For years, many years, I felt so embarrassed to tell people that I wrote songs. But, ever since I was in about 8th grade, I’ve been constantly writing songs—lyrics and melodies are constantly floating around in my head. As a kid, this is frequently how I spent all my class time as the teacher would lecture. I would sit there in my own world and write songs, tapping the beat to the song on my desk with my fingers or pencil. On other occasions I’d be in the middle of a conversation with someone, but mentally adrift somewhere because something they said or some emotion I sensed they were feeling triggered a melody in my head and so I’d chase after it.
I have never felt comfortable claiming the title of songwriter. As a teenager, my perception was that my big musical dreams made my own family uncomfortable and in later years, I quickly discovered they made my wife uncomfortable. I believed a powerful lie for the longest time that God had a unique, intentional plan to limit me in life (gave me unsupportive parents and an unsupportive wife) and keep me from doing what I loved most. Ironically, I picked up that belief when I was teenager by attending church. Go figure. So, for years I just bottled up this desire to be a songwriter, this integral piece to my own identity, because it was always seen as too impractical, too risky, too worldly. I took on a victim mentality and would just blame others for my lack of initiative to grow as a songwriter or musician and for my hesitations to put myself out there and just play publicly.
A decade later, my hopelessness and bitterness started coming out in very ugly ways: wild bursts of anger toward my wife and kids, ongoing addictive patterns with pornography and masturbation, jealousy of other people’s lives who seemed to be living their dream, cynical attitude toward churches and church leaders, tremendous insecurity and anger (all internal) around any Christian who seemed even remotely conservative. I was living in a downward cycle of hopelessness until my world came crashing down as a result of a more serious moral failure.
In the healing process from that failure, I discovered who I really am--an unconditionally loved child of God. This belief sparked a newfound permission and inspiration to embrace who I am as a songwriter. This song captures that story and the day I finally said, “Enough is enough. I’m tired of spiraling downward all the time—I’m ready to run away from that life—find my stride—fly like a bird.” Any big life change I choose to make of course impacts my wife, so this song is primarily written to her. It's a plea for partnership, support, and faith to take the leap with me. Embracing the title of songwriter is incredibly vulnerable for me. I feel extremely exposed and inadequate when I do. So, I need her by my side for this journey. The bridge/ending of the song captures that more directly.
And so far—she’s been my biggest supporter and champion, pushing me to stay at it even when I want to give up, affirming me that she sees a gift in me, too, and building me up in front of others. I can’t imagine doing this life or this journey that’s so unique to me (us) and my (our) calling with anyone else.