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Saturday, November 10, 2007
SEVENTH GRADE
So I'm teaching at this really awesome songwriting retreat in Michigan called Lamb's Retreat. The deal here is that everyone gets an individualized song assignment. Here is mine: You are in middle school. The school you attend teaches abstinence. It is their policy. Your favorite teacher is the science teacher. She is reported for describing methods of contraception to some curious students who only asked about the subject because of television commercials they'd seen. One girl asked about the pill and another girl asked about condoms. The teacher knew she wasn't supposed to talk about these subjects but she did anyway. Someone reported her and she was fired. When you go home from school on the day you find out that your favorite teacher was fired, your mom notices that you've been crying. She ask what's the matter and you can't tell her. She keeps asking but you can't speak and you can't make up another reason for your tears. You're not sure what's happening but you are afraid that if you get your mom talking about sex something bad might happen to her. Can I just say, HOLY CRAP! After a night of self torture and agony, this is what I came up with... Seventh Grade If i went back to seventh grade before all my mistakes were made to soccer games and innocence and jimmy carter was the president dingo boots and wolfman jack bonne bell and gunne sax and love notes that i never sent to my track coach cause running was romantic if i went back to jr high before my secrets made me cry to happy days, laverne & shirley when all the boys were way too squirrely and the book i found up on mama's shelf upside down so i stole it for myself and read it locked behind the bathroom door everything i ever wanted to know about sex and more if i went back i wouldn't be so afraid to ask my mom about mistakes she made hungry for her history when she was just a girl like me i'd ask her did she go too far in the backseat of her boyfriends's car i'd ask her did she ache for love inside disguises she wasn't proud of i'd ask her did she take the blame i'd ask her did she feel the shame i'd ask her did she learn to stand outside the shadow of a man i'd ask her things i hope to say before my daughters walk away before my prayers have all been prayed before they hit the halls of seventh grade posted by Cary Cooper @ 10:16 AM 0 comments Friday, October 26, 2007 Loretta Lynn, My Lion Friend I've always wanted to have my own animal identity. You know, claim an animal for my very own that somehow defines me . I remember doing the eneagram test once. Found out I was 4 (for any of you out there that know anything about the eneagram). I also found out that my LIGHT animal was a stallion, and that my SHADOW animal was a basset hound. Well I grew up deathly afraid of horses. We had them when I was a child. I was not one of those free souls who could jomp on bare back, grab the horses mane and just ride like the wind into the credits of a movie's end. That was my sister. I was more in the camp where if possible, I would have looked like the goalie for a hockey team with more protective gear than a horseriding situation called for. So claiming a stallion as MY animal. The one that represents me in my highest brightest moments seemed either completely ironic or just a cruel joke. (And I totally got the basset hound thing,: slow lazy, big whiney sound…)So continued on my search for MY animal. I also remember being in therapy in a difficult period of my life and the therapist asked me if I had to describe myself as an animal what would I be. I was ashamed to admit at the time that the animal that I most related to was a wounded deer. I remember the words flying out of my mouth before I had the chance to stop them. Saying I felt like a frightened wounded deer left by the side of the road to be eaten by other animals. Now if that doesn't say something about where I've come from…A sober reminder to me of what it feels like to be powerless. This past year has been a journey of sorts for me. I mean a deeper journey than the one I began 7 years ago when I claimed my identity as a songwriter. This year was the first year of marriage for Tom and me. It was also the first year in our history together when we weren't on the road EVERY weekend. I took the opportunity to work on myself a little. I made some new friends, I lost weight, I worked on relearning the guitar and I spent a lot of time writing. I started feeling really clear about what I want, where I'm heading and how I'm getting there. Confident and clear. A great feeling compared to the deer on the side of the road waiting to be eaten alive. One of my dearest new friends, Mary Moss started calling me her lioness. I think it started because of how my hair reacts to humidity. I wear my hair straight at the expense of major straightening effort, which works pretty well in Dallas, not so well in more humid environments where five minutes after the whole 20 minute straightening process it's a big wavy frizzy mess, so much so that if I let my hair dry by itself, and walk into a room after it'd dried, Tom does one of those knee jerk reaction double takes along with a "woa" like he doesn't even recognize me as the same person he just crawled out of