musical hearts

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

-Aldous Huxley

My bare feet on the hardwood floors of my room here in Quito slowly exchange places as I wander between my four walls, cup of freshly brewed coffee warming my hands and my hair falling over my shoulders as I collect discarded pieces of days passed.  Rain drops hit my window and cause the plants outside to dance to the melody made by the collaboration with the glass.  Adele pours from the speakers of the laptop on my bed and seems to roll across my alpaca blanket and float off the edges and dance around me.  My jeans scrape the floor as I step to the window and listen to Adele mix with the sounds of the rain on the pavement and I return to my bed and close my eyes to allow Adele's sultry voice to take me to a peaceful, yet passionate, place... A place I am sure I could not have reached without her.  A place where I do not believe I could have reached with Snoop Dog or Thrice, though, admittedly, I am a fan of both.  

We have all been in a place where the music sets the tone of the moment: getting ready with the girls for a night out calls for Pink's "Raise Your Glass" and driving down Pacific Coast Highway with the windows down and the sun kissing your skin calls for "Drive" by Incubus.  The more I travel, the more types of music I am exposed to, and the more I find myself connecting memories with a soundtrack. The emotion we associate with songs can define a moment (a la romantic comedies) or create within us an undeniable alegra. 

I wanted to explore what it is about a song- or music in general- that moves us to move mountains for a chorus or dive the depths of the sea for a hook.  I figured, where better to find the source of the emotion of the song than the songwriter? 

I wrote to my good friend, Paul Stark, in Dallas, Texas in hopes of grasping an understanding of such an intangible gift.  I asked him to shine some light on my newest blog subject, and to no surprise, he did just that.  The songwriter wrote: 

"I used to sit and look at pages of lyrics and have no 

idea how to bring them together, then I would put together 

a song and hate it. I didn't like my own songs, even 

though everyone around me requested to hear them, 

they all seemed to have more of a connection to them than i did. 

 That's when I started writing songs for myself and no one else. 

When i started doing that, true emotion started coming through 

because it was what I was feeling at the time... 

it was very real to me. 

When a song has true emotion, the listener can 

feel it and THAT is when they make an emotional 

connection to the song. Then, things started to flow... 

I realized why so many song writers write so vaguely-- 

because even though they know exactly how 

the song translates to for them, and what it means, 

it can translate into something completely different for someone else. 

That's the cool thing about music: it is interpreted. 

No one hears it through the same ears. 

So, to answer your question, 

"What do you hope your music does for people?"... 

I hope it does exactly what they want it to."

I inquired about Paul's latest release, "Jump", as a follow up to his first original, "Avalanche", it had big shoes to fill.  Paul told me the song is about himself and a girl, and the only thing holding them back from something that could be really great was the fear that she would get hurt like she had been in the past. The song was his effort to get her to "jump", to take a risk on him, as well as on them...

"...she felt it

...I felt it

...so jump."

I loved the message of "Jump" so much that I found my attraction to this song growing and growing with every repeat on YouTube.  "Avalanche", on the other hand, though I loved the strong lyrics, the guitar is what caused me to fall in love with the song.  His clean playing style and soulful melodies had me hooked.  Like any good musician, Paul has all of his social networking ducks in a row.  Paul Stark Music on facebook, his YouTube channel has a few of his songs (with more to come) and his Twitter account is building quickly... Please take some time to have a listen and enjoy.  Your ears, and most likely your heart, will thank you.

Without music, life would be a mistake.
-Friedrich Nietzsche

I also wrote to my father, a longtime musician and songwriter, who I owe my appreciation of music to almost wholly.  I asked him what kept him in love with music after 50 years of loving, fighting, breaking up, reuniting, and creating beautiful miracles together.  My father has continuously surprised me over the last 20 something years, and I believe that I inherited a lot of that from him.  The response I received not only helped me understand him even more than I believed I already did, but helped me realize why I do what I do when it comes to music.  I connect.  I live and die through some songs.  I can hear "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional and think back to my senior year in high school, when I was dating a junior in college, and remember the emotions that were associated with our dating and our break-up.  I can hear "Hero" by Mariah Carey and remember rewinding the cassette tape (shut up) two or three (ok, twenty three) times over and singing on the top of my lungs as I imagined myself on stage in front of thousands of people. 

