She sits with her audio tech headphones clasped to her ears, cutting the shape of her face in the most unflattering way. Her short hair pressed back and invisible to the camera view, she certainly doesn’t look pretty right now. She doesn’t care. She rarely cares about looking pretty these days- which occurs to her as something she never thought could happen to her.

She’s on a video call with a stranger from Rio de Janeiro, a sweet guy with thick wavy graying hair and a smile for days. The conversation is bumpy with a 5 second sound lag that they already spent several minutes trying to diagnose before deciding to just deal with it. This is her first time getting real feedback on her song and she’s nervous. I’m not here for praise, she thinks to herself. I’m here for my song, to make it great. I can take it. She’s used this mantra before, and it didn’t work. Maybe this time. This time is different not only because she’s seeking feedback from a stranger who’s had a career she could only dream of playing of, playing with bands around the world, receiving accolades and nominations for Latin Grammys, and making a full-time career out of music. So she waits as they listen through her song together, watching her leg bounce up and down underneath the desk, keeping her upper body still and nonchalant. Most importantly, avoiding watching him. Whether he’s bobbing his head with the beat or scrunching his nose in distaste, she’d rather not see.

Isn’t it fun to dream?

We’ll dream our life away.

The song’s energy is building, the violins and the pianos dancing around in a way she thinks she likes, but isn’t confident about. She has not missed the irony of how brutally hard recording this song has felt compared to the initial writing of the lyrics and melody- her favorite part of the process by far. Lyrics and melodies require no technical skills. They just happen. She’s always been very imaginative- so everything from the vibe of the song to the aesthetic, the music video, the stage performance clicks right away. It’s all there, in her head. It’s the sitting it down and getting what’s in her head into a DAW that punishes her daily. A child can have imagination, but the greats have technical know-how, which she does not. Her mantra is now white noise floating around the clear unencumbered voice in her head stating like a cool matter-of-fact “you don’t have what it takes“.

The song ends with a grand, clumsy, out-of-sync trill of the piano and strings that makes the hairs on her neck stand up. She hadn’t had it in her to refine the ending after the hours she had spent getting the bulk of the song ready for this feedback session. Now she wishes she had.

“So Tiana, what are your thoughts about your song before I give you mine?” A very kind way of saying “woof…where do I start?” It’s exactly the same kind approach she got the last time she asked a friend/producer for feedback several weeks ago which led to her breaking down in the car afterwards. At that point she had felt more proud of the song for the stage it was at, and hadn’t been prepared for anything but compliments. Delusional was the word she kept repeating to herself after that.

“I know it needs live drums, and that the fake drums I have are really distracting right now.” He smiles and nods his head in kindly agreement. Now she feels motivated to give the correct answers he’s looking for, calling upon her inner brown noser to impress the teacher. “I also feel the song needs a lot of refinement as far as knowing where to make it feel big and when to pull back.” He nods again.

“So Ti-Anna,” he says in that thick, warm accent that simultaneously relaxes her yet makes her nervous to hear him correctly. “I think what you have is so many things all on top of each other, and it really is all competing with each other.” He goes on to confirm what she knew about the drums. “What I feel is that you are carrying the song, but I would really love for the musicians that are playing to carry you.” She nods enthusiastically. She’s still a pathetic teacher’s pet, even at 30. ” I can see you are a sweet girl with so much light. I can really feel that. And your voice feels that to, so I really want the song to come in feeling light and happy like you!” She smiles at his compliment, but is not pleased. It’s a compliment she’s received many times over that tends to bring up a darkness in her that she’s never really understood. It’s as if the darkness has wanted a place in the music, and feels jealous every time the light in her is acknowledged. She’s tried, but failed, to know how to give her darkness the stage in the right way.

“What I really think Ti-Anna is that you need to play this with your live band and let them carry you. And don’t try to overcomplicate it, just let it support you while you sing. You have a very pretty voice.” She smiles again, taking notes. He really is so kind, and she doesn’t feel like crying. “I appreciate you so much, thank you for your time!” He’s reading her lips because the delay has gotten worse. The video call ends.

Square one again, she thinks as all the energy drains out of her in an instant. This is her overwhelm at wondering how she’ll possibly tackle this song from the ground up for the fifth time. Wondering if this song was not meant to be, she determined to take a break from all of it and reset. Her period was coming any day, and she knew this wasn’t the ideal time in her cycle to try to push creatively anyway. Off she goes to the local Walmart for lunch at the sushi counter and back to her office with a pack of icy-hot patches for her stiff neck she hadn’t been able to turn in 3 days. Back to sitting at the same desk, she was starting to feel drained of life.

This is too hard. This isn’t fun. I hate sucking. I just need…

She makes a mental list of all the things she imagines would make this fun and easy. A band, collaborators, a mentor, more classes? Maybe a better piano. Definitely more time at home with peace and quiet. Definitely less kids screaming in the background and less laundry to fold. Maybe the goals and timeline she had set were too ambitious. But 6 months had turned into a year, a year had turned to two, and she didn’t know the difference between ambition and self-sabotage.

But this song…it wouldn’t leave her alone.

Isn’t it fun to dream?

We’ll dream our life away.

Isn’t it fun to dream?

We’ll dream our life away.

This song didn’t want space. It wanted something from her. She had written it, but she hadn’t actually acknowledged the part of her that it came from. What was that part of her trying to say? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Isn’t this fun indeed. Isn’t this fun? Sometimes, she really just didn’t know.