That being said, I am here to say, loud and proud: I SURVIVED. I didn't think I would make it one week, but here we are 366 days after the fact, and I am alive and WELL. I will say that some days are worse than others. Some days I can go on as if nothing happened, there was no band, and I never got taken off. But most days I hold back tears, I grit my teeth because I can feel a literal pain in my heart, I reminisce, I smile like a fool, and cry like a little girl. I come off as cold and distant, but I'm just trying to live through pain every day. (Emotional and physical.) I'm not sure which days are worse, too be honest. I can fake being happy or I can be honest about being crushed. Either way is hell. How do you decide between Hell One and Hell Two? I guess most of the time it's easier to be honest because that's less stress on me added to my broken heart. Even though I am now part of a church that embraces me for who I am - not for what they hope to change me into, it hurts. This will be my second week of leading music. It's actually a one man show. I play my guitar and sing. It's kind of sad in a way because that's exactly how I feel. I went from being in a band doing what I love to being alone doing what I love. (Cue "Alone" by Rick Nelson.) I do find it a little crazy that I was asked to do the music almost exactly a year after being let go from the band. I'm not going to lie, I am still scared out of my mind. I am constantly worried that I am doing something wrong (i.e. songs I pick are too fast, too slow, I play guitar too country, etc.. The first time my pastor heard me play guitar his jaw dropped a little and he looked at me and said, "Oh my gosh. I can hear the western influence. So much.") I'm sure my pastor is tired of my texting, "Is this okay? Did I do that right? Do I need to change this? I hope that's not a problem." Earlier this week while I was up there singing, I noticed something that I had never heard before: I could here the people singing with me. It was so beautiful. Before, we had our music so loud that we couldn't hear the congregation singing back. It's funny how I went from a group of 300+ and couldn't hear the people, but in a group of about thirty I could hear them so loud. That experience really hit me hard (in a good way.) I didn't even know what I was missing. That's one big thing that I like SO much more about my music "job" now. I don't quite know how to get my point across, but just like how me being alone is very symbolic of my reality, being able to hear the people sing is. I have been so humbled by this experience, but it has been beautiful - just like when I'm leading that relatively small group, but I can hear them singing because I have been brought down. I'm not louder than the worship anymore. I really needed that experience to help me cope because it really opened my eyes. All that being said, sometimes while practicing I miss my old practices. (Do you know how weird it is to practice alone? I need some feedback and laughs! Oh well....) I miss the hours spent together. I miss the members. I miss their sense of humor. I miss being able to say, "go B minor" and everyone knowing the joke. I miss the pep talks. I miss it all. Even though I have all this uncharted territory before me and all the potential that it brings, I can't help but miss what used to be and my hopes for what could have been. I've said it before and I'll say it again, no matter how broken my heart is over this, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Sometimes I wish that I could sing just one more song with them. I always wanted to sing "Come on In" by Rick Nelson with them. I thought it was so perfect for us. I never got to do that, but I often imagine it. They say that you emotionally bond with people that you sing with, and I fully believe it. I don't think anyone even grasps how much I love them. I couldn't hate them if I tried, and that's the hard part. I mean I can't even be mad. If I was mad, I wouldn't miss them as much. I'm not mad. I am just so so so incredibly sad and I still love them all so much. I still tear up during church even though I like my new church. Easter was EXTREMELY difficult for me. I was passed the point of tears. The whole day I felt numb. To be honest, I could hardly listen to the sermon because I was so sad. I turned around in my pew and told one of my new friends that this was my first Easter in six years to not be at cowboy church. When I said it, I felt like a robot. My voice was so dull and monotone. The only thing I really heard the pastor say was, "Some of you out there are here, but you're not really here. You're so broken hearted you can hardly hear me and you may not even be able to see me through your tears." I wasn't crying, but like I said, I was past the point of tears. If anyone ever thinks I'm mad or resentful, they are wrong. When I talk about the band, I am speaking with the most broken of hearts.
In true Chloe fashion, I have a few songs of Rick's that help tell my story:
1) Last Time Around - This was the FIRST song I listened to within minutes of the call. It still soothes me when I get down about it.
2) No Vacancy - The next day I listened to this just about every other song. It's just so perfect to how I felt and often still do. I don't know what I would have done without it. It's one of those songs that explains everything so perfectly that it could sound bad, but you still listen to it because it's the only song that can even begin to explain how you feel. I like the sound of it, so that's just kind of an extra perk. (Bonus song with the same general theme: Hand Me Down by Matchbox Twenty. I absolutely adore this song. It's so perfect for me, and very near to my heart.)
3) You Just Can't Quit - I was very tempted to quit. This song along with the guitar player's encouraging words are the main reasons I didn't quit.
4) Love Minus Zero/No Limit - This song didn't really have anything to do with my experience, but it has always been a source of comfort for me. In some way, I think it helped keep me grounded. I like the description of the lady in this song. For instance, "People carry roses, make promises by the hours. My love, she laughs like the flowers, valentines can't buy her.... She knows there's no success like failure and that failure's no success at all." I just want to be like her, and this song gave me something to go off of when I was at a point where I felt like the ground had fallen out from under me.
Since I'm at this milestone in time, I want to note what I gained from my experience of being in a band at my old cowboy church since I've been thorough in telling about the ways I've been hurt.
Most importantly, it put my faith in the fire. I know that sounds like a bad thing, but like clay, it's just what I needed to be made strong. When I wrote my original post about the band, I hadn't reached that moment of strength. I would take all the pain again just to feel the closeness to Christ that I do now.
Second, it made me fall more in love with music than I already was. (For a few reasons.) The first being that it made me take a hard look at why I want so bad to be in the band. I realized that my God-given passion for music was my reason for wanting to be in the band. The members were a bonus. I liked the people. I loved the music. When I realized that, it made me feel more free. I obviously still miss the members, but they weren't my reason for wanting to be in the band. They can't take music away from me. They can take me out of their music, but they can't take the music out of me. The second being that it taught me how to "feel the music" as our lead guitar player would often tell me to do. The irony is that it took that shock for me to truly feel it. I am grateful for that. Because of my ability to feel music deeper than ever before, I was able to experience the healing power of music unlike any other time before. (Rick Nelson's brilliance is another direct reason for my profound experience.) I am so incredibly grateful for my deeper love of music. The third was that it gave me a crossroads. I was left at a point where I didn't know if I ever wanted to perform musically ever again. I contemplated selling my guitar that I had just gotten a few months before. It took me awhile, but I did decide to continue in my musical pursuits. When I think back to that phone call, I remember it all in so much detail. What stands out to me most is how the guitar player literally begged me to not quit. At the time, I didn't know what to think, but now I am SO grateful for all he said. He kept reassuring me that he believed I had it in me, that I had the ability to "feel the music," and that I just needed more experience. I wasn't sure if I believed him, but maybe I tucked it away in my heart and saved it for the day that I could believe it because somewhere along the line, I did. I believed that I wasn't terrible. I believed that I "had it in me." I'm sure he won't see this, but with tears in my eyes, I want to say thank you for believing in me. Thank you for letting that phone call be filled with the encouragement that you always gave me before. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for being the deliverer of bad news, but somehow bringing me hope long after the fact. Yes, I suppose I could tell him myself, and I may, but I just want to say how glad I am that he gave me those assuring words in the midst of such a hard situation for both of us.
Again, with tears in my eyes, thank you to the whole band for helping me grow spiritually, musically, mentally, and in leadership.
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