"As I started playing guitar, I found a new level in enjoying music. 

I thought everybody had songs going in their heads 

all the time like I did. Not true, I found.  

I also found some had others tunes going, 

but not new, unheard music like I did. 

When I started playing in bands, I didn't pay much attention 

to "cover" songs. We did a few, but we did play 

songs that I or we wrote. 

The world had changed for me, again."

My father started teaching me to play guitar at the ripe old age of 16.  He broke down chords for me, simplified power chords (hey, my hands aren't as big as his) so I could play more songs, and helped me break down the strumming patterns of my favorite songs. I began hearing music differently, as well.  I heard strumming patterns, bass lines, drums that swayed my emotions... I realized it wasn't just a singular thing that determined how I reacted to a song: It was a collaboration beyond words. 

I detest Coldplay.  There.  I said it.  I understand if you want to stop reading and call me a communist in the comment section, so be it.  However, before you line me up in front of the firing squad, know that one of my absolute favorite songs is "Fix You" by the very band I cannot stomach.  One day, I was on this thing called "YouTube" (it should make it big one day...) and I discovered a cover by a group called "Boyce Avenue".  After listening to their cover of "Fix You" I found my eyes closed, tears streaming down my face, my hand on my heart, and my body involuntarily swaying to the sweet and simple sounds emanating from the speakers.  Whoa.  I mean, I love this song, but, really?  The arrangement wasn't too different, but I found their version touched me differently than the somewhat over-produced original. I started seeking out more covers to see if it was just this one song, just Boyce Avenue, or if there was a massive abundance of covers that were going to rip my heart away from my allegiance to the originals.  Turns out, there is a solid mixture of both.  I believe that everyone is affected differently by each song.  Personally, I am a sucker for a prominent guitar any day.  My good friend here in Ecuador, Juan David, is a drummer and will pick a song with solid drumming over everything else, without fail, regardless of lyrics or overall sound.

"Making music with friends is as good as sex. When a band is clicking together, it's almost telepathic. You glance at the drummer and lock eyes and the punches or changes are tighter, more together and sometimes happen spontaneously. All the band starts to feel it and the harmonies get tighter, everybody is smiling and you feel safe and supported by the band. You take a solo, knowing that they won't fall apart without you. You get to soar, feel the notes flying off your finger tips. You play things you didn't know you could do 2 minutes ago and feel 10 feet tall. Time ceases to exist as all you are is a guitar and a song. U2 said it as they recorded All Along The Watchtower. "All I have is this guitar, 3 chords and the truth". And, like a teenager that discovered sex, you can't wait to do that again."

My father's words.  This may be the very reason why we become addicted to music and find ourselves in a pseudo-relationship with songs.  If musicians pour themselves into these songs as my father described; no wonder the emotions bind us to their verses! Regardless of where your musical interests lie, it is undeniable that music is innately a part of us and is a massive part of our lives.  Every movie, every major event in our lives, and every relationship has music... And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

  

A painter paints pictures on canvas.  But musicians paint their pictures on silence.  

-Leopold Stokowski

xx.a

home is where the whiskey is

It is often said that home is where the heart is. There are elements of truth to this sentiment, however it raises additional questions as to the literal and metaphorical meanings of this saying.


Let's start with "Home". The literal version, being where you live, is fairly obvious. However, over the years, I have noticed that I haven't always used the term 'home' to describe where I lived. I often said, "I left it at the apartment" or "I'm at the house" instead of labeling my residence by an emotional term: home. I really liked where I lived (sometimes), but it felt as though it was a fallacy to thrust such a strong, evocative term upon them... It was if I were to call a man I had just started seeing my 'boyfriend' and it would change the entire dynamic of the relationship. I feel as though I need to "date" a place before committing to it, let alone dropping big words like "home" and "love".


Someone very close to me said that in all his travels, his bed was the most important thing. When he moved to Melbourne, Australia he prioritized his bed as the most important aspect of his residence: it wasn't home until he had his preferred bed. My back agrees with him. I told him I needed a place to call my own: a door to shut to be alone and a place to put my stuff so I could live & explore.