bed with. Anyway, Mary Moss started calling me "lioness" because of my hair. But through a series of summer emails, three way emails between me, Mary Moss and Melanie Hersch (my other champion friend), where we solved every problem known to man, Lioness evolved to a deeper meaning. That I'm bold, fiercely loyal, and unafraid. Not really how I see myself, but does anyone see themselves the way that others see them? I doubt it. The old cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz definitely didn't see himself that way, and definitly didn't live in his power all the time, but when push came to shove, he was a stand up guy...I must have more in common with him than i think, because my first tattoo is the Chinese symbol for courage. Branded on my right bicep as a constant reminder to me. You can be courageous. You ARE courageous! The last two weeks have been very trying ones for me personally. Filled with lots of reasons for me to look within, explore deep levels of personal pain. But also filled with many opportunities to rise above my wounded self to a higher place of understanding and growth. Necessary growth. During this time, I went back to my summer behavior and started up the three way emails again. No better way to get through pain than to laugh your way through it with loving supportive friends. And my nickname kept appearing in the emails. Then the other day, I had the experience of recording one of my all-time favorite Joni Mitchell songs, River. It's a song about pain and longing and regret. Seemed appropriate timing wise to record it while I was in the middle of my own dark place. And with Tom engineering, I tried hard to tap into my own feelings so that they came through in the singing of the song. Tom thinks it's the best vocal I've done. It was definitely heart felt. And without reservation (which I should say is definitely a new thing for me when it comes to singing). Coming into the this whole performing life rather late, I find myself feeling rather timid about my voice, most days. Knowing I'm never going to have the kind of soulful voice Ruthie Foster has or my friend Michelle Dalziel (who sings more like a black gospel singing girl than most black girls I know…and she ain't black), I kind of used my timidity about my voice to keep me in a box vocally using it as an excuse not to stretch. But as I was singing River, I tapped into a place of power. Not a Ruthie Foster kind of power, but Cary Cooper power. A place of strength and conviction. And I realized that I want to sing like that all the time. So on my birthday, I wrote on my myspace "status" that I was roaring like the freakin lion I was becoming. And before I realized it, I had claimed my animal. I was a lion. The lioness. And it feels right. My daughters were really excited to go shopping for my birthday with Tom. They're finally getting old enough to approach shopping from the perspective of buying something mom might like rather than things they like and just happen to give to mom. I've gotten lots of stuffed animals in the past, just to explain a little further. But this year, they really put a lot of thought into it. Caroline got me a pair of reading glasses for my old failing eyes, she also bought me an angel to remind me of a fun night we had dancing in the kitchen together to Annie Lennox' "precious little angel" song. She also got me a vanilla candle, cause well, you know I'm a freak for vanilla. Hannah bought me a a pen to write with that says mom all over it. No.1 mom. Mother, mommy etc. And a really cute necklace and pair of earrings. (All courtesy of the Dollar Tree – where nothing costs over a dollar. A singer-songwriting family shopping paradise). But the biggie, my non-dollar tree present was kind of a compromise. In style, more like presents of past year, something the girls would like. but actually more of a bridge into their world. I got a WEBKINZ!! Now if you don't have kids you probably don't even know what the hell I'm talking about. But take it from me , it's all the rage. Kind of like a stuffed animal myspace for kids. Picture stuffed animals, like beanie babies with secret codes that you put into the computer and then you name your animal and you take care of them online, you befriend other animals online, you play with other animals online, you shop for your animal, you play games to win more money to shop with. And both my kids are totally obsessed. If you want to be a hit at a kids birthday party one of these days, show up with a webkinz, you'll have new best friends disguised as 8 & 9 year olds coming outta the woodworks! Anyway, they had this great idea that I should have my own webkinz so that when I'm gone on trips, we can "play" with each other and leave messages for each other (they have their own email accounts, but they never check them because they can't stop playing on webkinz long enough for that). So, they bought me a lion. And I named her Loretta Lynn. Because she found her voice and learned to roar long before me. Ahhh, life is good in my den tonight. posted by Cary Cooper @ 5:31 PM 0 comments Wednesday, October 10, 2007 MY TAKE ON "THE L WORD" Not THAT L word...The four letter one. LOVE.It never fails. Seems like every time Tom and I do a show together, we get at least one person, or a couple that comes up to us and