A Musician’s Creative Journey
This post is part of my ongoing Musician’s Creative Journey. A weekly practice of reflection through music, writing, and daily life.
In Week Eight of my Musician’s Creative Journey, I reflect on reclaiming time, studio work, creative discipline, and the power of daily practice. It’s been a productive week. Long hours in the studio, teaching, gigs, and spending time visiting with and caring for my mother. As I reflect on this week’s journey, I feel grounded. That’s no small thing in a world laced with chaos.
Each morning, I carve out time for writing and reflection, practicing guitar and handpan. When the day winds down and everything grows quiet, I head out for a long walk. My neighbors have grown accustomed to seeing me pass their kitchen windows at 10 p.m., a flashing red light pinned to the back of my jacket and a white light clipped to the front so I can see where I’m going. One neighbor laughs and says she leaves her porch light on for me.
It’s nice to be home not tripping over a suitcase, not doing laundry just to pack again for the next two-week tour. This daily project continues to provide structure and inspiration for the work I feel called to do in this season of my life. As always, my commitment to getting 1% better each day is breathing new life and depth into my creative journey.
Thank you for reading and for being part of this Musician’s Creative Journey.
-k
If you missed it, you can read Week Seven of my Musician’s Creative Journey, where I reflected on momentum, uncertainty, and the small choices that shaped the week before this one.
Day One
February 19th, 2026
As Lent begins,
I am reclaiming my time.
What we give our attention to
shapes who we become.
Time is the most valuable asset we have, yet it’s the thing we give away without a second thought. We spend hours scrolling on our phones just one more news clip, TikTok, Facebook post, message, text, or email. It’s nonstop. It never ends. At least not until we choose to hit pause and reevaluate how we’re spending our most precious commodity.
Growing up Southern Baptist, Lent was not a practice I remember being emphasized. Now, as an Episcopalian, there is significant focus placed on Lent, so I’ve decided to use this season to practice reclaiming my time.
For years, each morning after making coffee, I’ve paused to reflect, write, and pray. It’s my ritual. It’s sacred time. It’s not about religion—it’s about cultivating inner peace.
I’m choosing to be mindful of where I place my attention, to avoid falling into the endless scroll, and to spend my most valuable asset wisely time.
If you feel inspired, I invite you to join me.
Day Two
February 20th, 2026
Art.
Vintage touchstones.Writers and visionaries
who remind me
why I began.
The middle of the three books in my image is Rilke: Selected Poems, translated by Stephen Mitchell. I purchased both the print version and the audiobook.
I may sound like a broken record, but being dyslexic affects areas of life that many people take for granted poetry is one of them. I’ve often tried to read a poem and felt nothing. Yet later, hearing the same poem read aloud, I fall in love with the words, the imagery, and the deeper meaning.
Ever since I discovered Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, I’ve been hooked. I’ve listened to that book dozens of times—it’s one of my favorites.
Now, I’m working my way through these selected poems, following along in the print edition as I listen. It’s a beautiful way to bridge the gap—transforming poetry from something that once felt inaccessible into something I can fully experience and enjoy.
And with some luck—and hard work—my dream of becoming a poet may become more than just a dream.
Day Three
February 21st, 2026
Studio day.
Electric. Acoustic. Handpan. Synth.
Reclaiming my time
by building what matters.
Finally—my studio is complete. My guitar rig is back in action, my handpan collection is set, and my writing feels focused. It’s time to finish the songs I’ve been working on.
I’ve decided to do what I did in 2006—record an instrumental album. Back then, it was titled Speechless.
My favorite guitarist is Roy Buchanan. One of my all-time favorite records is his album You’re Not Alone—primarily instrumental, with only one track featuring vocals, “Down by the River,” written by Neil Young.
At that point in my career, I simply needed to return to my roots and play guitar. I’d always wanted to create a record inspired by Roy’s expressive style and pay tribute to the guitarists who shaped my sound.
Now, I feel that same pull—but this project will be different. It will blend ambient soundscapes with electric guitar and meditative handpan textures.
