[Note: This is an excerpt from my forthcoming book, Creative Freedom. If you'd like to be part of the advance team and get more sneak peeks of the book, contact me for more info.]
There's a quote often attributed to John Lennon:
"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."
Dreams are kind of like that. It sounds trite, I know, but the reality is that if something really matters to you, there are really only two things that will prevent you from pursuing it in some way:
1. Death (in which case, you're no longer dreaming).
2. Something else that matters more (in which case, it's no longer your dream).
Death is fairly self-explanatory, so we'll leave that here and explore option two.
When I was a kid, I fancied myself as the next Madonna or Paula Abdul. I was a pretty good singer, and I spent countless hours practicing dance routines for the world tour I imagined I would lead once I became a rock star. I studied music at college, got a degree, and even moved west in pursuit of that dream.
Then life happened: single motherhood, relocation, marriage, second kid, etc.
For years, while my dreams of professional achievement languished, I put my focus, energy, and money into being a wife and mom. That was my priority. I made it so. I chose that life over pursuing my dream.
There are all kinds of "reasons" I could give as to why I made that choice. Here are a few:
Ultimately, I let guilt, shame, and fear dictate my priorities. Choosing to be seen in a certain light (by my family, friends, and children) were more important to me than pursuing my dreams.
So I didn't.
For more than a decade, my dreams sat in a metaphorical box on a shelf in the attic of my soul. I didn't touch my musical instruments (I owned seven). I didn't even play the radio much. Music was all but absent in my life, with one exception: community theater.
I was somewhat of a fixture at the local theater. Ted, the Artistic Director, knew I was talented and a hard worker, so I was practically guaranteed a role every season. Usually not the lead, but something that allowed me to be in the spotlight, share my gifts, and get me out of the house a few nights a week during the run of the show.
That was my "fix" and, for a while, it worked. I was happy to contribute and be part of something that gave me a small glimpse into the life I wasn't ambitious enough to pursue because of other "reasons".
A friend and I had approached Ted about doing a holiday musical revue. He loved the idea. As we began rehearsals, Ted told me that ours would be the last show produced at the theater. After 15 years, he was closing his doors.
At first, it didn't register how much I depended on Ted and this rag-tag bunch of musical misfits. We all had "other lives" that kept us busy - teachers, lawyers, service workers, college students - but on Ted's stage we were all equals. We were all craftsmen.
We were family - and Ted was breaking up the band, so to speak.
I didn't realize, until recently, how important that creative outlet was for me. It was my primary source of adult conversation and a safe space to practice my art. It was also a happy-medium for a married mom of two with responsibilities and "reasons" that kept me from pursuing my dream.
And then it was gone.
I briefly toyed with the notion of taking over the theater, but my life and financial situation at the time just couldn't swing it. That's when everything in my life started to unravel. My kid ran away and ended up in jail, we filed bankruptcy, I lost my car, my home, and I hit the skids - quite literally.
I was driving my husband's car on the freeway. As I started to change lanes, it spun out of control. I threw my hands into the air as the car swished and fishtailed across three lanes, landing in the ditch, facing oncoming traffic. I looked up just in time to feel the rush of wind as an 18-wheeler sped past.
Somehow, I was still alive. Unscathed. Awake. The car had stalled out, but was otherwise fine. A Freudian moment.
I reasoned with myself that I should probably be dead. The only reason I survived was because, as Lennon put it, it's not the end.
So why I was still alive? What was this wake-up call all about?
God talks to me in the voice of James Earl Jones - very deep, precise, and clear. Each morning for a few weeks, I posed the "why am I still alive?" question during my sacred practice. One day the notion to spend a year working on a new album crossed my mind. That thought led to doing 100 songs - just 2 songs a week. That's when Darth Vader boomed in.
"300 songs!"
I've learned not to argue when my inner Darth starts talking. So I started on the journey that has now become my 300 songs project.
Jim Rohn famously said "Become a millionaire not for the million dollars, but for what it will make of you to achieve it." About 100 songs into the project, it became clear that it was less about the number of songs, and more about who I was becoming in the process of making them.
I was unpacking my dusty box of dreams, recalling the value of these old treasures - some of which still had meaning for me, others from which I was finally ready to move on. I pulled out those old songs, those dance routines, and I had to decide what my dream really was.
See, your dream is relentless. It persists even when you don't want it to. You almost can't let it go because it keeps coming back to haunt you. Fantasies, on the other hand, are something that you can plow a lot of time, energy, and money into, but at the end of the day, you feel a relief to let it go.
Dancing was like that for me. I still love to dance, but I'm almost 100 pounds heavier than I was when I dreamed of being the next Paula Abdul. While I'm working on getting into better shape, the thought of re-conditioning my body to the level of a professional dancer feels like a punishment worse than death!
