A Musician’s Creative Journey
If you missed it, you can read Week Twelve of my Musician’s Creative Journey, where I explore the things that often go unnoticed.
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 13, I find myself reflecting on my musical journey, the role that imagination plays, and the common thread that runs through all modalities of the creative process — how we interact with technology, the importance of experimentation, and learning to trust the process.
My imagination as a child only evolved — it never grew up. I was never afraid to experiment at full volume. I took my guitar and amp to school, plugged in on the front lawn, stood on my amp, and played behind my head. I had no idea what it sounded like — I was flying without a net. I learned power chords and pentatonic patterns and played the guitar like a drum set.
I followed my gut, listened to my heart, never asked for permission, and apologized when I was wrong. I learned things the hard way — by doing and by making mistakes. Adults claimed to have all the answers, but the world told a very different story. I was on a mission to find out if God and angels were real, and if I could find a job and not get fired.
I knew a piece of paper would always listen when no one seemed to hear, that miracles were all around us, and that you didn’t need to be on your knees when you prayed.
I loved being a kid — and I was determined that no one would ever take my dreams away.
Thank you for being part of this creative journey.
— k
Day One
March 26th, 2026
The notes of piano keys mirror the keys on my computer.
Both are extensions of my creative voice.
Growing up as a teenager, I had spiral notebooks, multi-colored ink pens, drawing tablets, and 3B graphite pencils for capturing my words and sketching out abstract drawings. I had an electric guitar plugged straight into a solid-state amplifier with a distortion knob and reverb — if I wanted feedback, I turned the amp all the way up.
Today I have a laptop, audio interface, midi controllers, a pedalboard, and one vintage 1965 Fender Super Reverb amp — the only vintage thread from my youth.
Bob Dylan’s lyrics ring through my head as I write: I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now.
My studio has been an ever-evolving playground, and the tools that help me write, spellcheck, and edit for grammar and readability — they help. It’s funny how technology changes everything, but it will never replace imagination or lived experience, all woven together, quietly playing in the background of what I’ve come to call my cosmic radio.
Day Two
March 27th, 2026
There’s something sacred about writing.
It quiets the mind
and gives your inner voice space to be heard.
No matter the glitter of bright, shiny objects, nothing replaces the act of putting pen to paper — a leather-bound journal resting on my knee, lines uneven, words misspelled and often scratched out. And one thing is certain: my journal will never run out of power, nor will it ever be hacked, as my handwriting remains barely legible.
Day Three
March 28th, 2026
Some things never get old…
they only get better with time.
This guitar has been with me through it all —
every note, every lesson, every mile.
Some things are timeless. Nothing replaces my fingers on a string, pressed against the fret wire hammered into the rosewood neck, picked up by Seymour Duncan Classic Stack humbuckers, running through guitar cables and effects units and into an amplifier. But I remember in high school, discovering that laying the side of my head against the body of the guitar amplified its vibrations through my skull — and that an infinite array of effects loops could carry me away.
After school, my guitar was in my hand before I’d taken off my winter jacket: amp turned on, turntable spinning. I sat there until it was time for bed, still falling asleep with a guitar beside me.
My first “concert settings” were dialing a friend’s phone number, tossing the receiver on the bed, and blasting the new songs I was learning at full volume. I remember picking the receiver back up, wondering if they’d still be there. My real friends remained — and there are still people I could call to this very day.
Day Four
March 29th, 2026
The sun must set before it rises again…
Let the light go. It knows the way back.
My guitar students often ask: where do I start when playing lead? I tell them — it’s just three chords, five notes, and the truth that will make you a guitar player. You have to feel it, and you have to trust that what sounds like noise at first, and feels like utter darkness, will eventually reveal its patterns. If you just keep going, one day — like magic — it begins to click. They ask how long it will take. I tell them I never sat it down, so for me, I auditioned for my first band after four months. I didn’t make the cut, so I worked harder, ensuring that would never happen again. But I had to trust the process.
As I took this photo, the sun was going down, but I had lights on at home. What if the lights went out? The sun would still rise. What if I play a wrong note? The song will not end.
Learning to trust the process can be as hard as remembering to slow down, catch the setting sun, and know that if we miss it — the sun will rise again.
Day Five
March 30th, 2026
angels are everywhere
quietly watching
patiently waiting
Call me crazy, but I do believe in angels. Whether they’re real or not, each day I choose to allow my imagination to run wild— it’s where creativity is born.
This little angel sits on the top shelf above my wall of handpans, next to a handmade wooden clock from my father. Each time I see it, my father’s presence and my grandmother’s presence feel as close to me as the music in my fingertips.
Life is what we make it, and imagination sparks what we call magic! It’s not complicated! — it’s why we’re here, and it’s leads up to where we’re going.
Day Six
March 31st, 2026
Legs, feet, arms, and a head —
Someone took the time
to stack these tiny, colorful stones —
Easy to miss.
But once seen, impossible to forget.
It made me smile.
It takes imagination to see a pile of rocks as a robot standing on a platform — one that, as a child, I would have watched lift off from the cinderblocks where it rests now.
It’s funny how we lose the power of our imagination. These rocks, left behind by the previous owner of my condo, connect me to the wonderment I experienced throughout my childhood — a wonderment I carefully packed for my journey into life. I still take it with me everywhere.
Day Seven
April 1st, 2026
A new vintage lens
Helped me find this flower.
I got a new vintage lens in the mail this week. It came from Ukraine — built in Russia. It takes beautiful pictures, with circular, swirling bokeh patterns in the background.
Beyond the geographic boundaries of our world, the artists who capture the moment remain. I wonder how many of these lenses have been destroyed in the war, and I wonder who has looked through this one — what it has seen throughout the years — and if the images of flowers I take with it might possibly serve as an offering of peace.
Wrap Up
This concludes Week 13. I remain committed to this creative journey, taking it one day at a time. I’ve had breakthroughs in my creative process, continued to take photos, and looked at the world through a new vintage lens. And I’ve navigated my mother’s care — learning how precious every moment truly is.
Each image I share serves as a thumbnail — a steady reminder to pause, reflect, and stay the course.
Bye for now… Week Fourteen (coming soon)
— k
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 who you were as a child — what dreams did you have, and how have those dreams evolved?
Describe the role imagination plays in your life, and how you might find new ways to explore your creativity.
Resources
My favorite interview this week– Brain fog and disassociation from being chronically online | 60 Minutes Australia.
Here are a few featured tracks from my catalogue:
Seek out something new this week—and let it surprise you.
—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.
