The Girl on the Train

One of my goals for the new year was to read more and I’m well on my way. I still haven’t finished Big Magic, but I’m getting there. It might be because I am just gaining traction on owning my inspiration again lately, but I feel that it takes time to read that book. You need to digest it, to feel it. I’m finding my magic. The book helps you to think like a writer again after you’ve walked away, closed the door and locked it.I can’t say for sure it’s the reason I’ve finally begun polishing the rust off my wheels, but it’s definitely helped me believe again.

I just finished Paula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train and I loved it. I originally bought it as something to read while I had downtime at my boyfriend’s place, but I could barely put it down. The  characters – each flawed in their own way – appealed to me. The story is written from a vocal point of view (first person narrative) and  as such really hit me. In the past I always focused on the details of my writing, the actual story -what it was about, etc. I obsessed over it.

I used to think I had nothing important to say, write or share, so I never did. Recently I have learned to embrace the voices I hear all around me -the voices of nature, the voices of the artists I listen to, the voices of film characters and literally characters and my own unique voice especially. My story is mine to tell. Other voices -those of artists and my peers may be more appealing, but I cannot be like them, I need to be me.

My new found sense of inspiration and acceptance of myself have been a long time coming, but I know the universe has been smiling down on me the last few months. I have so much to be grateful for – an amazingly gentle -hearted, adventurous person has come into my life, I’ve been blessed with a new job and I’ve been skipping in between homes as I prepare myself to fly out of the old bird’s nest. It’s all starting to come together, actually.

I am very grateful. I find myself continuing to be moved by the beauty of creation. I long for days when I can just go for a drive, run down a new trail and discover and a new place. I guess you can say I’m like the girl on the train finding her magic along the way.

I’m a dark horse now, by the way.

The Girl on Fire

Hi Everyone,

I try to update this blog fairly regularly, but sometimes I fail to do so. While most people are out partying and gearing up for the super bowl, I’m here reminiscing over the past and how far I have come. I can’t begin to explain how excited I get when I think about the future and all the possibilities that may lie ahead for me. Here’s to me. Here’s to happiness. Here’s to healing. Here’s to balance. Here’s to learning to say no, but still being open to saying yes.

Much love,

Shana

Write, write, write.

Music has started to take over my life. It’s what I want to pursue. It has become my dream, my passion. This is who I am. 

In the past I have always sought to save people in romantic relationships and friendships alike. It never worked out. I would always take on my significant other’s problems, I would always go the extra mile to help a friend and in the end I would get overwhelmed. I would become burdened, tired, frustrated and I’d give up. “You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved,” I’d tell myself. 

Or can you?

I have a message to share, a story to tell. And through my music I can do that. I have struggled, like so many others to speak my mind and to be heard. For the longest time, I didn’t have a voice. My parents, friends, family, professors, colleagues and peers used to tune me out or overlook me. They still do. 

But when I share my music, people listen. My words speak for themselves. 

Music has given me the voice I have never had. And while I am still afraid of my own voice, I’m starting to use it more. All I want to do now is write music. School has lost my interest and maybe it shouldn’t be that way-especially when finals are two weeks away, but I cannot deny this calling longer. This dream is consuming me….I want to be an artist. 

I’m scared. God, I am so petrified of pursuing this path. Society repetitively has told me I need to be responsible. I need to get a job, pay my bills, listen to my parents, be a good girl, buy a house, get married, have kids-none of which is important to me anymore. I don’t want that life, not now anyways. I want the life of an artist. I want to be a siren, I want to save people and I want to be saved. I want to travel and I want to talk with strangers, I want to sing, I want to write and I want to listen. I want to grow and change. I want to fall in love over and over again. I’m starting to think that for me-music is my big love. 

And when I fall asleep tonight and dream of the stars and some reality far, far away I hope that God listens. I hope he understands. I hope he gives me the strength I need to pursue this path and I sincerely hope with all heart that when tomorrow comes and I open my eyes I have the resilience and perseverance to dedicate one part of everyday to pursuing this dream until it becomes a reality.  

Over again

It was Thursday morning and I was recording. 

I went to bed early last night. I spent a lot of time after work in the library organizing my schedule, school notes and priorities. When I left around 8 p.m. I felt a great deal of accomplishment. I was proud of myself for putting in extra work after a long workday. I went for a short run afterwards to stretch my legs and while they burned, my body thanked me later as it flooded with endorphins. 

