Over the last 20 years in Nashville I've spent a lot of time wondering if I was literally crazy for wanting to make a career out of writing, recording and performing my music. Have you ever felt crazy for dreaming something that other people didn't think was reasonable? These are some of my thought—perhaps they will encourage you on your journey... (Please visit my "20 Years in Nashville" landing page!)Success in Nashville can seem like stories I hear about people trying to climb Mount Everest. As the highest peak in the world, it’s a dangerous trek for climbers at any skill level, but stands as one of the greatest feats to conquer. The enormous difference between Everest and Nashville is that there is a clear-cut way to get to the summit of Everest. There’s no such path in Nashville. Sometimes it’s impossible to see where it is that you’re wanting to go, even though you know it is “up there.”
That’s what makes it so easy to compare my path to someone else who has already “made it” and wish mine looked more like theirs.
“You’ve got to make your own way,” I’ve been told.
“But I want my life to look just like _________ (fill in the blank with the artist du jour),” I whine. “That’s the kind of success I want.”
“Then you’ll always be frustrated when it doesn’t look like that. Write your own story, not someone else’s.”
This intense wondering if I’m actually crazy or not has been a hugely powerful force in my journey. I’ve got to prove myself not crazy—even if everyone else thinks I am. Hold onto an audacious dream long enough and people will think you’re crazy. Enough people think you’re crazy; you start to wonder if you are.
Over the years, there have been a handful of well-intentioned friends who have tried to convince me to give up on my dream of doing music stardom. Most of their intentions have been rooted in a desire to see my suffering cease.
“You’re so good at so many other things,” a friend would say over coffee.
“I know. But that doesn’t matter.”
“You’re a great writer. You should focus on your writing. There are so few really good writers out there. You stand a better chance at success with your writing.”
“Really?” I set down my coffee, slightly brewing. “So I should just settle for doing something less than my dreams because I’m better at it than a lot of other people?”
Silence. My friend senses my conundrum. My journey’s battle.
“I just don’t want to see you so frustrated,” he offers, resigned.
I can’t help but appreciate his compassion, my insanity glaring like a Christmas sweater with a flashing Rudolph nose. What’s wrong with me? It’s like some sick dream where I can’t take off this crazy sweater, its novelty worn out years ago.
Gerald May in “The Awakened Heart” writes: There is a desire within each of us, in the deep center of ourselves that we call our heart. We were born with it, it is never completely satisfied, and it never dies. We are often unaware of it, but it is always awake… Our true identity, our reason for being, is to be found in this desire.
To desire something and not have it—is misery. I’m sure you know that feeling. The truth is that this life is very far from the life we desire. And honestly, it’s not going to get any better. But I’m thankful for glimpses of life as it’s intended.
I’m learning that contentment is not freedom from desire, but freedom of desire. Being content is not pretending that everything is the way you wish it would be; it is not acting as though you have no wishes. Rather, according to author John Eldridge, it is no longer being ruled by your desires.
I'm going for it, but I'm going to make sure I make several rest stops along the way, reset my contentment, and remember that this world is not my home, I am just passing through.
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