The Soundtrack of Stardust

 

It’s May of 2010, and I’ve been at flight attendant training here in Atlanta for a few weeks.

But I’ve reached my breaking point.

See, jet-setting was never my dream; my true dream lies several hundred miles West. I feel as though I am giving up on the very thing that defines me, the thing that’s sustained me during my 25 years on this big blue planet.

So I'm planning to leave Atlanta and drive straight through the night. I won't stop until I reach Nashville.

I dart through the hotel’s massive double doors, mascara blurring my vision. Clouds swirl overhead, dancing with each other as the moon watches from a distance. Wind whips past me. It lifts my wild curls, wiping some of the tears away. But many remain.

I spot my Saturn in the fourth row of the parking lot.

Please return my car keys, I text Emma as I approach the vehicle. Please.

Oh honey, Emma responds instantly. Don’t hate me. I’m keeping the keys until you’ve calmed down.

I crumble against the side of the car. Tears fall faster now, smacking the pavement rhythmically.

Just think it through, she continues. Give yourself a moment…

By morning, I realize that driving straight to Nashville isn’t what I truly desire. While I yearn for a life in the spotlight, belting my songs out to a listening audience, I also want to fly. I want freedom from geographical boundaries and societal pressure. I want stories with a thousand different endings.

I want melodies and harmonies and emotionally-charged lyrics, for sure. But I want them to be the soundtrack of my stardust-infused life. Not my life itself.

Five years later, I believe I made the right choice that evening.

Since then, I’ve soaked up every moment of this avian lifestyle. I have danced in the late-summer Kansas City rain, attended NCAA track meets in Oregon, and sipped coffee during an Austin sunrise. I’ve made new friends, reunited with old buddies, and followed my heart more often than a girl ought to.

Yet I haven’t tabled my musical aspirations.

Sure, the details have changed. Drastically. But I still use music as an outlet and a means of connecting with others. I still write every single day.

Over the years, I’ve composed thousands of songs. Some have been played in dimly-lit bars downtown. Some have never left the confines of my apartment. However, they all hold sentimental value. There are songs I wrote while walking back from work, hauling all my suitcases, in the early morning hours. Others were penned on an airplane. Some were written in my living room, with rush-hour traffic serving as the drumline.

This morning I stumbled across a song I wrote a few years ago. It captures the essence of that emotional Atlanta night. This song accurately conveys the doubts and fears I faced while choosing between a life chasing dreams and an actual Dreamlife.

I’d like to think I chose option B.  Although option A can certainly weave itself into that, and I wouldn’t mind one bit.

 

Love,
Lisa

 

Fistful of Right Now

Seems like the easy road

The one that everyone said would lead me straight home
Was never enough for me
See where’s the beauty in that, I’m dying to know

If I wanted something simple

Would’ve given up years ago, years ago…

I’ve got plans for where I’m going

Though the details are unclear
Took a chance, then took a flight
Somehow I ended up right here
No one promised us tomorrow
Just a fistful of right now
And if there’s time to flip the ending,
I refuse to turn around…