When I gave up on the dream of becoming a dancer, I felt unimaginable relief. Can I still dance? SURE, but on my terms - without the pressure of maintaining a dancer's body.
Becoming the next Paula Abdul or Madonna was my fantasy, entertaining and inspiring people is my dream.
In fact, I can't imagine my life without a spotlight and inspiration in some way, but if I could never dance again, I don't think I'd cry too much about it. As a kid, I believed that's what I should do, if I wanted to be famous. I should learn to sing, act, dance, and play an instrument - and be good at all of them. That way, I've got a much better chance at "stardom".
But as I unpack this box of dreams as an adult, it isn't about the "shoulds" of the world around me. I'm older now, and while I still care what people think of me, it matters far less than it did a decade ago when my roles defined me.
Those priorities don't matter like they used to. I stopped defining myself by what I couldn't have and began to shift my focus to what I really wanted - what truly mattered to me.
And that's the point. When something else - even fear - matters more than honoring the Divine call of your dream, you'll try to ignore it. But if it really matters to you, it will not remain silent. It will fight to be heard. It will wake you from your anesthetized way of living. It will violently shake you - with the force of an 18-wheeler - until you make a choice.
Then you will find a way to pursue it - in stolen moments while the kids are at school, or while waiting on hold with the power company. You'll get up early, stay up late, and make any excuse you can to take even the smallest step toward realizing your dream.
Or you will choose to let it go. No longer a priority. No longer the dream it once was. In which case, it's not your dream anymore, so it no longer needs pursuing.
Mourning the loss of a dream, or letting it go joyfully (your choice) is not uncommon. Kids do it every day, with much less drama and heartache. They find something new that captures their imagination, and they pursue it until it's not worth pursuing anymore. Everything they pick up and put down acts like a filter, helping them draw closer and closer to what it is that really matters to them.
For me, dance and drama led me to refine my skills as a storyteller, a performer, and to be more comfortable in my skin - critical skills that make me a better musician, author, and coach. For a time, I thought dancing was part of my dream. Dancing wasn't my dream, but it pointed the way.
Will your dreams always manifest the way you envisioned? Not likely. But that won't deter you if it's really your dream. Many are the stories of elderly men and women who found success with their dreams much later in life. Who cares how long it takes? The pursuit is part of the work of building the dream in the first place.
And should there come a time when other choices, other goals, other priorities truly do matter more than your dusty old dream, then pack it away for a time, pass it on, or simply let it go.
In the end, whatever you choose will be okay. And if it's not okay...
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Feeling stuck and unsure of your direction? I am honored to be co-hosting a webinar on May 12 with Tajci Cameron that might help. Tajci's a former Croatian pop star who left it all to try her hand at the American Dream, only to get stuck herself. Join us as we explore the steps she took to awaken to joy and purpose in her life and break the cycle of pain and fear that was holding her back. Click here to meet Tajci and register for this special event!
In my house, there's a never-ending battle that's almost as epic as the fight for the remote control.
The thermostat.
My husband likes it hot. He closes the vent in our room and bundles under at least two blankets even during Summer!
My son likes it cold. If it's warmer than 65, he'll turn the thermostat down to 50 because he thinks that'll make it colder faster.
Me? I like it in "the dead zone" - a comfortable 70-72 degrees. Not too hot, not too cold.
Needless to say, we've had a few arguments about this. In fact, hubby and I are finally switching sides of the bed this week because he's been sleeping closer to the vent (which is why he keeps closing it).
But...even more datstardly than our family fight for the house thermostat is the epic battle that's been going on between my ears for years with my metaphorical "success thermostat".
You may have heard it called an upper limit problem - that's a term Gay Hendricks used in his book "The Big Leap." Like a thermostat, our brains have a "success set-point" that keeps us comfortable. When we get too far below that set-point, we get uncomfortable, and start working to turn up the heat on our success. But I had a cap on what I believed I deserved. My "success ceiling" was a set-point that actually kept me earning poverty-level wages. No joke!
It was as if every time my money situation started improving, or things started going very well for me, invariably something would happen and things would start to fall apart. My success set-point kept trying to cool things off just as I was heating up!
In her book "Overcoming Underearning" Barbara Stanny says that "money is a metaphor" and that "under-earning is a symptom" - specifically a symptom of a lack of self-worth or self-love. It manifests differently for each person, but ultimately, it centers on a success ceiling/upper limit problem around what you think you deserve.
This week's episode of Creative Freedom revels how to know if you're a chronic under-earner, how I discovered my under-earning success ceiling, and how I've worked to eliminate my upper limit problem in my own life. Oh, and you'll hear bits of my U2/Journey mashup from the 300 songs project.
One look at the Symptoms of Underearning from Underearners Anonymous and you'll have a better idea of whether or not your current financial state is because of a conscious choice to live on less, a short-term slump, or a chronic condition that's due to something deeper.