tells us how much we've inspired them to change their lives. And as nice as that can be, it always leaves me with the feeling that there's MORE to tell them. And i end up feeling a twisted sense of responsibility about it. Because inspiration can take different forms. These are the two most common forms it seems to take at our shows: 1. "Our relationship was hanging on the brink of doom and you've inspired us to give it another shot and really work at it this time." I like this one a lot. 2. "You've inspired me to follow my heart and my dreams so I'm leaving my marriage of 20 something years and moving to a cabin in the woods to become a (fill in the blank with your wildest dream)." This one scares me more than a little. I don't know about you. But that's some pressure folks. I don't like feeling like I'm leading folks astray...or presenting an unrealistic image to the world. So here's what I'd say to those folks at the CD table at a show if I had the time. LOVE IS FUCKING HARD WORK. Doesn't matter who you love. Or how great they are at loving. LOVE IS FUCKING HARD. PERIOD. Love is also a verb. Not a noun. I've been in good relationships. I've been in horrible relationships. They all have moments that are wonderful. They also all have moments that completely suck. I don't know why that is so hard for people to believe. Well, yes i do. We are fed from the minute we're born images of what love is supposed to look like. We see it on TV. In movies. It's supposed to be beautiful and sexy and fun all the time and easy easy easy. And we can all read the minds of our partners and never have to ask the hard questions or talk about the hard things. And if we get too close to having to do anything negative, we just look for someone else beautiful, sexy, fun and easy to start over with. The fact is folks, THAT doesn't exist. At least not in my neighborhood. Here's what i believe. We're all wounded. Most of the wounds we deal with (or run from) every day are wounds we suffered in childhood. Either at the hands of loving (but imperfect) parents or caregivers, or our other earliest relationships. And the people we're drawn to, or attracted to, in some very primitive and unconscious ways remind us of these wounds. So we seek out these people in an unconscious attempt to work out our histories. To heal the wounds of the past. Trouble is, we don't go in realizing this. We THINK we're attracted to other things: The way someone looks, the way they make us laugh, the way they challenge our intellect, or how "low maintenance" they appear. The things we all THINK we want (and DO want). But under all that, is a whole different set of criteria. The ones we don't even realize we're looking for until the shit starts hitting the fan. Maybe I'm not making sense. Let me take Tom for example. I love my husband. I'm deeply attracted to him. To the way he looks. To the way he thinks. To the way he writes. To the way he sings. The way he makes me laugh. To the way he makes me feel. But part of the way he makes me feel reminds me on the most basic level of wounds I experienced as a child. And part of my wounds have to do with emotional abandonment. When I was hurting or feeling scared or insecure, someone important that i counted on to be there found a way to not be available. And i experience that with Tom. Just as I can feed his feelings of inadequacy. His childhood wounds. And when we're not living consciously, we forget this, and get tangled in the most unreasonable arguments and resentments. Thank god for therapists. And for Harville Hendricks I highly recommend anyone in a relationship running out to buy a copy of "Getting the Love You Want". A book that explains all this in a much more coherent way than I am right now. Back to what I would tell people at shows. If you're looking at my life and thinking that what i have is easy and requires no work and isn't full of hard and heartbreaking times, you're dead wrong. I did follow a dream. And for me, it meant leaving a marriage. (Because you can't work on a marriage if you're the only one willing to work. And that's the boat I was in. And had been in for a long time.) And my dream of making music led me to another dream. A relationship with someone else who was willing to do the work. I'd never had that before. I'd always been in relationships with people who were only willing to go so far or do so much work, but when it really got down to the hard stuff (which it ALWAYS does), they checked out. And THAT'S what I most appreciate about Tom. He works at it. Just as hard as me. And that's what we have going for us that allows us to get up and sing songs about love and look each other in the eye and mean it at a gig where two hours before the gig we might have had the hugest fight. Because we both know that even though from the outside, it might look easier to go somewhere else, ultimately, it never is. The path with ANYONE, ultimately leads back to the same unhealed wounds. So to the inspired folks that are making the brave choice to work on it, I say, "I commend you brave souls for doing the work that most people aren't willing to do". And to the folks who are leaving it all to follow a dream, i would say, "Is there anything that you're running from? Is your partner willing to work with you? Are you sure you don't need to