I remember my first house in Santa Ana, California relatively well, especially considering I was 4 when we left it. It was a sweet, one story home on a street lined with huge trees. It had a brick front porch (laid by my parents I believe) and when you walked in, the dark carpet lead you to the hallway on your right with all of the rooms, as well as the living room straight ahead. The kitchen had linoleum floors and I remember staring at them when it hurt to eat my chicken nuggets and, shortly after, my mom told me the doctors needed to take my tonsils out. I remember a dark brown, wood coffee table that I pushed my baby sister off of onto that dark carpet and got in trouble. It was that same table I hid behind my dad when we watched E.T. Extraterrestrial because that damned alien was going to chase me. It was this home that I remember putting on heels and packing a suitcase to go to work just like my parents, though child labor laws discriminated against me. I have these memories, I can see the house, I remember Jesse, the little boy next door, but none of this makes it a home.


My house since March of 1989 feels like home. That house saw twenty birthdays, three proms, countless dates, a half dozen boyfriends, my first kiss with a girl, my second kiss with a boy, my absolute worst day ever, some of my favorite days ever, life coming into the world, life leaving the world, and life moving on. I remember my sister and I being in trouble and we sat in our doorways and communicated silently about absolutely nothing, just to do it. I remember sliding down the once blue carpet of our 14-step stairs on my bum making random noises just to see what it would sound like as I went faster and faster. I know the slope of the front yard well enough to be able to close my eyes and let the grass tell me before I stub my toe on the cement sidewalk for the hundredth time.


Conversely, it is not just that I grew up in this house in Corona that makes it home: it is in fact, my family. Our memories make it home. Returning to this vault of memories after five years away, my room was completely different from paint to pictures; but I still slept better than I had in years. The energy, the memories, the love...


Since I left home at the age of twenty, I have lived in 11 apartments and houses, including my place in Quito, Ecuador, where I currently reside. That's seven years, folks, and a lot of shifting, packing, storing, moving, unpacking, repacking, and stacking. I. Hate. Moving.


I do, however, love traveling. Lately I have been pondering the reasons why I am so comfortable being über-independent and why I crave traveling the world as much as I do. I'm 27 years old, shouldn't I be looking for a mate and to settle down with all the trimmings (i.e.- house, car, kids, etc.)? I have pondered if the fact that the only constant in my life over the last 7-10 years has been change has allowed me to grow accustomed to inconsistency.


"The only things certain in life are death and taxes."


And change.


I moved to Ecuador two short but life-filled months ago to teach English as a foreign language. I visit various companies and teach their HR departments, general managers and top executives Business English. Every day is different for me: the classes I teach, the people I meet, the things I see. Every week someone in my life leaves or a new person enters. The temporary nature of the career may be exactly what I need to get my fix of change without denying myself (or others in my life) the importance of steady life.


In all of the eleven places I lived in the last seven years, the one that felt most like home was the only place I lived alone, my apartment in Irving, Texas. It was absolutely mine from paint to pictures. Now, here in Quito, I find myself feeling at home more and more as time goes by. Perhaps, it is the two incredible people I have found myself living with. Both of my roommates, though respectfully different, managed to charm their way into my heart. Today, I found myself chatting with them both as one streamed American NFL games and the other prepped to shoot a music video and I was sewing their clothes that needed mending and offering to cook breakfast. When did I become a housewife to an American and an Ecuadorian? I'll let you know when I finish the laundry and the dishes...


That brings us to "Heart". All of those things make me happy. I am beginning to think that people have a huge influence on whether a domicile feels like a residence or a home. But wait... That can't be. I am ridiculously hesitant to depend on others for anything... Especially my happiness. So, where does that leave me? My heart- my true soulmate and companion in this life/ is always honest with me and I listen to it way too much- shows me what makes me happy. When I am happy, I am home. I suppose that at this point I must admit that a cliché is actually something I can't scoff at, dammit.


