be enough. Why did I still think there was something more for me to do? What could it possibly be? I couldn't go on a mission around the world, saving other children, mine had to be at the bus stop every morning by eight! All I knew was that if I didn’t learn how to quiet those voices in my head, my children were going to find me out! I wasn't about to risk losing the greatest love I had ever known.
I'm not quite sure how I ended up with a six-string guitar. It wound up in my share of the belongings divided between my ex and me. He was the one that knew how to play, after all. I barely knew where to put my fingers to play three chords. One beautiful summer day, I was in a car accident and found myself with about six months of free time on my hands. With the kids in school and my leg in a cast, there was nothing to distract me from those voices in my head.
One day, instead of my crutches, I picked up that guitar. All those emotions I had kept so tightly corked up, poured through my fingers and out of those strings. The words that I couldn't speak danced off my tongue in a melody that behaved like it had been sung for a century. But it wasn't an old tune. It was new. Somehow, it found its way here, through me.
I was so surprised. It didn't seem real. I didn't know how or why I had suddenly become a lyricist and a composer. I did know that for the first time, for as long as I could remember, I was still. My mind and my body were as one. There was no pain and in my head, just silence. I felt delivered from the weight of a wall that had rested on my back for years. Wow! What a release. If one song could make me feel that good, three songs would give me enough peace to get me through the next thirty years! So, I wrote three that day.
Well, now that I had a way to release some of my emotions and make myself feel better, I could get on with figuring out what I was supposed to do with my life. It had to be something that would allow me to be with my children. It had to be something that would make me feel like I was making a difference. Well, maybe if I spent some time just holding onto that guitar and strumming it a little, something would come to me.
Several people passed through my life, leaving their footprints on my memory. I found that after a while, the songs that were born through me, expressed what I was feeling, and the emotions that came through those people. A strange energy connected them to me for a moment in time. In that moment, I could feel their happiness or sorrow, as if it were my own. It made me feel better to release it through a song. The more places I went, in search of what I was supposed to do, the more people I met. The more people I met, the more songs I wrote. This cycle was taking up all of my time. How would I ever find out what I was supposed to be doing, if I didn't stop allowing myself to be sidetracked? I was an emotional clearinghouse. Even though it was making me, and them, feel good, it wasn't helping me with my quest. I had to keep on . . .
. . . searching.