Reinventing

ReleaSING the Catch-22 - Chapter 1

Reinventing – “Birthdays,” “GPS for Love” and “Butterfly” songs

Reinvent – to make changes or improvements – to present something in a new or different way. To redo completely - to bring into use again – make as if for the first time (Source: Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/reinvent. Accessed 2 Feb. 2020.)

In the basement storage room of my Mom’s house in rural Pataskala, Ohio (near Columbus), wooden shelves painted white are stacked with her perfect white boxes. The musty smell of past sump-pump failures and floods dampens the air. I am slumped on the cold cement floor, in a daze, sifting through the chapters of my past. As I look up, there is a small, raised window allowing a thin stream of light to peak in. My mom, Chris, is the queen of organization. Each thick white cardboard box with the easy-to-open lid is labeled and numbered, according to her system that assigns a “place for everything, and everything in its place.” Detailed descriptions of the contents in each box are written on index cards that are stored in her little green index card box. She learned this system at a ladies’ retreat from the original Queen of Organization, Donna Otto. Credits to Mom for fact checking me here.

She gave me one of these white boxes years ago to store memories from elementary and high school, and I proceeded to doodle all over it. My ratchet-looking box marked “Memorabilia” has black marker on the top, and the sides are covered with random thoughts. This memory box is worn and tattered after moving from place to place. The lid is dented in a bit, showing water stains from the time my basement flooded.

I’m 30 years old, and here I am, back living with my Mom — again. It’s a sad state of affairs. Divorced with two kids, we would be homeless right now if it wasn’t for my Mom. I hate that I have failed at marriage or maybe my picker is broken. Their Dad has skipped out and I guess I have not been good at holding him accountable to take responsibility, (or so I’ve been told). I just didn’t have the energy to fight a losing battle.

But, to give my Mom this control is “killin’ me smalls.” (Sandlot movie reference). I’m eating lots of humble pie (there’s a song). If I was on the street with two kids, my freedom would be even more limited. So, it is what it is — a box full of mess. One day at a time — moving forward.

Lyric snippet and video below. The only video I have for my song, Birthdays, from the Catch 22 album is a picture video I made for my brother Rob's 50th birthday. But I guess you can see the real life characters from this story. That video also includes my song Coming of Age and Hot Mess.

“Birthdays” lyrics:

“Turning of an age, I see the candles on a cake—and wonder,

Where am I supposed to be by now?

Do I blow a wish or is it more about the breath

That I take in to capture moments of alive?

Moving into chapter two…

Fifteen then you’re fifty!

Birthdays always celebrate.

Life is good—when we’re living–presently.”

I never felt like I fit into Chris’ perfect white box world. The upstairs of Mom’s house is a beautifully decorated ranch with high vaulted ceilings and rooms filled with genuine hardwood floors and white carpet. Jesus plaques and religious pictures on the walls remind me of how I tried and failed to be clean and good — a constant disappointment. At some point, I gave up and accepted messy me — away from all the religiosity.

I’m on pretty cool terms with The Spirit that flows through all life, space, and time. But the “churchies” are still praying for me to repent of my sins and come back to their services (On repeat with Mom’s church prayer group).

I’m good with my Mom now. She is the woman who grew me in her body and raised me. That is no easy feat, and I owe her my life in many ways. She has been there for me, and I love the strong woman who raised me to also be strong, driven, and assertive. She is constantly telling me to “close my cycles” like if you take off your shirt, either hang it up or put it in the basket. Close the cycle! She learned this early in her marriage from a speaker, Bob Gardner when she went to an insurance conference with my Dad.

“I don’t have it all together and I could be wrong sometimes, but I choose to learn and grow,” Mom says and wanted me to add here. The family and friend review process is the hardest part about telling a non-fiction story. I didn’t have to get their approval if I changed their names, but I am a gluten for punishment apparently and also recovering from my addiction to approval.