1. See the truth and OWN it. Just like a real thermostat setting, we have to make adjustments if we want to see things change. For most of us, we can't just "flip a switch" and solve the problem. Further, the "temperature" of our situation will most likely change gradually. You can't go from 32 degrees to 70 degrees in a matter of seconds - it takes time to turn up the heat! Decide on your new direction. What's going to change for you? Then commit to it, and be willing to make small (even microscopic) changes as you move toward your new set-point. The smaller the better actually. It might feel more tedious and time consuming, but micro-commitments are more likely to stick and lead to lasting change because they don't activate the fear centers in your brain. It's the fear center that triggers the thermostat to go back to what's "comfortable" - clearly a relative term when it comes to success.
2. Be wary of people who aren't used to your new settings. They will be uncomfortable (so will you). I have a colleague that says "new level, new devil". Remember what I've taught you before - you train people how to treat you based on what you've come to accept from tehm and what they've come to expect from you. Changing your success thermostat means you're changing the expectations. Some people won't like that - get used to it. It happens. The key is to recognize when people are trying to change your settings and stay the course even if things start to get a little (okay, a LOT) uncomfortable.
3. Believe you are worth it and stay vigilant! This is where all the micro commitments make a difference. Trying to re-program your brain to overcome years of unconscious programming ain't easy. When you've believed for decades that you're not capable of achieving a certain level of success, your brain may have difficulty accepting new ideas that seem to fly in the face of that old understanding. You need to keep looking for evidence for the file clerk in your head that says you are capable. Celebrate your wins even if they seem "small" or "insignificant" - the file clerk doesn't judge.
Eventually, the new set-point will feel comfortable. It takes time and patience, but it's totally doable.
Under-earning is one of the most prevalent problems of the creative community. From working for "exposure" to donating our time and offerings to way too many worthy causes, creative entrepreneurs need to reclaim their money making power! If you've overcome an upper-limit problem, we'd love to hear about it! Share your stories in the comments and be part of the Rising Tide community!
First off: We're only a few weeks into our new web series, and I'm already getting questions and requests for topics to cover. YAY! If you've got a burning question you'd like to see me answer in the Creative Freedom series, let me know! We want to make this program as valuable as possible for you.
Now, on with the show!
It's a valid question. For me, there's a difference between being intentionally generous and being too generous - giving too much and coming across as desperate because of it. I've met plenty of direct sellers and other entrepreneurs who give not because they're being intentionally generous, but because they want potential clients to say "yes" - to validate them, affirm them, or just plain like them.
When you're intentionally generous, there's a solid strategy behind it (like giving 10% of all proceeds to charity, or to increase goodwill with existing customers), or you're feeling led by a divine call to be generous in a given situation. When you give from a place of fear or solely to be liked/affirmed, you're actually NOT being generous. You're being selfish (giving to get). True generosity comes when you're not expecting anything in return. True generosity has limits built in.
Piling on bonuses and giving lots of extra incentives hasn't worked in corporate America - quite the opposite, actually. The more you pile on, the worse the performance. Be intentional with your generosity.
Freebies, opt-in tools, and even your sales offers need to be strategic and focused. They're meant to help you clients get to know you, know what you have to offer, and trust that you are who you say you are (and that you provide the results you promise). Liking you is optional at this point. Remember what Teddy Roosevelt said: "Nobody cares what you know until they know that you care."
Who wants to be seen as the overgenerous desperate doormat? Train people how to treat you. (tweet this)
When it comes down to it, creating offers (and opt-ins) that are in alignment with your market isn't about over-giving. It's about establishing your relevance, building trust and credibility, and making it clear that you're the right person for the job. Likeability comes later. How have you created offers that work? Where did you stumble? What did you learn? Share your comments and insights and be part of our rising tide!
A couple of weeks ago we started the studio/office rearrange when the new lighting came. I still haven't been able to fit everything in, but this new video gives you an idea of where we're heading.
It's also the start of a new format for the weekly songs. I wanted to do something that was a little more inspirational AND educational, so that they didn't just come across as a bunch of cover tunes for no apparent reason. When I started the 300 songs project, it was about getting practice and learning how to operate the equipment in the studio. Over time, however, I've been blessed to have built a cozy following of people who actually enjoy watching the videos, not just listening to the rehearsal concepts.
We've even done a couple of virtual concerts featuring some of those tunes. During those shows, I always try to tie the songs back to an important moment in my journey or a "teachable moment" of some sort, because I believe that music can be educational as well as inspirational (remind me to tell you how the music of Billy Joel helped me win the city quiz bowl tournament in high school).
To that end, I'm launching this new format featuring the song "Hide" made popular by Joy Williams. Whenever I feel "not enough" in any respect, this song kicks my butt and reminds me I'm awesome. I hope it does the same for you. If nothing else, you'll get to see a rare moment of me wearing makeup!