I’m excited, inspired, and hopeful. The new album will be titled Beyond Words—a name that feels timely. As a society, we’ve lost much of our shared narrative. Perhaps music and the arts can help us find common ground again—through a language that rises above chaos and confusion.
Reclaiming my time gives me the space and the bandwidth—to do this work.
Day Four
February 22nd, 2026
There’s no bridge too far
for dreams to cross.
I learned early in life dream like you’re crazy, then let go of expectations. Dreams rarely unfold exactly as we imagine them. When I look back on my life, I can honestly say I’m grateful they didn’t.
Dreams are the breadcrumbs that lead us toward a meaningful and purposeful life.
When I embrace my dreams as a journey rather than a destination, doors open, inspiration flows, and the right people seem to appear. But when I try to micromanage the outcome, things often fall apart—ending in disappointment or even defeat.
The only true way to fail at a dream is not to act.
I’ve known so many people who are afraid to dream—afraid they will fail, afraid of what others might think, and sometimes even afraid they might succeed.
Dreams create the magic in life. They’re not a test to pass or fail. They’re invitations—guiding us toward our gifts and helping us discover our true purpose.
Day Five
February 23rd, 2026
Reflections in still water.
Deep blue.
What we sit with
shapes us.
Reflections and in this case, illusions.
This image is a small section of a larger photograph I took at the Cincinnati Nature Center. What you’re seeing is simply the reflection of branches on the surface of the water.
What I’m enjoying most about photography is learning to see beyond the obvious. I’m only scratching the surface, but it’s teaching me to slow down—to look deeper into the world around me and notice what truly speaks.
Day Six
February 24th, 2026
Lost and found.
A third-grade school picture,
hidden in the family couch
for over fifty years.
I remember her.
She’s still here.
Lost and found.
After my father passed away in late 2024, I took the antique couch that my dad and I had refinished when I was a child. He let me help. The couch had sat in our living room while I was growing up and remained in my parents’ home until they moved into assisted living. I was determined to keep it and have it reupholstered in forest green velvet.
It turned out beautiful.
A few weeks later, the woman doing the work texted me a photo. She said she had found it inside the couch while removing the old fabric. It made me stop and reflect. It took me back to third grade at Garden Springs Elementary School in Lexington, Kentucky.
I remember this school picture. It was the last one taken before I experienced the greatest loss of my childhood. It captures an innocence I still remember—just months before my grandmother died.
My grandmother lived down the street. She was my world, and I was hers. She understood that I believed I could fly—so she made me a cape. When I announced I was running away, she took me seriously. She packed a knapsack with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a coffee can filled with Cherry Kool-Aid, then walked me to the corner.
On the way, she told me how much she would miss me—and how sad she was that I would miss the fried chicken, potato pancakes, and apple pie she was about to make for dinner.
By the time we reached the corner, I had decided that maybe running away wasn’t such a good idea after all.
It’s amazing what memories a single photograph can awaken.
Day Seven
February 25th, 2026
Sometimes the Way
is a winter path
curving out of sight.Quiet.
Peaceful.
Enough.
I like the metaphor of a gravel path in the woods—carved out, leading somewhere.
Whether we feel gravel beneath our feet or pavement beneath our tires, each path we choose determines our direction, not the outcome. Things happen. Paths shift. Some roads end. All roads begin.
Never forget the fields, the valleys, the streams—and even the skies.
Wrap up
This wraps up week eight. I continue to stay committed to my creative journey one day at a time. Each image serves as a thumbnail, a steady reminder to pause, reflect, and stay the course.
Bye for now…
Week Nine (Coming Soon)
— k
P.S. I just released my first Substack article—click here. Substack is a space where I can go deeper and, hopefully, build community through connection.
An Invitation to Write
Set a timer for ten minutes. Write without stopping. Stay ahead of your inner editor. Don’t overthink—just write. See what happens.
Writing Prompts:
- Write about what it means to reclaim your time.
- Write about something you miss about the way the world was before cable, cell phones, and social media.
Resources
Recently, I’ve been listening to Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World, and Rainer Maria Rilke’s Select Poems (translated by Stephen Mitchell) and The Book of Hours (translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy).
I’m also continuing to read Aldous Huxley’s The Perennial Philosophy.