To be honest, I have so many open-ended messes and shirts on the floor at this moment. Accepting that I am not a white box in this perfectly organized storage room has been freeing. I’m okay with being me — more of a music box that needs to be opened to get the full effect, and to hear the melody within.

Mom never had to work outside of the home, so I can see why decorating and managing the home was her priority and focus, along with her ministries. I don’t have time to be this organized or religious, and I never want to tell anyone how they can be “saved” like she does.

We really cannot know for sure which way is the “right” way. We are all so different and come to and through various paths. I feel like the Spirit (by whatever name works for you) can reach people where they are at. What feels best to me is just to let everyone discover life their own way, and share the journey, peacefully, leading with love. I have not been great at picking partners for romantic love, but I LOVE with an open heart and want to keep it that way, with new and better boundaries moving forward.

I have had to work full-time, sometimes two jobs, while carrying, birthing, and raising my two kids on my own. Their Dad left when they were ages three and one. It was stressful. I’m so over the chaos in my mind and life in terms of past relationships. I just need peace. But I also just want to accept that this is me, and find a way that I can be successful, as myself.

Reaching into my box, I pull out a picture of younger me, sitting on the floor of the living room at our previous house in Gahanna, Ohio, near the Columbus airport. Look at this picture. My Dad is laying on the couch next to me. I must’ve had a song to share with him that day. I was 17 years old, using a tape recorder and keyboard as my loop peddle — with lyrics in hand. What if I had gone to Nashville or California at that age and gotten my music out then? Maybe I wouldn’t be a nobody. Maybe I would be a has been. I guess we’ll never know, until we know.

Man, I miss my Dad. He was diagnosed with Stage Four Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma cancer when he was 40 years old. I hate cancer. Can we all agree that cancer sucks? Watching souls we love lose this battle is excruciating. There’s no way out but through (another song I wrote, but have not recorded yet). Life sucks sometimes!

I have theories about why they still have not found a cure for cancer. There’s a lot of money in medicine and treatments for cancer and other ailments. Doctors are quick to prescribe drugs that seem more poisonous than the cancer in some cases. And there’s a whole lot of testing going on during treatment, without consent. Toxic environments that make matters worse sometimes. I digress. You really don’t want me to start getting on my soap box. We’ll stick with the memorabilia box for now.

None of us expected to even think of losing my Dad so young. We were all in shock when the doctor told us he had six months to a year to live. My determined Dad, Bob, took it as a challenge and thought God was going to use him to find a cure for cancer. He tried all sorts of alternative, holistic treatments, as well as conventional medicine.

Did you know that sharks do not get cancer? Dad took shark cartilage pills and spent time in an oxygenated pool. He went to a holistic hospital in Mexico and tried all sorts of alternatives, but the cancer was already throughout his body.

I changed my broadcasting and music major plans to stay closer to home for college. My parents suggested that I find a more practical career, even though I had always wanted to be a singer and actress. I had dreams of being a broadcast journalist — having my own show. I wanted to tell stories, human interest stories, like PM Magazine that aired at that time. I wanted to do Oprah-style shows and interviews and travel the world. Still have those dreams.

But everything changed when my Dad got cancer. I did graduate with a bachelor’s degree in Communications in four years, as my Dad was nearing the end of his life. I guess there’s that. It has helped me get work to support my kids.

Six years and four months was much better than six months to a year, (as his first doctor predicted), but it was a long hard battle — lost. We tried to be thankful that he was no longer in pain.

I made some very impulsive, emotional decisions during that season that I am living with to this day. Grief is heart wrenching. It reaches into your heart and mind and drags you along the road for as long as you stay attached to the pain. The feeling of missing those we love never really goes away. We just have to choose to live and let go, with each new day.

There are also many happy memories in this imperfect white box. Pictures of fun times with friends. I start pulling out letters from my younger self. She has a way with words, so friends and family members have always said. Reading love letters this young girl wrote to her first boyfriend, and songs she started writing at age 13, I think of what I would say to my own daughter and feel the need to give myself a pep talk.