What makes me happy? Jesus, that's the question of the century. The list I have developed is a red hot, dichotomous mess. It's awesome. Perhaps it is a little more personal than I'd prefer to venture in this blog, but those AP Lit students out there can tap their deductive reading skills and make their own conclusions from previous blogs. Basically, anything involving travel, friends, food, whiskey, wine, beer, art, surprises, writing, or education is a fair shot. If you can combine any of those, you're in great shape.


There are things that I miss dearly that make me feel at home: whiskey (so expensive here I can't afford it) In-n-Out Burger, Sriracha, Tapatio, good cheese (that melts), Pho, Pandora, good spaghetti sauce, being able to carry my iPhone in public, buying booze on Sundays, and Red Bull. Some have decent substitutes and some do not... Please, dear readers, go out and indulge in these in my honor.


As I have traveled to eight uniquely amazing countries, I have left a part of me there, as a thank you to the country and its culture. I have also managed to take with me a new part of me that I was unaware existed. If I am leaving a part of my heart in places like Japan, Ireland and Italy... Is it then possible that my home- which resides with or within my heart- is then everywhere as well? I believe, with all my heart-pieces, that it absolutely is.


My home, with my family, will always be such and I am grateful. My home, within myself, is something I need to remember is very real and very beautiful. My future homes- be it alone, with friends, or a mate- will be a fantastic chapter in my life and I am eagerly (but patiently) anticipating that time.


I know not where my next house will be, let alone my next home, but I do know that wherever it stands, it better have room for my heart. And a bottle of whiskey.


Missing home, but making a new one... Hearts and stars to the States.


xx.a

Quito, Ecuador.... My new home....

I want to be contagious.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.   -Angela Monet


The written word is one of the most beautiful forms of expression on this sweet planet, yet I cannot help but feel as though they just cannot fully convey the emotions I feel.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words... This is true, but sometimes even a photograph cannot fully express what is living in my heart.  (That is saying a lot, coming from a photo-obsessed blogger!)  


Strangely enough, I have discovered that, at least for me, it was more difficult to express joy in my writings, paintings, and music than sorrow.  I am naturally a happy person, so this baffled me upon my revelation.  Why would this effort be more difficult if it is natural?  So I pondered my findings over a cup of fresh coffee and a bowl of watermelon cubes while enjoying the early morning breeze through the backdoor screen.  I strive daily to express the joy that I have found in my life- especially over the last year- both as a form of gratitude to the universe, as well as to lead by example.  The negativity in the daily life of people I am surrounded by astounds me.  Quit your bitching, count your blessings, say thank you, and start appreciating your life, people!  It's easier to express discontent or pain because those emotions are stronger when you allow them in.  Since I have parted ways with my old self and the negativity associated with her, I find that the happiness and excitement that is now a constant light in my chest is dominating my creativity.  


Every man dies- Not every man lives.  -William Ross Wallace 


That being said (thanks for riding out my ramblings today) I have to remind myself not to get frustrated when my paintings turn out differently than imagined or when I cannot find the words I need to connect an intangible emotion to a cognitive understanding.  


I paint to create something beautiful I can pour emotion into. 
I write to express ideals and ask questions.
I photograph to capture things that move me.
I sing to open the doors to my soul.
I play guitar to find balance.
I learn languages to connect to other worlds. 
I teach to help mold the minds of a new generation.
I adventure to feed my soul & connect to the universe.  


All these things are beautiful in their own respective ways, and I am so fortunate to have the ability and drive to create in these fields and feel a sense of accomplishment and be filled up with peace and happiness.  My newest adventure is moving abroad to teach English.  This venture combines so many of my loves: travel, teaching, adventure... Plus I will be able to write, paint, photograph, and perform wherever this life takes me.  


There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. -Albert Einstein 


Making someone laugh brings me more inner happiness than I could ever even begin to explain... That is a miracle to me.  I could list two hundred other miracles I am thankful for, but there are two I am focusing on in my life right now: 

1. Every single person I interact with.

2. My new adventure.

Applications are out, kids.  There is no turning back now, not that I would if I could!  I have applied to some amazing countries... Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, Costa Rica, and Thailand.  This is the first thing I have ever done in my entire life that is for me.  The level of support from the people in my life is outstanding, and I am forever grateful.  I will have to devote an entire blog post to just thanking you crazy people for putting up with me!  I hope that this massive, life-altering step I am taking inspires you all to live your dream, or even start a new one.  I want to be contagious.  I want you all to catch this incredible passion for life and rise with the tides!  I began this post with stating that sometimes my media cannot truly express the light inside of me... I just want you all to feel it for yourselves.  I hope that you can find something in one of our interactions- even if only for a moment- that moves you.  That is the greatest joy and greatest gift I could ever ask for.  


