I have put about 5 years into working on my music, which is a relatively short time by most people’s standards. In Nashville, friends of mine have easily put in 10 to 15 years and have even relocated to follow their music. Their sacrifices are immense. Mine, in comparison, not so much. But sometimes, the lulls can leave me just as depleted – financially and emotionally.
In my short career, I have ridden both the ups and downs of the emotional rollercoaster, from being in awe with even writing on music row, to feeling the soft warmth of success within my grasp, to feeling completely empty – left cold and hopeless. When I got my first big Nashville opportunity, I felt like my life could change – I could write all the time and have new opportunities open up for me on a regular basis. I could buy the house I have been aching to live in for years and finally get the kids and me out of our old apartment. All of these things, the little could’s turned into would’s in my mind. But then reality hit. The song wouldn’t be included in the final mix. Things wouldn’t pan out like I wanted. And life would go on as usual.
I should say – music aside – that life going on as usual isn’t such a bad thing. My apartment is old and small, but it is cozy and it is home for me and my kids. There’s my mother’s beautiful art on the wall, the walls are painted turquoise, with soft orange and mustard yellow accents. And, of course, our little slice of life isn’t complete without the modern comforts of our computers and a large screen TV to snuggle up to in the evening.
Now that I am heading back to Nashville, I have mixed feelings. Part of me aches to get lost again in the songwriting, the emotion, the adrenaline, the rush. The other part of me, that knows how the “business” really works, can’t help but think, what now? What are the chances of this working out?
I know the reality. So we write a hit, that doesn’t mean it’s going to get cut. The odds of it getting cut are extremely low, but there was a time I didn’t care. It wasn’t even a gamble of my time and resources because I was convinced that once I got down to writing, nothing else would matter. All that would matter is that a new song was born that never existed before. From my own passion and creativity, I invented something. And it wouldn’t matter if no else in the world would even get to hear the song. I would still drive around Nashville and listen to it in my car over and over again, like I always do.
I think that’s why I fell in love with Nashville, because it’s a place where my need to write songs feels as natural as a person’s need to breath. Where I can pick up on songs once left behind, songs that anywhere else would just be remembered as a passing musing, and continue them with the same excitement and exhilaration I felt when the songs were first conceived.
So even though I tell myself that no one ever said that this dream would be easy, and sometimes I imagine more than what’s possible or give up more than I should, I know that despite the emotional wavering and how little I’ve “paid my dues” compared to others; at the end of the day only one single, unshakable thing matters: this is what I do. This is what I need to do. And this is what I’ll keep doing.
Love, Dayna