“Girl, what happened to you?”

“Life!”

Lyrics written on napkins and half sheets of paper. Pictures of the squad in high school. I remember daydreaming of how I would pursue acting and become a singer-songwriter and share-and-tell real stories. Also show-and-tell — going on real adventures and sharing the journey. I have never been afraid of talking to people, or sharing who I am and what I think. Maybe I overshare. But I am so tired of worrying about what other people think.

Look at you! How cute are you in that bikini?

Don’t act so full of yourself. (Shut up inner critic! I’m trying to be supportive of my younger self because she thought she was fat even then and Mom was always warning her not to dress too seductive as it would entice the “lust of the flesh!”). UGH! I was cute! And I will show cleavage and wear a bikini if I want to, even with stretch marks!

At age 22, I rushed to get married before Dad died at age 46, eight months after I finished college. Five years later, still grieving the loss of my Dad, my husband and I were struggling in our marriage, then he left me and our two kids. And you wonder why I have not been able to release these songs or achieve any of these major goals? I’ve been busy. It is what it is.

Pulling a butterfly stamp out of the box, I can’t believe this ink pad with a rainbow of colors still works. I start stamping the paper with various colored butterflies.

Damn. She really did have a way with words — for thirteen.

Why do we have to be judged by our age? Why do I even care if people think I’m too old to be pursing my passion and writing songs at age 30, 40, or 50 and beyond? Because I’m grown and competent in my career, and at this age it’s tough to feel like a beginner again.

I was confident as the Director of Special Events — raising funds for a major nonprofit organization and as a Public Relations Director at a major university. I have done well in these jobs, working for “good causes”, or so they want you to believe. I’ve also seen the dark side of nonprofit organizations and large universities, and the way that they use the money raised is not always what you would think. But there are also many good things that these organizations do to help others and make the world a better place.

I feel good about raising my kids and working hard to support my family. So, why do I even care if I this book and the songs are shared? I should be coasting right now! Not starting over and facing rejection and criticism of my real-life story. For some reason, I feel compelled. I continue to write the rest of the story, which seems more exciting than this one that starts with all this past shit that has been painful to pull up and work through. I don’t want to read about this sad stuff or face all my mess-ups. Who wants to read about me? Editing and preparing to release this book in recent years, I wanted to change so many things. But that will come in future books. I want to keep this as real as it was when I was writing it, (even with all my self-loathing and disclaimers).

Why do we do the things we do? My Mom feels just as strongly about the work that she does to encourage people through her weekly Bible studies and prayer groups. I have no desire to be a part of that scene, but I guess most people are just trying to do the thing that we feel we are put on this earth to do. I get that we are all different, and that’s okay, but some seem to have a harder time allowing others to go a different route. Most people are just doing the best with what we’ve got and trying to help others along the way. It’s all good. Isn’t it?

I should focus on being thankful that my Mom let us move in with her. I am trying. Really, I am. I just hate that I really don’t have another option right now. I pay my Mom rent, so technically the basement is my home right now. But she can’t help herself. She is always all up in my business. She’s a Mom. To most people, she is sweet, caring, and a classy sassy lady. In my case, she has been hella hard to live with, especially since Dad died. I’m being honest here. It's like walking through a mind-field, not knowing when she will go off! It has been hard.

Grateful. I need to be grateful we have a nice place to live, and she helps with the kids. I completely appreciate your help Mom and I love you very much. It takes a village, as they say. I understand Mom is still grieving, and there is no timeline for grief. I have no desire to watch the home videos of Dad and his funeral one more time. But she does.

Do you have people in your life who just like to cry? Are you that person? I cry when I feel like I need and want to cry, but I will do my best to avoid it if I can. Cue dramatic music (Boy George), “I know all there is to know about the crying game…” To each his/ her own.