You don't have to hide!
It's time for you to shine and show the world how awesome YOU really are. (Click to tweet)
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It's not an easy song for a woman to sing. It wasn't written for a woman to sing. Until we started the studio rearrange, I wasn't sure I'd ever attempt to sing "Piano Man" - since my low range isn't very strong, and I couldn't boost the signal enough for it to be understandable.
But it's certainly a song I enjoy - and one that became the signature piece for the sixth Gershwin Prize winner, Billy Joel.
The Gershwin Prize is the equivalent of a lifetime achievement award from the Library of Congress - as it "celebrates the work of an artist whose career reflects lifetime achievement in promoting song as a vehicle of musical expression and cultural understanding."
As I watched Kevin Spacey and crew honor Joel with their tribute cover of his song, it dawned on me that the world doesn't need another Billy Joel. The world needs YOU - and you can sing Billy's song, but like Kevin and the gang, you've got to sing it your way. And some people won't like it, or even understand it (Leann Rimes? What?), but you've got to do it your way for your audience to embrace you.
The other thing that caught my attention is that the best way to pay homage to your heroes is to do things your way. No one on that stage tried to sing it like Billy. Even Billy did his own thing in the moment ("It's a pretty good crowd here in Washington.") - and Kevin Spacey learned how to play harmonica just for the event - even if hitting the high notes wasn't as easy as he'd liked. He, and all the others, did it their way.
The world needs YOU to shine bright and sing your song - YOUR way. (tweet this)
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Tomorrow, I turn 40 (Bradley Cooper and I are the exact same age, thankyouverymuch!). This clip was taken from November's show, where I realized it was over 20 years ago that I wrote this song. As Billy Joel gets the Gershwin Prize for his song, "Piano Man", this week, I wondered what it is that makes some songs so timeless. And I wondered if I'd ever have a song that had that kind of effect. Then, I realized that I'd already written a song that I still sing even 2 decades later. It might not be a Billy Joel-caliber tune, but it's mine, and I love telling the story behind it.
My drama teacher, Mr. Jennings, gave me an opportunity to write and record this song for a play he was doing by the same name. He was known for being quite creative with the productions he mounted. He wasn't afraid to set Shakespeare in the 1950's, and was known for his color-blind casting policy, which sometimes got him into trouble. At the opening of this show, he wanted to have tableaus that looked like scrapbook photos that would come to life. It was a great opportunity to do something I loved in a meaningful way - completely outside the curriculum of the classroom.
Mr. Jennings was one of the first people to give me a platform for my music. He was willing to take a chance. The world needs people like that. The world needs people willing to share an unknown voice or an idea with a larger audience. I'm grateful he was one of those people for me. As I look back nearly 20 years, it's a thank you that's been a long-time coming.
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December is always a whirlwind for me. Holiday shows, the annual Give-back campaign, and my oldest son's birthday. This year, he turned 18! Now that my eldest is officially an adult, we can focus on "the other" holidays this month: Christmas and New Year's Eve!
This is one of my favorite Christmas songs. I was lucky enough to be able to share it at a Christmas sing-along for a local church last week. I've got a couple more songs from that event I'll be sharing this week, but the jingle bell hat was super timely for the Sunday before Christmas. Just a few days left, and we're STILL shopping.
Do you have the holidays handled yet? What are YOU hoping to get for Christmas this year?
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Judy Garland is one of my all-time faves. I don't sing a lot of her music, but two songs I love are The Man That Got Away and this song - both songs debuted by Judy in one of her films. This song is from" Meet Me in St. Louis" and has had a few lyric changes since the original was written by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane. Regardless, it's a timeless holiday song, and all you could ask for any year - to have a Merry Christmas.
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This weekend, I was invited to do a short set for a local non-profit holiday party. So Des and I dusted off the road gear and delighted the ladies with a few Christmas favorites. Here's one I've not shared previously: Irving Berlin's 1940's classic "White Christmas."
It's fitting, since last week I did "Rudolph" and those two songs are the biggest selling Christmas songs of all time (White Christmas is #1).
It's still green here in Michigan, albeit cold - hanging in the mid
Wherever you are in the world, I hope your December is full of warmth and good cheer.
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This week, I'm pleased to welcome my pal, Jen Harris, back into the studio. We've performed this song a couple of times, and I wanted to get Jen back here to share it with you. Such a fun rendition of a classic 40's song.
Actually, the story behind this song is some kind of wonderful. Department store giant, Montgomery Ward, commissions a children's story book as a work for hire. Rudolph is born. Then, the author's brother-in-law decides to write a song about the character. It was more than 20 years later that Rudolph became the animated television classic we all know and love. The song became the first #1 hit of the
It just goes to show you that even when you think you're done with a project, it can take on a life all its own.
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