Three-quarters.

I picked up my guitar with the intent to write a song this afternoon. I have discovered that something within my innermost being loves the 3/4 time signature and its cooler brother, 6/8. My outermost being, is very embarrassed with these time signatures (including the cooler brother) as they bring me back to all the Chopin waltzes I played on the piano back in the day. Dangit.

Almost August.

It is 6:38am. I successfully destroyed my sleeping cycle during my usual 3-day weekend. I couldn’t sleep tonight so I read the rest of Velvet Elvis. And now I’m here, ready to ramble.

I told God at the end of April that I was ready. I was ready for change. Change from my old ways that just got, well, really old. It wasn’t the fact that I wasn’t happy. It was more than the unhappiness. There were battles being fought. Physically, yes. I’ve got scars from them. Mentally, yes. I’ve played mind games with the best of them. Spiritually, very much yes… but very much no. My spiritual battle was one being fought, but I rarely joined in. I was dry. Parched. Defeated.

And now it’s almost August. Today I just thought about this summer and the places I’ve been. (Not literally, because literally, I’ve just been in North Texas and Lubbock. Not that exciting.) I went back somewhere I had been and it had changed too. Through my old friends immediate actions that late night in April, I see God’s forgiveness. His grace. His mercy. I read a few books (The Irresistible Revolution and Velvet Elvis) that renewed my outlook on what it could possibly mean to follow Christ. Along with the words from The Bible, I see God’s hope. People that believe God didn’t mean for there to be waiting, that Heaven (and Hell) are here on earth. A Savior that says, “Come and see” and never fails to show me something new. And through a few close friends, our renewed friendships, and our trials, I see God’s love. I am starting to see what accountability means and how ugly it may get, but how necessary it is. I see honesty in a new light.

I’m not in school anymore and my work schedule remains the same, but I still refer to everything in “semesters.” The new semester is coming up. Summer is almost over. I named my “band”/side project Almost August after an e-mail I wrote a good friend many years ago. I wrote about all the anxieties I had about the new school year. Also, my birthday just so happens to land on the eighth day of the eighth month, so I also wrote about all the anxieties I had about becoming older. There just always seems to be a little pressure during these “new” years. Like they are supposed to be… new. I titled the e-mail, “Almost August,” and my friend replied and added the fact that the subject line was an excellent name for a band.

I’ve written songs in junior high and high school, but I feel that when I really started writing songs was in college during my Junior year. I don’t know how some writers do it, but I could never write about wars I’ve never been in, places I’ve never been to, or my “grillz.” So I just wrote from the heart. And the songs that emerged — well, the ones I favor — were the songs that were the most honest, the most raw, and the most flexible. Songs that anyone with a heart could relate to. Who hasn’t loved? Who hasn’t been hurt? And who hasn’t, even in the slightest bit, hoped for something more?

And so it goes. I wrote enough songs to figure I could keep writing and my name is too long. The songs fit the theme I had in my e-mail to my friend. And, in a way, this is version 2.0 of that e-mail. Because I feel that anxiety again. Yes, I don’t have school, but I still have to blow out those birthday candles and there are instances in my life that I feel will be made new this month. And I have this heart, a little worn down with almost 24-years of battle scars, that — for some crazy reason — is bursting with hope for something more.

It’s almost August.

Something amazingly beautiful.

Do you remember that scene in Shawshank Redemption when Tim Robbins’s character locks a guard in the bathroom so he could play a record of some lady singing opera over the prison loudspeakers? I remember thinking it was weird that everyone stopped and listened to it like it was something amazingly beautiful. I mean, it was opera in a foreign language, right?

But the right music at the right time, no matter what, is something amazingly beautiful.

I think that’s what happened the other day. I had the best five-hour drive I can remember Sunday afternoon. At the end of the drive, I said, “I think that is the fewest words I’ve ever said to anyone on a road trip that long.” I almost sounded like I was complaining. But my friend’s reply caught me off guard. Maybe because what she said was true and I just hadn’t realized it yet. To sum it up in her words, it was just “chill.” To elaborate, it was the shortest five-hour drive that consisted of two best friends and some amazingly beautiful music. Jimmy Eat World, mind you. We listened to and sang those songs like they were our songs, each and every word meaningful. She was right. We didn’t need to chit chat. Music was enough for us.

As a songwriter, this phenomenon is even more mind-blowing when you take this all in. I haven’t collaborated with many other writers, but as far as my personal process goes, it always starts from where it counts. A song without heart seems like a waste of perfectly good melodies and chords. I’d like to think a good majority of songwriters do write from the heart. This process takes time. Sometimes five minutes, sometimes a year. But the crazy mind-blowing part is knowing that each and every lyric will keep doing its work far after it’s left its origin. That’s an amazing aspect of music. And to me, it’s almost a responsibility that what I may write today will land in someone’s ear five months from now. But I guess I’ve never written for myself. I don’t write to hear myself sing and I don’t expect to make any money out of it. In fact, I think many songwriters blow more money to make music than make money sometimes. But after hearing a few random comments about my music lately, it just reminds me that music is an amazingly beautiful thing and it’s worth it all. Songs that I wrote years ago are now falling upon ears that are greeting my lyrics and my melodies with open arms today. Crazy.

I’m glad to always be a part of this amazingly beautiful thing called music whether I’m screaming the chorus to Jimmy Eat World’s 23 aloud in my car with my best friend or staying up past midnight to find the right chords to finish off that perfect chorus. The best part about it is that everyone is a part of it too.