I broke up with my record label

I was wide eyed, all fake it til you make it smiles, clinging to the shield of my guitar and hoping to God no one could see the way my knees were shaking. I’d sang a couple songs to a row of eight office chairs in a semi circle filled with music executives, like some kind of idol TV audition. This was the moment I’d waited for moving to Nashville. The president of Sony Music Nashville told me something about my voice made him think of Jeff Buckley and asked if I could sing Hallelujah. Just a light and easy little song request ha. I hadn’t prepared it, or sang that song since I was a kid, but I took a breath and said a prayer to remember the words. And I nervously talked for a minute while I tuned my guitar from an open tuning to standard to be able to pull it off. Then I looped the chords of the intro, giving myself a second. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, wondering if I was about to run off a cliff and fall or fly, and then I started to sing. And I sang it with everything I had.

What I remember from that performance was this weird out of body experience, where I was floating above myself. I watched and felt proud for getting to that moment. For sitting in my room for hours as a kid playing and writing songs because it made me feel less invisible. For putting in my time playing shows driving a motorhome across Canada instead of going to college. For moving 47 hours from home to run down the dream to Tennessee, to find myself in the exact sky scraper record label office I was standing in. I floated back in my body before I finished the last chord, and they told me I couldn’t leave the room without signing a record deal. That was seven years ago. What a good run we had.

(A photo of me about to start Hallelujah… can tell by the G chord I had just re-tuned the guitar for that song ha)

I used to think the victory of that story was getting the deal. Now I look at it, and see the victory was more that I believed in myself and ran straight towards the challenge. That I stared the suits in the eyes and trusted my intuition and ability. Even though my knees were shaking. Even though I was terrified. I did it anyway. I proved to myself that I was capable of doing it anyway.

The fairytale feeling of that story wore off just like the shine of a new pair of shoes does, but I don’t regret one bit of that journey. I’ll always be grateful for the chance they took on me and the music they gave me the opportunity to make. And ultimately, the community of people that music brought in my life. I am proud of those songs and those pieces of my evolution as an artist. And now I am ready to get this rocket off the ground on my own terms and wave to them from captain’s seat as I find new heights I couldn’t get to before. I’ve got the wind at my back and the whole sky in front of me right now and damn I love that view.

I feel the high of this freedom. I’ve also cried sitting on the floor of my bathroom a couple times this week. And both of those ends of the pendulum are ok.

Freedom is something you give yourself. It’s choosing to let go when something isn’t working. It’s the surrender you feel when you stop running from what’s uncomfortable. It’s believing that you are the fingerprint in the tapestry of humanity that isn’t like any other. That you already have everything you need. It’s wrapping your arms around every messy part of you, and smiling at how much you’ve grown. It’s rolling down the windows and breathing in the peace of moving on. It’s the fire in your belly you let yourself celebrate. It’s making small decisions until they are big decisions from that place. It’s staring down fear, like a bully on the playground in your mind, walking over to sit beside her and say, “I see who you are and I know we’re scared, but we’re going to be alright.”

So I’m giving myself that freedom. I’m not great at it yet. I still get stuck on thoughts in my head of failure like a carousel ride I spin around. I’m still terrified. I have no idea what the future holds next. But I’m excited to find out on my own terms. I have been painting a picture for the past few years, with only a couple of crayons, doing the best I could. Now I’ve got the whole box back as an independent artist and I’m scared to reach for the rest of the colours. But I’m getting used to the feeling of betting on myself again. And that feels good. Feels like a clean slate. A fresh start.

Have you ever stood at the beginning of a new mountain and wondered how the hell to take the first steps? What helped you? What gave you momentum? What did you keep telling yourself? I’m all ears.

From one wandering soul to another, I hope you know you’re loved as you are.

<3 T