stick around and see what needs fixing here first? If you haven't done that, the same pain, the same work is bound to show up when there's someone new in your life." Okay, so this wasn't supposed to be a downer. Just realistic. And hopefully, hopeful. Because the thing about having a partner that is actually willing to hunker down and stick around and do the work, is that you actually have a chance to heal. HEAL! Really heal. A safe place to work out your deepest wounds. A soft place to fall. That's what I think love is. So there. posted by Cary Cooper @ 11:28 AM 1 comments Thursday, September 06, 2007 An Angel Named Mary Gauthier I think I came out of the womb a perfectionist. It's true. I could blame my mom and dad and the way they raised me (and don't think for a second that I haven't spent many a year and money for therapy doing just that) but at some point, you have to accept responsibility for the things you refuse to change. A different spin on the serenity prayer.My day of reckoning for my perfectionistic self was in August. As many of you know that keep up with my blog, I made the ambitious/insane/courageous decision to enter the Rocky Mountain Folks Festival Songwriter's Showcase competition. The ambitious/insane/courageous part is because it's a solo contest and I'm not what you would presently call a solo player. But I have the desire to be. And my thinking was simple, if you enter, you'll practice. It will be motivating. And it was. Until I found out that I was selected to compete. Then it was petrifying. Immobilizing, even. But I kept practicing, what else could I do? All the while, the monkey on my back got bigger, uglier and scarier with each chord. It got so bad on several occasions that I totally melted down in front of Tom, and he had to coax me back into the land of healthy thinking. Easier said than done, I'm afraid. Anyway, fast forward to the week of the contest. I was attending song school at Rocky Mountain – a fabulous school – I highly recommend it to all songwriters, regardless of your level of experience. It's a great hang, an incredibly creative environment, a place where magic happens. And here I was in the middle of this spectacular place just freaking the fuck out. I'd have one good day (translated: maybe I can pull this off) and then a meltdown day (translated: there's no way in hell you're going to pull this off – you should go home NOW!) and everything in between. Total roller coaster crazy. And not the state I like to live in. One day somewhere in between sane and crazy, I had a conversation by the river with my friend, kate graves. She was so sweet to listen to my rantings and share a few of hers before telling me in no uncertain terms could I let song school end without attending Mary Gauthier's class. She wouldn't give me much in terms of detail except to say that it was going to be exactly what I needed. Fast forward to the last day of song school. The day before the last day had been a huge meltdown day and I'd managed to let it slip by without taking any classes at all. (But i did manage to weasel a therapy session out of a naked stranger in the shower...AND i wrote a song, so all was not lost...**) So I decided on Thursday, the last day, I'd have to go to Mary Gauthier's class just to see what all the fuss was about. Plus, my horoscope said I could expect 3 miracles that week, and I was waiting for them. I have no history with Mary Gauthier. I'd never met her until song school. A couple of days before taking her class, I did go up to her and say that I thought she was one of the coolest looking people I'd ever seen. It's her really short hair, her funky clothes and the rose colored glasses that were forever covering her eyes. So I sat down in the class with several of my friends, some new (Ben, Sam, Mercedes and Cheryl), some old (john and viv, tim and kathrin) and some fellow competitors (also friends) in the contest (sarah and amy). I had no idea what to expect. And a lot of the class itself is still a blur of emotion for me. But somewhere in the first couple of sentences out of Mary's mouth, there were tears already rolling down my face, and i knew my miracles had arrived. And may I say for the record, I'm not a crier. ** Not a public one, anyway. That's something I definitely got from my folks. The only proper time to cry is in the movie theater. But I was crying in the class. Mary started by saying that we are vessels for the creator. We don't write the songs, God does. When we get out of the way. She also went on to say that it doesn't matter what we look like, how good we sing or play the guitar, if we have connected to the heart of God, we have a message that someone needs to hear. And if we focus on that, we're doing what we're called to do. That hit something so deep inside me. For weeks Tom had been telling me, you're making this contest all about the guitar, it's not a guitar competition, it's a songwriting competition. And he was right. I WAS making it all about the guitar. When I would practice, all I could think about was every mistake I made. When I played my songs for other people, all I could think about was, "shit I missed that chord, and now they're thinking about what a crappy guitar player I am". There was nothing joyful in it, nothing meaningful. It was all about me and how bad