I could feel the joy of music draining out of me. I was singing music that wasnʼt my own, speaking with authority about things that I had not yet lived, and publicly playing nice with people who were devouring me. I was even nominated for a Grammy and got some plaques for the wall.īut the thing is-rather than displaying those plaques, I hid them in the closet, mostly because I felt like a fraud. Then, right around the time I started wearing a bra, I got a record deal, and I started touring the world and sold a lot of albums. To sing was to feel my imagination and my body merge. Growing up, my home was filled with music, and I spent Sundays singing in church. As far back as I can recall, I was singing, dancing, telling stories, and conjuring up other worlds. (Save me!) My noisy life has quieted to a whisper, and I am left with this truth: I don’t create because I am scared. Jobs are canceled, social plans are gone and my kids’ activities have been wiped out through the summer. Being in quarantine has revealed to me that many of my reasons for not creating are simply made up.
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