I prefer to laugh it out. Laughing and making music beats crying any day in my book. And THIS is MY book. Despite my editor Mother and her desire ti change me to be more like her.

My response has always been to try to make a joke of things or write a song or a book – exhibit A - to sort through the emotions. When Dad was in the final stages of cancer, lying on a hospital bed in our living room, he was telling us about the princess he saw. He was saying things like, “That girl on the TV thinks she is the princess — but I am the princess.” I asked my brother if we could all just get high and hang out with Dad. I wanted to put on a princess costume. Why not? The cancer had spread to his brain. He had a urinary tract infection, and his kidneys were shutting down, which apparently makes you loopy.

When Dad wanted water, he told us we needed to go to the well, which evidentially was in the family room. He wouldn't take a drink until we went in there to get permission from “the man at the well”. I wanted to know if the man at the well could turn water into wine. Mom never allows alcohol in her home — because, and I quote “she was yelled at and beaten by an abusive alcoholic father growing up.” She worries that addiction runs in our family and doesn’t want to pass it on.

But Chris, I need a glass of wine tonight. Jesus turned water into wine. I am trying to understand her wound and respect her wishes. She gave us a better childhood than she had, and for that I am forever grateful. If she did have the tendency to become an alcoholic, I am thankful that she restrained and did not continue to pass on that cycle.

My Mom isn’t one who just chooses not to drink alcohol. She will make sure you know she suspects you might be an alcoholic if you are ever drinking alcohol around her. I had some friends come visit me and they brought a bottle of wine. She freaked out and poured the bottle down the drain. It was a scene. So embarrassing! A grown adult mother of two, paying rent to live in the basement, I felt like a shamed teenager again.

Mom hates alcohol and I get it – the wound runs deep. But it has nothing to do with her being such a good Christian that she abstains from alcohol. Seems to me that some people use religion to deal with their own fears, while judging anyone else who struggles with different challenges. We all have the issues, like a big ole magazine rack. Just please stop pointing that finger. There’s a great Paramore song with those lyrics that say, “Next time you point a finger, I’ll point you to the mirror…”

Mom also has this thing against Santa, which I suspected had a lot to do with her disappointment growing up poor, feeling like she must’ve been bad, and that’s why Santa never came. She hates that theory and says it’s because she thinks telling kids Santa is real is a lie and she “never wanted to lie to us.” She also felt we should thank the people who actually purchased the gifts for us and I get that. Gifts from Santa were wrapped in special paper for my kids and it was always that gift everyone knew you really wanted. That’s the Spirit of Christmas. Mom wants me to add here that she “Didn’t want my kids to be disappointed if they didn’t get the gifts they asked Santa to bring them.” Ahhhhh…Disappointment. Whoop! There it is!

I love my Mom, but I had to tell her to write her own book during this process if she wants to tell her story differently. It is now in the works. Her lack of love for Santa at Christmas was a thing at our house and my cousins who had me (informed by my Mom) to tell them there was no Santa when we were kids can vouch for me here. No Easter bunny either. We got chocolate crosses. And no Halloween. We had “Clown Around Night” at church. I just wanted the candy and presents and to have fun with my friends! Why does it have to be all or nothing? Jesus, through the Spirit of Christmas, obviously invited Santa to his birthday party! So, why have you made yourself the door man, trying to keep Santa out? The date isn’t on December 25 anyway, if you really get technical here. But it was over the top disdain with my Mom. She got pissed and would not even take a picture with the guy in the red suit at Christmas parties. She would then resent you for taking a picture that she could not be included in. We all have our personal wounds that when triggered can get us fired up. But this is a true story (from my perspective Mom wanted me to add here) to give you a feel for my fam growing up.

I don’t want to feel bad about myself for enjoying and appreciating Santa and a nice relaxing glass of wine — like I am such a horrible sinner that needs to be saved! Just as my Mom doesn’t want to be shamed for not going along with the Santa LIE, as she sees it. LIES! It’s all LIES! What a world. What a world. I ate an Easter bunny and I’m melting. (Wizard of Oz, if you’re not following). Just, lighten up. Okay? The man at the well told me it’s okay to enjoy my glass wine and have Santa décor up for Christmas. Heaven help us all!