Find some inspiration in something.  Anything.  Start getting out there and making magic happen... Find that inexpressible inner light & inner joy.  Then do your damnedest to express, to share, to inspire, & to give back the positivity into this crazy-amazing universe of ours.  


xx.a

there is beauty in the breakdown

This is for HNM... 


Forgiveness is one of a handful of subjects that I love discussing, but will not discuss with most of my friends and family.  For those readers who know me, I love to talk at length about life, philosophy, and all things worldly; however I feel as though most people do not have a firm grasp on what forgiveness actually is, therefore negating the need for discussion. 


Holding a grudge against someone- regardless of the severity of the trespass- is allowing them to live in your heart and mind rent-free.  I worked so very hard to learn how to actually forgive and release that demon for that very reason: You have to earn a place in my heart.  I'm slow to trust but I'm quick to love, I push too hard and I give too much... Sugarland lyrics may be strange to quote in a blog, but I have the keyboard, suckers. 


The key to forgiving is letting go.  Let go of what happened... it happened.  It cannot be changed, we do not have time travel yet, and stressing over it will only cause hair loss, ulcers, & bags under your eyes.  Let yourself feel the feelings that are evoked due to this trespass, there is nothing wrong with feeling hurt, betrayed, saddened, or otherwise.  When I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love I was shocked to find almost my entire struggle (sans divorce) blatantly forced into stark black and white and slapped in the face with it.  This woman who is dealing with her divorce and has traveled halfway around the world, she is speaking to a new friend and confidant about her emotional struggle regarding her ex-husband.  She wrote: 

"I love him.  I miss him."

"So love him. So miss him. When you miss him, send him some light and some love. 

Then drop it."

The same goes for forgiveness... Feel that hurt.  Own it.  Do not feel guilt about harnessing these emotions, as guilt will only serve as a road block on your journey.  Once you have felt these feelings, truly allowing it to sink in, watch it dissipate as it ceases to be a burning focus.  Learn to not think about by taking charge of your mind and energy.  Stop talking about it, stop replaying it in your head, and stop focusing on the negative.  When it pops into your head, do a little dance and think of something fantastic you are looking forward to, or even something super amazing and positive that that same person did for you or with you.  Then drop it.  Moving on is always the hardest part, but you have to be an active participant in your own growth, it doesn't just happen.  Time does not heal all wounds, some must be tended to. 


The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.  -Thomas Szasz


Forgetting is completely different than forgiving.  We must learn from our mistakes, we must build on our experiences, and we must begin to know ourselves.  Other people's karma is based on their actions, yours is based on your reaction to that.  Vengeance is futile, people.  God & this sweet, sweet Universe will balance everything out.  Yeah, it blows when someone stabs you in the back, but use it to build a stronger defense and a smarter offense.  Use those tools you gain when you are on the floor being kicked to build a bridge and get over it.  You're wasting your time allowing something someone else did destroy you and your numbered days. 


Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were. -Cherie Carter-Scott


Forgiving yourself is a tad trickier.  I struggle with this daily.  The bright side of that statement is that because I am struggling with it, I am dealing with it.  I have made my fair share of mistakes, I know this... But are they really mistakes?  Or are they steps I didn't intend on taking that lead me to this wonderful place where I am happier than ever?  I, for one, choose the latter.  Everything happens for a reason, they say, and I sleep better at night not worrying about the things I cannot change.  I choose to focus my energy and efforts on what I can affect: the present and the future.  Let yourself breakdown, feel and live, and then heal stronger than ever.  Forgiveness is in the letting go... So take a deep breath, speak your mind, feel your heart... and let go. There is beauty in the breakdown.  xx.a