My family has been building an eclectic playlist on Spotify. My nine-year-old son adds hip hop and rap songs (the bleeped versions of course) plus a hearty dose of Weird Al Yankovic. My four-year-old daughter favors the anthems from all the Disney movies, though we have not let her watch many of them yet. And then we have some jazz for my husband and my own picks of softer, uplifting songs.
A few weeks ago my son departed from his usual driving-beat, chart-topping taste, and he added several of the tracks from my album, Take the Leap, on to our playlist. I am not sure what his motivation was, but I was certainly touched. And one song in particular has been speaking to me as it pops up again and again:
I'm a humble instrument, an instrument of love,
I'm a humble instrument, an instrument of peace,
I'm a humble instrument, an instrument of joy, joy, joy, joy!
I'm a humble instrument of your sweet melodies.
Photo by William Recinos on Unsplash
In other words, it is not my ego, my small self running the show. It is not my ego achieving or succeeding- or failing for that matter. I wish to open to a force of Love much greater than little old me. I wish to let the love move through me in “life's unfolding dance.”
Sometimes the process of opening up is joyful, like when I am writing a new song. Other times letting go is very painful; I feel like I am being cracked wide open and rebirthed as someone new. Can you tell I'm hanging out in the second category right now? Yet, I'm hanging on to gratitude and trust and self-love and everything that feels holy through this rebirth.
Letting life flow has always been a struggle- my overachiever self still likes to grasp for control. Yet deep down I know I'm better off if I “Let it Go” like Elsa from Frozen. And if I'm still clinging to something that no longer serves me, then I can “shake it, sh-shake it. shake it like a Polaroid picture” to the funky beat of OutKast. Here I am, learning to stop fighting the river’s current as I listen to my family’s soundtrack.