It’s been a really tough week for me, personally. I haven’t been able to write anything because of all the tragedy and grief that’s been happening. I’ve barely had time to breathe and now I find myself trying to catch my breath.
Life’s slowed down to it’s normal crawl and I woke up with all the things I’ve forgotten over the weekend forcing themselves to the front of my awareness. Did I miss my dad’s birthday? When’s the last time I check on the project files? How many songs behind am I? Do I need toilet paper? It compounds and it suffocates. The only thing left it to jump right in and take care of it all.
While in the midst of my new found determination, my daughter comes into my room with her Irish Whistle and says, “Daddy, do you want to hear my new song?” And she plays one note in a short succession of long, short, short three times. Then she asks, “Did you love it?” And I really did.
My 3 year old daughter has successfully written a song. She’s made an original sequence of sounds that repeats in a musical fashion. That’s amazing. She didn’t mimic another song that already existed, but put the note together in her own unique way. She repeated the motif and unknowingly invoked the power of 3. She has done, at 3 years old, what took me 30 years to do. She is amazing.
More so, she even performs. She plays her music, not like how a 10 year old at a recital would play Fur Elise, but like a seasoned jazz guitarist would, as he caresses his guitar with decades of love. Hair flying wildly as she dances with the flute, and a big extended hand on her finale, she bows when she’s done and pride washes across her innocent face. She is magical.
I’m lucky to have her to remind me that there is always something to be happy about. And there is always a song to written and played and shared.