I sucked at the guitar. And Mary Gauthier reminded me that I'm not that important. It's NOT all about me. But if I make it all about me, I lose the joy and I lose the meaning of why I do what I do. It was lightening strike worthy. I was struck. And thanks be to God, I really was changed. Who can account for when we get what we get?? Who can account for how much self inflicted agony must be present before we're able to hear the message we need to hear the most? I have no idea…I'm just glad that I was ready that day. And that Mary was the bearer of the message – my incredible gift of freedom, my miracle. She told me that I wasn't there to win a contest, or even play the guitar. I was there to sing the song that for whatever reason was chosen and needed to be heard by someone that was in the audience. She also told me a prayer to recite before I took the stage. I may be getting this all wrong, but I believe it was found in the pocket of the chaplain for the new york city fire department - the first known/named casualty in 9-11. The prayer goes something like this: Take me where you want me to go Introduce me to who you want me to meet Tell me what you want me to say And help me get out of your way Well, I prayed it. I prayed it more than once in the course of the next 24 hours. I prayed it right before I went on stage for the contest. I had a whole little speech prepared to introduce my first song, but I prayed the prayer right before, and I found myself on the stage saying something completely unplanned. But evidently, it was what I was supposed to say. By the way, not only was I NOT nervous, I was actually joyful. I didn't actually care about winning, I didn't actually care about messing up (I did have a couple of baubles during my first song – but the world didn't end, I was no less loved by my friends and no less supported by the audience – in fact, I was probably supported more because of it). Tom said it's the strongest he's ever heard me sing or perform. I guess in a perfect fairly tale, I'd end this blog by saying "and the best part is that I WON"!! But this is the real world, and frankly, I prefer it. Where life is hard but the lessons oh so sweet when we really learn them. And Mary Gauthier was the first one who hugged me backstage after I didn't win and reminded me that I did what I was supposed to do, and who knows who needed to hear it. Since then I've learned of several people who DID need to hear it. Also people who needed to see someone like ME onstage. Someone willing to take a risk. To make themselves vulnerable. To risk failing. To hear the call and to follow it, no matter what. I'm so glad I did. So now I have a new tattoo on my foot. To remind me of this important lesson. It's not about me. It's about heart. God's heart, my heart, the hearts of those that need to hear… Need to hear it in the way that only I can tell it. Only I can sing it. Only I can play it. Thank God for Mary Gauthier. Thank God for her hard lessons and her willingness to be used. Thank God for Kate Graves urging me to go. Thank God I listened. I got my tattoo at Resurrection Tattoo on South Lamar in Austin Texas. It felt like the appropriate place. I have been resurrected, thanks to an angel named Mary. (BTW, my husband has his own incredible story to tell that started at Rocky Mountain as well. Be sure to read about it in his blog) **(Don't tell cheryl branz that – she might not believe you…the day before the class, my major meltdown day, I ran into Cheryl early in the morning in the shower. For some reason we got to talking and I found myself naked in the shower spilling my guts to a total stranger- an incredibly sweet stranger who I've learned since then has a beautiful voice and very clever songs and many words of kind wisdom for a naked woman freaking out in the shower) posted by Cary Cooper @ 9:21 PM 0 comments Thursday, August 02, 2007 REALITY CHECK So, I'm back home in Texas. Been practicing my entries for the Folks Fest contest quite a bit over the last couple of weeks. Was practicing this morning to an attentive 7 year old audience of one. When I finished my two songs, I said, "So Hannah, how did that sound? Cause mommy is really nervous about playing the guitar." She said, "Mom you shouldn't worry about playing the guitar. You should just worry about the important things in life."I was thinking to myself, "Wow, she's right. What a brilliant kid. I'm so lucky, blah blah blah", when she interrupted me with, "You know, like FEEDING YOUR CHILDREN!" Life at home. Mmmmmmmm, good. posted by Cary Cooper @ 12:06 PM 0 comments Friday, July 13, 2007 If you believe in peanut butter, clap your hands I'm a big believer in setting goals and making commitments and then watching and waiting expectantly for doors to open. Sometimes it's small doors. Sometimes it's big doors. But the point I think, is making a plan, then watching and waiting with anticipation of good things.I've spent a lot of time on our website talking about how that happened for me with music and songwriting in general (see my bio page), but now I have something new to add to this incredible journey. When I first got into music, I picked up a guitar and taught myself a few simple chords. Easy enough. A little harder for me to figure out how to play them in a way that made songs sound