Do you think heaven is up? I think it’s all around us, through us and beyond us. And hell is the place we keep ourselves when we live in guilt, shame, fear, and anger. Cue the church lady. “Are you talking about Satan? Wouldn’t be prudent at this juncture!” I am trying to release all of this, for me anyway. Maybe I just like to stir (and smoke) the pot.

I definitely believe there is another realm we don’t see, and a power much bigger and beyond me that connects us all. When my Dad took his last breath in the hospital, he had been in a coma for almost three weeks. His mom, Grandma G. was there with Mom and me. Grandma G. told us she thought he might die at the same time of the day that he was born. The three of us surrounded him and watched his non-responsive face turn into a huge smile, as if he saw someone coming to greet him or something wonderful on the other side – whatever it was.

He took his last breath at 10:40 p.m. around the same time that he was born, and then he was gone. The nurses told us this was also around the time the ocean tides change and that babies often come and people often go around the time of the tides. How cool is that? Everything is connected.

We wanted to keep the smile on Dad’s face for the funeral, and that was a bad idea. He looked like the Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland. From a distance, it was okay, and people commented that Bob was always smiling. But as you got close, his creepy grin looked like he was growling at you. Yikes! Dad probably thought this was hilarious. No wonder people usually look so serious in coffins. For the record…It’s important that the lips are straight across, even if they actually die with a smile on their face.

It was a miserable time. I was thankful that my husband at the time, later the father of my two children was there for me in that season. His name is Jolt in this book because I didn’t want to ruin someone else’s name. Jolt really could be a sweetheart, and I loved him very much, from what I knew of love at that time. He was very supportive in those moments, and I will never forget it. He loved my Dad, too, and we were all grieving in our own way.

I remember Jolt standing behind me in the receiving line before the funeral with the coffin behind us as people paraded through to look at us sadly and give their condolences.

Jolt was whispering in my ear the whole time, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

There are some cards and letters in my memorabilia box from when we dated and went to prom together in high school. I broke up with Jolt in high school because he was so intense. He scared me. He made me a mix tape where he talked in between the songs. It really is sweet, but also sounds very thirsty, as the kids call it these days. Young dumb, needy love.

Oh shit, my ass is numb from this concrete floor. I hate that. Feels like I have been numb for years. Don’t get me wrong…I love my kids and will never regret them. Grateful. I just wonder sometimes how different my life would have been if Dad had not gotten cancer when I was 16 and died when I was 22. I still wonder what could have been if I had not rushed to get married at that time. This is useless pondering. The box of Shawna’s past, like a Dickens haunting.

If the young songwriter in this box was my daughter, what would I say to this free-spirited dreamer? Cancer sucks!? Men suck? Life sucks? It’s too late?

No. I would say, “Get up girl! You need to DO something with these songs! (Also, there’s no need to punish yourself by sitting on the concrete floor. We have couches for that and this box is not heavy!) Bless her heart.”

My song, “Butterfly,” inspired my first tattoo of a blue butterfly on my right shoulder blade when I was in the process of divorce. I had moved with the kids to Indiana in an effort to reconcile my marriage with Jolt after he left us. He was convinced that I just needed to get away from my Mom.

I was singing with a band called Haven at the time, and I got us the gig to be the opening act for a concert I was coordinating. It was also the first time I sang my original song “Butterfly,” during the intermission.

It was the first time someone came up to me and told me my song had an impact. A single Mom, she said, “Your song really touched me and gave me the strength to keep going. I really needed to hear that today.” She shared her story, and I realized these songs are not just about me sharing my story. They are your songs now, and I hope they become part of your story. Music is attached to so many of my memories and inspire feelings that are true to the listener. It’s amazing how a song can take you back to the time when it imprinted.

