Winter Blues

“A lot of people think the blues is depressing but that’s not the blues I’m singing. When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life.” ~Etta James

I am very much affected by the weather. When it’s gloomy outside, I just wanna stay in bed all day and sip on coffee and watch a movie or curl up with a book under my Snuggie (just kidding, I don’t have one of those. Or do I…). As I’ve been alluding to in the past couple of posts, I was pretty much in a rut the latter half of 2011 and I was struggling a lot internally about my purpose in life and what next steps I was supposed to take with music. I stopped writing music, stopped booking gigs, only played shows I had agreed to play early in advance and just… stopped. The only thing I was actively and consistently doing was playing at New Life Fellowship, which was basically my lifeline. Otherwise all of my musical muscles would have undoubtedly atrophied. It’s a terrible place to be for an artist (if I can call myself that) and for an introspective person, and also a person who identifies herself with clear purpose and accomplishment. I was drowning in self-pity and dashed hopes and didn’t have the courage or the wherewithal to dream anymore at the thought of another disappointment. Why is life so full of failures and disappointments? I wonder that quite often these days.

At the turn of the year, I braced myself for what I expected to be a long winter… and fully anticipated my “winter blues”. But somehow I’m distantly watching myself climb out of the manhole I dug myself in, and I’m curious as to why or how this is happening. I won’t resist it, no matter how tempting this experience of wallowing-in-sorrow might be. I have lived through enough to allow life to unfold the way it sometimes seems to have been destined to go. And suddenly a thought dawned on me today. Could I possibly be in the process of some kind of rebirth? Is that a light at the end of the tunnel that I see? Something within me reaches out for that twinkling of hope, as if I was made for this moment. All those fears and the discouragement that held me back and made me swear never to try again somehow just subside (who knows when they’ll be back, but who cares for now?) and my eyes, once again, see the hope of glory. But it’s different this time, because I feel as though I’ve been through a fire. The human experience is so peculiar and altogether mysterious, isn’t it?

Why do I want to try again? Why do I want to live again? What is it that is pressing me forward?

Then I am reminded, yet again, that there is no resurrection without death. I must go through the fire to be refined. There is no short cut. I reject any notion that might speak to me otherwise. There is no other way.

There is no spring without winter.

So I now welcome the Winter Blues. When Spring comes, I’ll be singing a new song.


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