good. Add to that the fact that I'm a recovering perfectionist, and NOTHING I did was EVER going to sound good enough to me. But I kept plodding along. Playing my little songs. Pitifully. But I was trying. Then I met Tom. Tom Prasada-Rao. Guitar God. My first "big-name" encourager turn CD producer turn friend turn best friend turn boyfriend turn musical partner turn husband. When Tom and I formed a musical partnership, I had a lot of catching up to do. I was green. I was as green as the Jolly Green Giant. As Kermit the Frog. I had never performed on the level that he was at, and I was thrown into an arena not quite sure if I belonged there. Knowing there were a whole bunch of skeptical folks that definitely didn't think I belonged there. So I made a decision to focus on the three things I knew I had a little bit of control over, singing, songwriting and stage presence. My voice is my voice. Not the best, not the prettiest, not the strongest, but I could deal with how it sounded and could claim it and own it. My songwriting seemed to be improving at a pretty quick pace, and I'd always felt pretty comfortable on stage. So in order to perform with Tom, I kind of felt like I'd be doing his career and mine/ours a favor if at that point I didn't suck. And the best way I knew not to suck was to NOT play guitar. Besides, he sounds like an entire band all by himself, and didn't really need me. Plus it was an "easy out" of not having to face some of my biggest and oldest fears. Let me backtrack a little. I played piano as a kid. I played by ear. I took lessons to learn to read music and learn theory, and I hated it. And hated to practice. I mean, if I heard a song a couple of times, I could figure out how to play it and from that point on, I'd ignore the music and just play. My piano teacher would pull her hair out with me. Didn't matter. It wasn't fun and I wasn't motivated. But I was asked to play two songs at the Girl Scout banquet when I was in fifth grade. And I avoided practicing. And I avoided practicing. Then a couple of days before the banquet, I pulled a "cramming" practice and barely learned the songs. The banquet came and I sucked. Played more wrong notes than right. And I remember wanting to crawl in a hole. I had never sucked in public before. And it scarred my little life - for life. I remember the first few gigs I played, when I actually did play guitar. In my head, I was that Girl Scout screwing up on the piano, waiting for disaster. Waiting for the earth to open and swallow me up. Personal demons. These are mine. So, fast-forward to the present. I've had 5 years of getting my act together on stage. Figuring out how to work a crowd. Learning how to craft my schtick. And I think that what I do, I do pretty well. But I've also known in the back of my head, that in a lot of people's minds, I will only be taken seriously as a player in the music world when I'm actually a PLAYER. And for the past year or so, it's been gnawing at me that I needed to pick up the guitar again and give it another shot. I mean, I never really completely put it away. I still played at home a little. I played when I wrote my songs, I just never played at shows. And the time has been coming. I remember having a conversation a year or so ago with Jonathan Byrd telling him of my desire and my fear about playing guitar, and he told me that if I just picked it up for 15 minutes a day, I'd be amazed at how far I'd come in a short time (not that Tom hadn't been telling me that for years, but sometimes it takes someone not so close to you to say something in way that actually allows you to hear it, you know?) So I thought about that for six months. Rather, (or at least I tell myself) I meditated on it for six months. Then at Christmas time this year, I actually picked up the guitar with the commitment to learn it. To become friends with it. To quit taking it so seriously. To quit being afraid of it. To quit being afraid of fucking up. And I've been practicing. Some days for an hour or so, some days for 15 minutes. Some days not at all. But MOST days, I practice. And it's paying off. I can feel it. I can play bar chords!! Never used to be able to do that. I'm realizing that I'm a lot more comfortable figuring out arrangements for my songs. Lots of things are all of a sudden becoming easier. Another commitment I made was to enter a couple of contests that I'd never entered before. I won the Kerrville New Folk competition several years ago. And it was great. BUT Tom played guitar for me. And believe me, I heard the mumblings late at night around campfires about that. About how I shouldn't have won. And about how it only really counted if I'd played for myself. Now I don't really buy into that. I'm proud of my songs, and I'm proud of my ability to connect with an audience when I present them. And there was nothing in the rules that said you couldn't have someone else playing for you. But I do know that a lot of other people DO buy into that. I was also a Falcon Ridge emerging artist but Tom played for me there too. And at the Mountain Stage Newsong Contest. But I'd never entered Telluride* or the Rocky Mountain Folks Festival contests. Because you had to play guitar for yourself. So this year, I made the commitment to enter. And to be ready in case I was chosen. And again, I