I wish someone had shown me which way to go, so I wouldn’t have made such a mess of things. But, (this is a big butt with no regrets), I wouldn’t have my kids if I had not married Jolt. I am so thankful to have brought these two amazing souls into this world.

I seriously need directions. I wish I had a GPS for life and love. Like just plug in your desired destination and have a guide. Mom says that is what the Holy Spirit is for, (not just Spirit – it has to be capital Holy Spirit – this was a long editing process with my Mom). She says God is always guiding us, if we listen close enough. My internal GPS has said, “Steer clear of this loser! Make a you-turn!” But I continued right on down that path and crashed and burned anyway. Why do we do that? Que another song…

Lyric snippet below and you can link to the video, filmed and produced by my daughter Kaiya my song, GPS for Love, Catch 22 album.

GPS for Love,” lyrics:

“Might’ve made a wrong turn, took the long way around.

Think I’ve finally learned searching lost and found.

Tried to redirect us, but we crashed and burned.

Waiting on the tow truck sitting on the ground.

Wish I had a GPS for love.

Enter destination where I’ll end up.

Go the right direction to find myself

Knowing love will always lead me home…”

The song lyrics in this book came out of these times in my life that I will eventually compile with the full song lyrics in a book, Releasing Shawna Ray Lyrics. See what I did there? On brand and on point! I have pulled and will share some short quotes from the songs here too, as you are reading the story that inspired the song. Hopefully I can link to some sort of recording in an online post. I don’t have any official videos yet. It’s a rough, "start where you are situation" as you can see if you are now reading this.

Hopefully most of the recorded songs will also be available by the time this gets out. Working on releasing all of it. Feels like I have been pregnant with these songs for so long. Get these babies out of me already! Can you hear my patterned heavy breathing? Get them ouuuuuuut! And yet, my ADD tendencies have kept this book in my computer for years. Each time I continued to make edits and add honest and real comments. I don’t want to act like this is easy. It has definitely been a process.

You might be able to just sit down and bust out a book, but this one takes me back to dig up a lot of past pain that I was unwilling to fully delve into for years. It is hard stuff but burying and carrying past pain is so much harder. Singing it out and writing it in the form of a song is the easiest writing for me. Songs flow, but I have still been crippled by fear for years. And also, just dealing with the timing of life. I had two kids to raise by myself and needed to work to pay the bills.

You know the deal with butterflies, right? The reinvention process requires a willingness to be completely wrapped up in the moment and transformed through the process of friction. That struggle and rebirth is what forms the wings needed to fly. And if you opened the cocoon too soon, the wings would be useless. So, basically everything has a purpose, and comes about in the right time. But how do you know when the time is right?

I’ve heard that this notion of being born to fly irritates some people. It’s a metaphor, okay? I equate it to that floating feeling I get when I’m on stage. In my dreams, I am looking out at a sea of people who are singing my songs along with me. I am barefoot, like at a Grateful Dead concert. Fly high, butterfly.

I have to keep it real. Even if you don’t agree with me or if it bothers you when I say a cuss word... Hopefully you will want to see if and how I work this out? You can judge me and/ or pray for me. It’s okay. I am also trying not to be judgmental of myself. Keep reading. I love a lot of people, my family and friends who love their churches. I am not referring to ALL people who go to church when I say, “the churchies” here. Just like “the churchies” refer to “the secular world” when they are talking about ALL of the sinners, as if they have no sin. There is a select group up uptight people that think being churchy is their job. What I am saying is…Stop throwing stones! Please, just lead with LOVE. Peace, love and happiness. Call me a pot smoking hippie if you want. It should be legal, if all the other horrible drugs are legal. It is a plant! God intended for us to chill out and open up. I am telling you my story and I am who I am. The catch here is if I am still working in an office, it won't be good for them to know that I sometimes smoke pot. No worries! This was written a LONG time ago! Cough. All in the past!

