The Big Kind of Dreams

In A Decade of Unbecoming, I spoke of lily pads in a pond.

Each pad representing a step in a quest I knew I had to begin, despite not having the faintest clue what the destination was or even where the second chapter might lead.

I never in a million years expected the lily pads to lead to music.

Bodybuilder to writer to singer/mixer/producer isn’t exactly a busy trail. 

The amount of unlearning along the way has been immense. A borderline-eager excitement to let identities die, masks crumble, and skins shed has been essential. 

The reward has been a joy.

This iteration of me.

One of life’s greatest rewards, perhaps the greatest, is becoming who you really are.

Do that… Truly, honestly… Fully do that, and I think you’ve won. 

What could possibly be more meaningful or fulfilling than becoming you?

I had a profound moment of realization last summer where I accepted that if death came for me, I’d happily go. This was rooted in knowing I’ve become who I was meant to be, that I’ve found the path I was searching for. Mission accomplished.

However!

I would be sad about missing out on what’s hopefully decades of living as I am.

There’s a difference between realizing the dream, and living into the dream.

I feel that gap keenly with music.

I’m able to put a meaningful amount of time and energy into something that is unadulterated joy, identity, play, and pleasure all pressed into one vinyl. 

That’s enough. My inner teenager is fucking delighted.

I don’t need music to be any more than it already is.

But I want more.

I want to mix for crowds, not only cats.

I want to release original songs, not just remixes.

The gap from cats to crowds, remixes to originals, is large.

That’s what I get to live into. 

This is really only the beginning.