Lorraine gave me some advanced homework as she wants to better prep me for my lessons and another group class that I still have not discovered how I am going to pay for. This morning I finally got myself settled on the way to work and sang along to Miley Cyrus’s version of Jolene. The recording was of terrible quality as I haven’t sang in days and sadly didn’t know all the words. I should have further recorded, but became discouraged. 

Today seemed like another long, typical Thursday. I attempted to go to the library after work again today, but I got out of work late and by time I changed into casual clothes and got a bite to eat it was about 7 p.m. and the library closes at 8 p.m. I decided to come home instead. I hate coming home sometimes because I get distracted and don’t accomplish much. After lounging about for a while, I tidied up my room, threw some laundry in and finally got inspired. 

Back when I was in college full time as an undergraduate I was very passionate about art. I took painting classes, drawing classes and an imaging journal class. I surprised myself with what I created and accomplished in those classes. When my face was covered in paint and I had decorated the walls of her studio in paint blotches, my professor repeatedly told me I was a true artist. 

After graduation and my move back home, everything got disheveled and I stopped drawing, painting and journaling all together. I tried to paint again, but felt I had lost my spark as I stood in dark, dusty confines of my parent’s basement. I felt like I lost myself. 

Somewhere between doing laundry tonight and cleaning my room, I came across some old hand outs from my drawing class. They were illustrations of animals completed in technical pen. They weren’t mine-my professor had handed out samples to everyone for a project we were working on and I kept them. I enjoyed working with technical pen and if I ever get my act together I’ll post some samples of my work on here. I even posted these images up around my bed to inspire me moving forward.

Anyways I picked up the images of the antelope and highland bull we were given and remembered how much I used to love to drawing in pen. So I decided I would try again. I pulled out my drawing pad, went down to the basement to retrieve my desk lamp, dusted it off, came back upstairs, plugged the lamp in, put on some music and began again. I tried to draw a simple apple that had been sitting on the corner of desk. It came out alright. I titled the piece, “Rusty,” as I am. 

However the whole experience got me thinking that perhaps I was and had always been an artist and simply lost my way. And it was time, this was my chance to start over again. 

Identity

Somewhere through the craziness of it all-work, school, relationships, responsibilities- the real me is beginning to emerge. Or at least another side of Shana is.

This side, this persona is less refined than the version of myself that puts face to the world. She’s crazy angry, seething with bravado and sensibly reckless. And she’s daring me to let go.

I’ve already faced my demons and while I still wrestle with them, I’ve made peace with them for now. I’ve begun taking bigger risks and gambles both in love and in war (the war of words.) Still, I’m torn between this new sense of identity and the old me. Why not just throw all caution to the wind and run with it?

Feelings. Feelings my senses say.

It’s the silence you hear after you bleed your heart out,  the smirks you witness as you brush yourself off from the fall, the jeers you hear once you’ve stated your state your case, the looks you get as you walk away, it’s the unanswered text messages you wrote staring up at your face, it’s the cancelled plans, the angry notes, the disrespectful comments, the letdown, the heartache….those are things that make you who you are. You are your own character. This is your very own story.

And writing it isn’t easy. Living it isn’t either.

I thought I was in love once, maybe he didn’t feel the same. Sure wish he did.

But this is the old me. And the old me is a bad memory. This, this is a learning process.

And I must let go. I must let go.

Reflections

I use to be such a sad, sad girl. 

And I’m happy to say I’m not anymore. From time to time, I get down about some things. It’s hard for me to let stuff go-I feel obligated to make situations right and set things straight. I’m a people-pleaser. I don’t like stepping on other people’s toes.

But I’m not a settler. 

I’m anxious and a little restless. There’s a breeze rustling in my sails. The winds of change are blowing. And maybe this feeling that I’m experiencing in my stomach, in the pit of my soul is just a mental feeling. But it feels good. It feels damn good. 

My insecurities still exist, but the strength and hold they had over me is fading. I’m shedding my skin, growing my wings, learning to fly and sinking to swim. 

I really like this energy I’m channeling and I’m looking forward to seeing where it will lead me in the next few months. They always caution you to not look back-but back is what got me to here. And right here, right now feels amazing.

Gone is the girl of yesterday.

Rooftop love

My voice concerns me.

I have said that if one person found my voice to be beautiful, that would be enough for me-however, I sometimes fear it isn’t.

Everyone wants to be loved and noticed, humans are social creatures and I, am no different.

But perhaps this one person doesn’t need to be a stranger. Perhaps this one person needs to be me. Maybe I need to find my voice.

