A Musician’s Creative Journey
If you missed it, you can read Week Ten of my Musician’s Creative Journey, where I reflected on momentum, uncertainty, and the small choices that shaped the week before this one.
This post is the latest installment of my ongoing series, A Musician’s Creative Journey— a weekly practice of reflection through music, writing, and daily life.
In Week 10, I explored the things that often go unnoticed. With so much happening in our world today, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. In the rush to keep up, the small, grounding moments around us can be missed—or sometimes dismissed as unimportant.
This week is different.
This week is about learning to embrace the world as it is… and beginning to create the world we long to see.
For me, music and writing are essential parts of that daily creative practice. They keep me rooted. They help me listen more deeply—to myself, to others, and to the world around me.
I believe we are all artists in our own way. And creating a better world is something we each have the power to do.
Right now, I’m writing, playing, and creating new music. I’m working on stories and essays that I’ll be sharing in the coming months. And I’m showing up for my mom as she moves through the final stages of her life—a life so deeply and beautifully lived.
In the midst of it all, I feel both gratitude and hope.
I often picture myself standing on a pristine mountain, overlooking untouched parts of the world—quietly praying they remain just as they are until I arrive.
Music, for me, is a conduit. Sometimes it comes as a lightning bolt of inspiration. Other times, it’s a steady candle in the dark.
These daily practices are my compass and my guide. They give me something to hold onto—and the clarity to keep creating.
Thank you for being part of this creative journey.
—k
Day One
March 12th, 2026
There is a story
within a story.
Open the box
and let your dreams be free.
You can find almost anything on Amazon even a Moroccan-style jewelry box dusted with a kind of magic: vibrant purple, a soft shimmer, and a delicate gold tassel. It becomes more than décor. It becomes part of your sacred space—the sanctuary you return to for reflection, creativity, and healing.
But beyond its beauty, this box holds something far more meaningful.
Inside are small treasures gathered throughout my journey—hearts, stones, and pins, each carrying a memory, a lesson, or a moment of transformation.
There is a tiny angel, carved and suspended in smooth, pebble-shaped glass—still, quiet, and watchful. There is a stone marked “NO FEAR”—two simple words written in black Sharpie during a spiritual direction training. I had written it for someone I was paired with in a breakout session, after they shared their story. That message stayed with me, so I kept it.
There is also a heart-shaped crystal I found in Mill Valley, California, in 2018. It carries a resonance I can’t fully explain—only that it now lives on in my writing circles, passed from hand to hand as a touchstone for truth and connection.
And then, a heart-shaped pin from my sister. It features a silver Cupid set against black stone, accented with small stones that look like diamonds. It may not hold monetary value, but its meaning runs deeper than anything money could measure.
And finally, the mirror—a staple of every jewelry box.
Growing up, I had a full-length mirror on my closet door. I spent hours in front of it, practicing, performing, and finding my way—like a young bird learning to fly. Those were my ten thousand hours.
I’ve always appreciated mirrors—not because they flatter, but because they reveal what is real.
Day Two
March 13th, 2026
A glass ceiling
and a metal frame.
Still water
will never be the same.
Cincinnati’s Krohn Conservatory. It’s undeniably beautiful, and I’ve visited several times. This time, I brought my camera, thinking I would capture something extraordinary.
But what was I really expecting?
Don’t get me wrong—there is beauty here. Inside these panes of glass live vibrant wildflowers, a cascading waterfall, and fish drifting through a quiet pond. It feels like stepping into a carefully constructed terrarium, a world designed to mirror nature.
And yet, something feels different.
Capturing these images is a bit like photographing wildlife in a zoo. The subjects are real, alive, and stunning—but they exist within boundaries. Framed. Contained. Curated.
I think that’s what this image reveals.
It’s not just about beauty—it’s about the tension between nature and structure, freedom and enclosure. The glass ceiling and metal frame hold everything in place, preserving the scene while quietly changing its essence.
Even still water, in a setting like this, will never be the same.
Day Three
March 14th, 2026
Studio.
Ableton Live.Building loops for a new guitar instrumental
and creating a groove library
for ambient handpan soundscapes.Still learning.
Still building.
Still creating.The world is changing.
So am I.
I’m experimenting with sound. It’s what I do.
I didn’t go to school to study science—I picked up a guitar. But over time, I’ve come to understand that sound itself is a kind of science.
It begins in your fingertips, moving across the strings, traveling through the wood of the neck, into the body of the guitar, and out through the sound hole or pickups. From there, it flows through the cable, into the pedalboard wah, compression, overdrive, volume, octave, delays (short, long, modulated, ping-pong), lush reverbs, shimmer into a tube amp, and finally into the mixing console.
Every step matters. Every choice shapes the outcome.
It may not look like science on paper but it is precise, intentional, and deeply responsive.
I’ve seen what music can do to an audience. I’ve felt what it has done to me and for me. Now, all the modalities that inspire me are coming together, like threads being woven into a larger tapestry.
I’m exploring keyboards, synthesizers, wavetables, oscillation—new textures, new dimensions. It feels like being a kid again, playing in the backyard sandbox nearby, swing set in motion, garden hose running, sprinkler spinning, pogo stick bouncing.
Pure curiosity. Pure joy.