I have to share these songs at the very least. I really don’t even need to be the one on stage. I’d be happy to just listen to someone else singing my song(s). I don’t have much confidence in my voice anyway. Maybe too scratchy and bluesy for some people’s tastes. When I was in church, singing on the worship team, this one cranky lady complained that I sounded too sultry, like a lounge singer to be singing worship music. Case in point - a churchy!

Maybe I am too old for the music business. I just feel compelled to do something with these songs that keep waking me up at 3 a.m. The muse is relentless, especially when I have to get up for work the next day. I keep talking about this to my friends and family. I think they are sick of all my self-sabotage too.

Is she really going to release this new music and the book she says she has been working on for the past ten years? (Why do you care so much about what others think about you?)

They know it’s a long shot at my age. But it WILL be cool WHEN this becomes a book, move, music or SOMETHING to show that you can pursue your passion and achieve your hopes and dreams at any age! I don’t need to be a superstar. I just want to have an outlet to share and do what I love for a living. This is for all the nobodies out there who also need to release.

I feel like the boy who cried wolf. That phrase and other big bad wolf stories give wolves a bad name. I went to a Wolf Conservation Center in Salem, NY and was inspired to write a song called Good Wolf to help them raise funds for wildlife conservation. The acoustic version is on the Catch 22 album and we recently recorded a full band version for a short film video I produced as a fundraiser for the Wolf Conservation Center. Link to video.

I have to do this! I have been making myself tell people and talk about these ideas, trying to build up confidence to share my thoughts and songs. I feel like it’s false advertising and a tease at this point if I don’t follow through. I set big goals and it pushes me to get there. Right about now, you might be wondering if I am ever going to actually RELEASE this book. I might’ve had to start sharing this in the form of a blog on my site.

No Shawna. Right about now people are worried about their own life struggles. Get over yourself.

I have gotten some things released. I recorded some of my songs, but they have not been heard by many people YET. That word is a good one. I have started saying what I want to happen, with the disclaimer that it just hasn’t happened YET. At least it’s something, right? We all have to start somewhere. The point is, these ideas have not gone away. If I’m crazy to think that all of this means something, then so be it. Reinventing isn’t for the weak, or those overly worried about what people think.

The irony of -- say Wilbur and Oliver Wright inventing flight, Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb, or a current artist or inventor creating something that was previously unknown. It takes time and courage. I was watching a show where they highlighted another man who they believe invented the airplane before Wilbur and Oliver. It could be possible that on opposite sides of the world, the idea inspired many people to try, and more than one person to succeed. Ideas usually come from somewhere outside of us. I guess it depends on the person who is most receptive and has the drive and ability to follow through with the ideas. Let’s get on with it! Or someone else will do it before you!

New ideas or approaches can seem absurd before they are fully derived, developed, tested, and proven successful. To actually produce a flying machine in America, Oliver and Wilbur Wright had to crash to the ground over and over again. There was this race to create a flying machine, and other highly trained PhD-types from big-wig universities with major financial backing and staff support -- all vying for the opportunity to be rich and famous. Oliver and Wilbur believed that flight was possible, and they wanted to prove their theories. Maybe because they were tired of people thinking and telling them they were crazy!?

Creating something new that has not been seen or done before can get you so low. The only way to go up is to never give up. Once something is proven though, it is then an invention. Of course, the possibilities open up then, at least to include a finding and discovery where inventiveness is assumed to have required skill. This involves a lot of processing and experimentation, and there is still that skewed possibility that the invention is somehow “a mental fabrication, especially of falsehood,” which is one of the definitions of the root word “invention.”

And then, when it comes to re-invention, some people will definitely think you are crazy. You have proven yourself in one area of your life, but then you realize there is something else you want or feel led to try. Maybe something fails or is taken from you, and you need to start over. Maybe you have been completely successful in your career, but there has always been this other thing in the back of your mind or deep in your soul that you wanted to do.