For years, I have struggled to develop a sense of who I really am. As a child I was pushed and pulled in so many different directions, always being told what to do and always being asked to shut up and keep quiet, as my opinion, my voice was irrelevant and didn’t matter.

College didn’t change much. I chose a major I thought would be interesting, I chose something I thought I would be good at. Looking back now, I chose wrong. 

I had always been able to write and write a lot. I enjoyed writing essays and papers in school. So I figured, why not journalism?

But I was rusty. I babbled too much. My stories were written in circles. My professor continuously asked, “What’s the point? What’s the point of this story?” 

If he asked me that today, I’d answer with the same answer I did then.

I don’t know.

But I do know this-I don’t want to write stories for other people. I want to write my stories. I want to write my own story. And maybe that story isn’t some big news story posted up for the whole world to see. Maybe that story isn’t the next editorial in Vogue Magazine or the next sensational short story in the New Yorker. 

Maybe that story is only a story for me to know.  Maybe the main character dies and the whole thing falls apart. Maybe no one buys it or likes it. Maybe it isn’t credible or legible. Maybe it will go through countless revisions and be repetitive and be pointless. Maybe I’ll end up hating it and maybe I’ll learn to love it. And maybe I’ll spend the rest of my lifetime writing it.

But there’s no denying it will be mine.

I’m chasing my dreams little by little and facing my demons one day at a time. My voice will get stronger. My voice will get louder and I’d like to think that eventually someone, somewhere will hear it.

 I sure hope it’s beautiful. 

Fireworks

I started this blog and started taking on a lot of things in the process. I went back to school. I began a new job. I took up voice lessons. 

Yet, I’m still completely unsatisfied with my progress. 

I have this spark of creativity that exists in me, but it’s like I can’t connect to it. I have such a need for expression. There’s so much I want to say. There’s so much I need to say. But, every time I let myself down. I get in my own way. I know I am a perfectionist. Still for so long now I have been walking through life half alive and half awake. I complete the necessary motions of life, I do what I have to get by, but I never stick to anything. 

I constantly get distracted by the internet, by my family. I get lazy. I get tired. I talk myself out of things. I get down. I put projects off. And I just can’t take it anymore. This is my life. I will not live a safe, average life. I don’t want my life to be ordinary. I want it to be great. I want to be great. I want to be a great storyteller. 

I want to look and feel as beautiful on the outside as I am beginning to feel on the inside. I want to be powerful and I want to be fearless. I want to write and read all the time and not put it off or get distracted. I want to be able to sing in front of an audience and sing well. I want to find a job that fulfills me-I want it to be creative, challenging and fun. 

I want to travel and make a little money and have interesting stories to tell. I want to do things that scare me. I want to be the best me I can be. And I will be. I will be. 

The fireworks are sounding off tonight, I feel my spark-

though it’s escaped my sight, the clock may be ticking, but I’m ready for the boom. 

The Hurricane

Last Nights Thoughts:

As I sit here on the floor of my room, half delirious I’ve come to realize what a mess I’ve left, what a disaster I’ve created. Lately I have been running around aimlessly from one place to another, one project to another, one interest to another. I’ve created a whirlwind. This blog  is meant to track the process of my evolution from lost post grad to flightless artist. Yet, I haven’t posted or documented any of my work, much less of my self. I really need to get myself in order and become a better housekeeper.

This past Saturday I met with a vocal coach, which I’ve never done before. The writing group I belong to offers classes and seminars and when I heard about the songwriting workshop I decided to try it out. I had no idea what to expect. I threw some pieces of my work into my bag and drove to the meeting anxious as ever. I was welcomed with a warm hug upon meeting  Lorraine, my vocal coach. I read her a piece of mine and we discussed what I wanted to get out of the workshop. I apparently write well, but my delivery needs some adjustment. I present my pieces in fast jarbled rants. My work is heavily influenced by hip hop and while I can incorporate that element into my work, I need to find my own voice and what works best for me. Lorraine advised me to become more animated with my work, provide some contrast and show my “wild side.”

I believe my meeting with Lorraine was the first big step that I needed to take as a struggling artist.

I have all this emotion, energy and desire to tell my story in a creative way, but I also want to present it in the correct light. According to Lorraine, my “wild side” has always existed I just haven’t shown it to people. When she said this to me, I knew in my heart it was true. I’ve spent years walking this straight and narrow path trying to please other people-my parents, relatives and friends without getting much, if anything at all, back in return.

I’ve grown tired of being put in boxes and being assigned labels, it’s time to pull the curtain back and take the mask off.

It’s time to be me.