And yes—sometimes the child in us needs rest.
But we must never let that child disappear.
Day Four
March 15th, 2026
Acoustic guitar
finding its place
beyond a wall of sound.
Simple.
Understated.
Unbound.
And then there’s the old faithful—six strings, well-worn. My Ed Sheeran model, Martin parlor-size acoustic guitar. It feels good to be writing again.
I’ve always loved playing acoustic guitar. In fact, it may have kept me from getting kicked out of high school.
I started on electric guitar. I’d bring my guitar and amp to school without a second thought—plug in, crank it up, and play at full tilt. One Sunday morning, when our Sunday school teacher was late, I snuck my guitar and amp into a classroom at church and blasted “Cat Scratch Fever.” If you ever want to call an emergency deacons’ meeting in a Baptist church, that’s one way to do it.
Eventually, we all grow up. We gather stories along the way.
Now, it’s time to write them down—and weave them back into the music I play.
I’m not entirely sure what this next record will become. I’ve been working on it for quite some time. What I thought would take a year, maybe two, has turned into a much longer journey.
With the passing of my father, and now caring for my mother, I find myself reflecting more deeply. Life has shifted. In many ways, I’ve become the adult for my parents over these past few years.
And still—I’m a kid at heart.
Music keeps that heart alive.
And the acoustic guitar…
is helping me find my way back to it.
Day Five
March 16th, 2026
Vintage.
Daydream.
Snapshot.
Still Life in Motion
I’ll be glad when spring arrives.
Developing my skills as a photographer isn’t really about the camera—it’s about the eye. It’s about learning how to see. How do you capture what you’re truly looking at? More importantly, what is it that speaks to you as you move through the world?
That’s the question I keep coming back to.
So often, I feel completely clueless. I find myself staring—at my studio, out the window, at the sky, at the trees. I think about the technical side: which lens, what aperture, how to frame the shot.
It reminds me of staring at the neck of my guitar, waiting for a riff to appear. Or flipping through pages of lyrics in my notebook, listening for a melody, searching for a hook.
And then—eventually—I stop trying so hard.
I let go.
That’s when something shifts.
When I release the need to define perfection, the moment finds me. The image reveals itself. The music begins to play.
Creativity doesn’t come from force.
It comes from presence.
And when I finally surrender to that…
everything starts to move again.
Day Six
March 17th, 2026
Little dreamer, lost in thought.
One day your child will sleep, but never let the child in you die.
Listen to your heart and keep dreaming.
I remember being in grade school. I wasn’t allowed to sit by the window because I was “a daydreamer”—at least, that’s what my report card said.
I didn’t fully understand what that meant at the time. I just knew I was bored… and whatever was happening outside that window felt far more interesting than anything inside the classroom.
The statue of this young boy caught my attention while I was out walking the other day. Something about it stopped me.
It made me think about the world we live in now.
The innocence we’ve lost.
The quiet wonder we’ve forgotten.
Children should feel safe. They should be free to explore, to imagine, to play without fear. They’re counting on us to create that kind of world.
And yet… too often, we fall short.
Maybe that’s why holding on to our own sense of wonder matters so much.
Because when we stay connected to that inner child—
the dreamer, the one who sees beyond the surface—
we remember what truly matters.
And maybe, just maybe…
we can begin to protect it again.
Day Seven
March 18th, 2026
The drum beat is like Morse code for the soul.
Patterns. Connection.
Echoes of voices from the ancestors.
The drumbeat is like Morse code for the soul.
Patterns. Connection.
Echoes of voices from the ancestors.
I had a drum set—briefly—when I was 14. I played hard. Really hard. It felt incredible… almost as good as roller skating.
There was something raw and freeing about it.
Today, the drums feel different.
They’ve become a heartbeat—soft, subtle, and powerful. There’s a kind of entrainment that happens when you settle into a steady rhythm. Your pulse begins to align with the beat, and before long, you drift into another space entirely.
A quieter space. A deeper one.
Rhythm lives in everything—not just music, but language itself. In our words, in the space between syllables, in punctuation, in accent and phrasing across every culture and every tongue.
The drum reminds us of that.
It’s not just an instrument.
It’s not just a heartbeat.
It’s feeling.
It’s connection.
It’s something ancient moving through us—
something we remember, even if we can’t explain why.
Wrap Up
This concludes Week 11. I remain committed to this creative journey, taking it one day at a time. I recently sat down with Ken Broo on WLW 700 AM — read the full conversation here.
Each image I share serves as a thumbnail, a steady reminder to pause, reflect, and stay the course. Bye for now… Week Twelve (Coming Soon)
— k
P.S. My Substack is growing. It’s a space to go deeper beyond the weekly posts into the thoughts and questions that don’t fit neatly into a caption. I’d love for you to join me there.
An Invitation to Write
Set a timer for ten minutes. Write without stopping. Don’t edit, don’t second-guess—just let it come. Writing Prompts: Write about something you’ve been carrying quietly. What would it feel like to finally set it down? Describe a conversation you wish you’d had—or one you’re glad you never did.
Resources
Another week in. I’ve been letting music lead the way finding artists who create space rather than fill it. Good music for writing, for thinking, for just being still. Seek out something new this week and let it surprise you.
