Bring Out Yer Dead! (It's Simply a Matter of Choice)

"I dont' want to go on the cart!"
"Oh, don't be such a baby."

Monty Python & The Holy Grail. What brilliant comedy.

Breathing life back into something you thought was dead isn't easy. Or, is it? I brought out my dead last night and realized resuscitation is simply a matter of choice. 

The first guitar I ever owned, a Yamaha six-string, had been sitting in the corner of my music studio gathering dust for years. Ignored as newer, more exciting (read: expensive) guitars took its' place, it sat obediently in it's stand waiting for the moment to, once again, shine. 

This instrument was my first love; the one I wrote my first songs on and, as corny as it sounds, I consider her to be a dear, old friend. I lovingly changed the strings, cleaned the frets, and polished the gorgeous wood body. Strumming the new strings, my old friend sounded impossibly beautiful. Like magic, I watched her come back to life.

"Can I go back and take along the wisdom that is mine?" 
(Jamie C. Keys, 1979 "The Reason for the Rhyme")

Playing songs written in what seems like another lifetime can be strange. When I wrote them, there was nothing but possibility ahead. I was young, married to my Prince Charming, and had big, musical dreams. Playing these songs now is bittersweet, for I know how the stories ended. Although, I accomplished a lot with my music, I didn't become the rock princess I imagined and, like Humpty Dumpty, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put my fairy-tale marriage back together again.

Spring is supposed to be the window to new beginnings, of bringing the dead or sleeping back to life. But, last year, it was a turbulent time: a time when tear-shaped rain pummeled down in harsh torrents, leaving me feeling hollowed out, frightened, and desperately sad. 

Time heals (or at least bandages) all, and this year trees are sprouting glorious green buds, birds are chirping their sweet songs, and precious possibilities, like soft raindrops, are sprinkling softly upon me.

While playing guitar, I realized something: I still have the opportunity to fill my life with great love and big dreams. Part of the majesty of being human is having the transformative power to breathe life back into dreams we thought were dead and buried. It's simply a matter of choice.

So, join me in bringing out yer dead! At this time of new beginnings, what will you transform in order to bring more joy to your life? What dusty dreams can you breathe life back into?

FYI: The picture of me was taken four years ago at a photo shoot in Philly. 
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