really think there's something to the whole power of intentions thing. I've seen it happen in my life too many times. Name your desires. Claim them. And then wait for good things to happen. This summer, Tom and I are teaching at Young Writers Workshop at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. It's a program for high school students where kids come from all over the world to learn about different genres of writing: Fiction, poetry, creative non-fiction, playwriting, and songwriting. Tom's been the songwriting teacher there for the past eight years. This is our first year to officially share the teaching position. Last night there was a teacher's reading and all the teachers get up in front of the students, 150 or so total kids, and read a piece of their work. Tom and I get to put on a little mini concert of about 6 or 7 songs. I made a commitment to myself earlier this week to play a new song I'd written since arriving at Young Writers for the students. Believe me, I'd rather play for a huge audience of adults than for teenagers. There's something about that age group that makes me soooooooooo nervous. I think it has to do with the fact that I really want them to think I'm cool and I know I'm so NOT cool. But anyway, I committed. And I played my song!! And I lived!! And they LIKED it. They didn't care that I wasn't Tom Prasada-Rao or that I can't play like him (I'm the only one that puts that kind of pressure on me). They liked me, they actually liked me – unfortunately I'm so Sally Fields. I'm writing this on a plane from Pittsburg to Denver. We started in D.C. today on our way to the Winter Park Folk Festival where we're playing tomorrow. We found out at National in D.C. that our flight to Pittsburg was overbooked and that we might not make the flight. We had to stand around for a long time waiting to see if folks were going to give up seats in order for us to have seats. I decided to get online to pass the time. I saw an email in my inbox. It was from the Rocky Mountain Folks Festival. It said, Congratulations! You've been selected as one of ten finalists for our song competition. I believe. I believe. I believe. Tom on the other hand, isn't buying my spiritual mumbo jumbo. He says, "You don't think it has anything to do with the fact that you wrote some good songs?" Well, I mean I hope it has a little to do with that. But I truly believe that it wouldn't have happened until I really made the commitment to put myself out there. Now I have one month and four days to PRACTICE!! And practice. And practice. And practice. And practice some more. Soooooooo…my friends, I'm asking for your help. I'm asking you to put some good thoughts out there for me. I'm asking you to send me some good vibes and help me begin to visualize myself not as that humiliated Girl Scout, but as someone who walks out on the stage with confidence, with guitar in hand. Knowing that I belong there. Knowing that I can do it. Knowing that practice pays off. Not afraid of failing, and excited about doing the best job I can. Will you help me?? Colorado here I come!! Here's one of my all time favorite quotes. Thanks for reading. Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Goethe * I was selected as an honorable mention for the Telluride Contest earlier this summer as well. posted by Cary Cooper @ 10:50 PM 1 comments Tuesday, March 20, 2007 The Best Brother in the WorldI know you may think YOU have the best brother, but I'd put mine up against anyone's. Last week, my wonderful, and usually not so clumsy husband, accidentally dropped my laptop. He felt horrible. I was pretty devastated. My laptop is probably the most important "tool" I own. It's how I do all our biz. It's how I write my songs. It's where I store all my important information. And none of it was backed up. NONE of it.
We went to the Apple Store to see what the dudes at the Genius Bar could do for me. Nothing. They told me there was no hope for my laptop without an eight hundred dollar charge that wouldn't save any of my documents. They also told me to call a data recovery company and hope for the best after plopping down two thousand dollars and no guarantees. Further depression. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I called my mom like a kid with a skinned knee. I needed a kiss and a bandaid. Sometime after this, she filled my brother in my trauma. When I arrived home, a brief but huge miracle happened. My laptop booted up just long enough for me to organize all my documents and songs and photos and drag them onto an external hard drive. It felt like watching Robert DeNiro in "Awakenings". As soon as we'd dragged it over, the computer died once and for all. Still not knowing how or when I'd replace my laptop, I was counting my blessings that at least I didn't lose all my stuff. Then my brother called. My sweet, unassuming, hard working brother. He asked me about my laptop woes and then asked what it was going to cost me to replace it. When I told him, he said to keep my eye on the mailbox because there was a check on the way. He said he couldn't have his favorite songwriter not able to keep track of her songs. I can't have my favorite brother not know what he means to me. And I want to tell everyone. powered by performancing firefox posted by Cary Cooper @ 8:57 PM 0 comments |