An accident or a death, divorce, financial crisis, health scare or addiction can reroute your flight. Now what? You get to be the pilot. You need to take the wheel and drive. You get to write the ending to your own story.

Okay, then. What’s taking us so long?

Give us break, okay? We have a lot on my plate. You and me. We are in this together now. I don't have multiple personalities. I just have no filter, so I am writing out every thought.

Because this book contains personal journals, you might be able to gather quickly that I am still learning and dealing with insecurities. And yes, I’m a bit angry, at men and at God in some of these stories. It just doesn’t always make sense to me in the moments when this was written. Many of these songs and thoughts were written when I was seriously going through the shit. That stage of anger in grief is extremely hard not to take out on other people. I have said sorry as much as I possibly can. Every day, I am ReleaSING! Moving forward...

Sometimes the wise one will speak up and give some sound advice. I’m trying to listen to her more often. I can’t always decipher the voice in my head. Is that me or the Spirit guiding me? Sometimes I get thoughts that come in a dream or in the form of a horse or hawk. Yes, I believe and have experienced first-hand when Spirits sometimes come through in the form of animals or give us signs. Sorry if this makes sister Christian afraid of my new age. This is not a scary story. It is a real one. And yes, life can be mysterious. Death is for sure mysterious. I have experienced these things.

I’m trying to stay positive, and I do have a strong spiritual connection to the Source and Spirit (I will capitalize it, just like Mom capitalizes Holy Spirit). Again, I just don’t think it matters what you call it, or how you gather the wisdom and build community. There are many ways to take the journey, and I prefer to stay hopeful. I think that "Whether or not you see the glass as half full or half empty, we all have the power to fill up the cup." A Shawna Ray quote! Yes, that has been in this book and on my LinkedIn profile for years. I can prove the source. LOL

My mom loves to tell an old story she heard from somewhere about the optimistic kid who had a big smile on his face as he was ripping through a big pile of manure. His father asked, “What are you doing?” And the kid happily announces, “With all this manure, there HAS to be a pony in here somewhere!”

So, let’s keep digging. What if the caterpillar stops short of the cocoon saying, “Hell to the no – I won’t go!” From the future, we can see that on the other side of struggle is a beautiful new life filled with vibrant colors and newfound freedom. But it feels like you are losing everything that you have become semi-confident in, at that point.

Your whole existence has involved the crawling you have come to know, and trust to get you from point A to point B. You know your way around on your little tiny legs. You know how things work. You feel competent and comfortable in the life in which you are familiar. Sure, you sense a certain kindred spirit with the butterflies that glide above you.

But you feel beneath them. You’re not good enough to fly. You are merely a caterpillar. And yet, you are beginning to feel compelled to move toward this metamorphosed state. Or maybe you are forced to change. Why is this happening? Why are you disturbing my comfortable caterpillar life? It is beyond your control. Your life will never be the same again.

Another known fact — if a caterpillar is not healthy and at the precise stage and weight, ready to go through several layers of molting and metamorphosis, it will die. I have watched people who seem to die years before they leave this life -- because they refuse to change and grow.

“Butterfly” song lyrics, from OPEN album:

“Sometimes you’ve got to come to an end before you fully begin.

Sometimes you end up with tied hands—the change begins.

Take cover butterfly, you’ve got to trust what’s inside.

It’s all a part of learning…

To let your soul rest.

Learning to trust an unknown plan.

Learning to let go of some things so you can

Spread your wings, butterfly. Do your thing, butterfly.

Show your colors. Bask in the light.

It’s all a part of learning to fly–Butterfly…”

Videos of some of the first times I shared Butterfly...

You can buy this song on Reverb Nation - link below, or on itunes, apple, amazon - all the streaming sites. Or listen on my website for free. And if you want to support me to record more music and make actual videos, please consider click on "tip" to support here on Vocal and subscribe. Thank you for sharing this journey.

Shawna Ray website with links to buy music and connect on social: