The Price and the Prize
I used to believe I could change the future with my music. Back when I first started writing songs I believed this as much as I believed anything. I used to think that if only a particular girl could hear my music she would uncover the "real" me and fall hopeless and helpless. My father used to compare me to Edward Leedskalnin, the man who single-handedly created the beautiful rock garden, Coral Castle for a woman who left him on his wedding day. He told me that my songs were similar to the rock garden and our delusions were the same. Unfortunately he was right and following the delusion that I could change the future never granted me satisfaction. This is because my goal was never to create music. It was to win the heart, or better yet, the will, of a girl. Consequently I would feel like a failure.
After a relationship didn't work out I once told a friend I never wanted to get famous for a song written about someone else's wife. He told me that he didn't credit my music to any woman. For years I thought about that concept and it was only until recently that I have come to understand just how true that statement was. It wouldn't matter if I had written a song named after her and written entirely about her the music would still be more of a self-portrait than a portrait, more of an autobiography than a biography.
I've never been a fan of the idea that "music is about expression". This is one of those phrases that non-musicians and wannabe musicians love to spout but in my perspective it's simply untrue. Music (or any art form for that matter) is entirely about observation and how and what we choose to observe defines our true persona. The Mona Lisa tells us little of the mysterious woman in the painting compared to the volumes it speaks of Leonardo Da Vinci's genius mind. While the very intricate lines on her face may tell us what she looked like we admire more the masterful skill of the Renaissance's greatest innovator and the time in observation required to notice and recreate such small details. Just the same, perhaps the image of our bodies portrays more of an express image of our Creator than it does of ourselves.
Understanding this, I begin to understand why I never got anywhere writing songs for girls. I was in essence trying to win their hearts by showing them pictures of myself. Maybe that's not the best comparison but I'm right about one thing. I was showing them the "real" me. My signature was all over "their" songs and consequently they were well acquainted with who I was. It wouldn't have mattered if I had saved the world. I wasn't their choice and as far as I was concerned, I had failed.
For virtually every composition I've ever created I paid a very steep price. Almost every piece I ever wrote seemed to be "pressed" out of me from the weight of loneliness and depression. This was my drive, and drive is possibly the most important element in producing quality. Some of my compositions have come quickly but for the most part I've labored for weeks driven by the idea that it was all I could do to change the future. I would ignore friends, skip meals and fall miserably behind in school addicted to this delusion. And this was only part of the price. After producing what I considered to be a musical masterpiece at the expense of my life I still had to live with the fact that my artistic reflection wasn't enough to win the heart of "the girl" and I would be reminded of this every time I heard my work.
But what was my failure? If my success hinged entirely on the will of another then even if I had somehow attained musical perfection it is possible that it still wouldn't be enough. Millions of people rejected Jesus Christ. Does that make him a failure? When I was in high school I auditioned for a magnet school for the arts and was rejected 2 years in a row. At the time I felt like a failure but now, 10 years later, after having written and professionally produced multiple symphonies, rock songs, and themes, I don't know that I have the same feelings. In the event that I go on to produce soundtracks for films, video games and top 40 music it is likely that I would have the opportunity to lecture at a similar school. Given that scenario, who would be the failure, the accomplished composer or the music teacher that rejected him from his program? The answer is neither, provided both of us had become better people.
This is the prize. In every painful battle it appeared I lost, my music improved. It matured. My ethereal reflection improved because I had improved. In some of my darkest hours I crafted some of my brightest compositions and learned skills that would allow my ability to develop further. I don't know that everyone who experiences tragedy can say that. In the evolution of my music I have proof that I am better, stronger and possess a deeper ability to love. When all my past "loves" wake up next to men who never care to paint their portrait with music, pencil or words can I still call myself a failure? Maybe that's all they wanted. Maybe it wasn't I who was wasn't worthy rather the inverse. I don't know, I won't know and it's not for me to know. What I do know is that I am more than I was.
Sometimes I still get delusional. Sometimes I still believe I can change the future with my music. I still fall for the false hope that the prize of some girl can bought with the price of a symphony. There are still days when this idea sinks so deep into my head that I spend hours writing a composition completely convinced that I'll somehow change the future. But music is never the price or the prize. The music we compose is an ethereal reflection of the prize of a better self and an endless reminder of the beautiful price.
