"Please don't put your life in the hands of a rock and roll band."

In February 2010, I hit a really hard time in my life. Given, I probably could say that about many points in my life. But objectively, I think this period would be tough on anyone. I was in L.A., working four jobs and JUST getting ready settle into a somewhat cohesive life there. I was making some money, had found a place to live, was making friends, found a church, and was growing to like (maybe even love) Southern California. But back in Ohio, my dad had injured his back, and it wasn't healing. In January, after a series of tests and some odd physical manifestations, he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a blood and bone marrow cancer. Although it's a cancer with a shockingly good prognosis if treated properly, all of us were scared, especially because the cancer had taken quite a toll on his otherwise very healthy, strong body. This is also the first major illness that my immediate family has had to deal with. Although my life in L.A. was coming together, my internal world was kind of falling apart. I wanted to see where my life in L.A. would take me, but I was having a hard time deciding how I wanted to respond to this crisis. My head was telling me to stay...my heart was telling me to go home.

I decided to give my two weeks notice to my four jobs and leave L.A. But I began missing my life there, even before I left. The sights, the sounds, the ocean, the desert...my friends, my family, my opportunities. I was feeling aimless and lost as I (yet again) made plans to leave a place that was becoming a part of me. I needed something to hold on to. A few days before I left, my dear friend scored me a ticket to see the band "Mumford & Sons" play at the Troubadour. And therein lied a familiar catalyst for feeling hope...MUSIC.

For MONTHS, my friend had told me to listen to them, but I never found the time (or remembered to). So I went into the show as a virgin fan. If you've ever heard their music, you know it has it all: foot stomping rhythms, soul-wrenching lyrics, and soothing harmonies. Listening to them that night sparked something within me. I felt like I had a bit more direction...a bit more hope. With lyrics like...

"but I will hold on hope.
I won't let you choke
on the noose around your neck.
And I'll find strength in pain.
And I will change my ways.
I know my name as it's called again."

...how could you NOT feel hopeful? I think even more hope came from the fact that the lead singer/lyricist seems to seek truth through his music. Or so I've been told by a mutual friend. Just listen...you'll see.

I left L.A. on this high note. As time went on, though, my hope dissipated. I felt more lonely than I ever had. Those words and that music seemed very distant. In talking with a world-traveler/kindred-spirit friend of mine about it, we decided that there is often a great disconnect between how music makes us feel and how we really feel...or even just plain reality. I decided to get down-and-dirty with what I thought and how I felt about my current state. Through conversation with some very wise friends and with the help of some devotionals and my trusty journal, I was able to pull away from the fantasy of music and actually identify MY hopes and fears. I realized (for like the hundredth time) that the words of songwriters and bands like Mumford & Sons are not MY words...even though it'd be awesome if they were.

I think that music and all sorts of art can be extremely helpful tools in figuring out our selves and our lives. I would use films and music all of the time with my clients in therapy sessions (I remember referencing "The Matrix" with one client. And if I recall correctly, it totally cured her). They can help us make sense of things. They can be a catalyst for own thoughts on life, ourselves, the world, and even God. But in the end, I think we're meant to create our own story, not to borrow from someone or something else. And I, the budding therapist and music-lover, learned that I need to write my own lyrics, even if they're not as rhythmic, soul-wrenching, and foot-stomping as I'd like them to be.