Deep brown, nearly black coffee was flying through the air as if I’d just said something that my mug thought was hilarious. 

But it was simply my clumsiness while trying to juggle a guitar in my lap, attend to something on my computer that was perched on the end table next to my coffee, and have a conversation with Pete. It was happening so fast there wasn’t really time to respond—whatever my body was doing was a reaction, a reflex. 

There were three things in danger of being permanently altered in those split-seconds...my beloved old Gibson that belonged to my grandfather, my computer that contains many things that are very likely not backed up, and the vessel that once contained the leaping coffee, a short and stout earth-toned owl mug given to me by my grandmother one sunny afternoon in her little leaning kitchen. It was an interesting exercise to retrace what my brain and body did in those moments. 

Seems that my brain was instantly able to assess that the guitar was safe given my firm grip on it and the trajectory of the coffee, so it got a mental checkmark and I was able to quickly shift focus. I then flailed my legs out trying to break the fall of my steadfast morning mug. A gift given because my grandmother could see how much I loved it when I used it. “Take it” she had said, with her whole face smiling. Always happy to make someone else happy. My computer on the other hand, never crossed my mind. Even with a history of having a full glass of wine spilled across a computer the night before I would be giving an hour-long presentation (from said computer) to a group of colleagues in my past life. 

In most situations, I believe it’s better to take the time to respond, rather that react. Constant reaction without research and thought leads us down messy, diverging roads. But like everything, it can be overdone. I am great at that—overanalyzing and overthinking—but it can lead to taking no action at all. 

In those moments yesterday I didn’t have time to think anything through. What I did came from my gut. What I felt connected to, and what felt important to me, was what I instinctively protected. It reminded me that reaction has a role. It’s truth-telling. 

As songwriters we come to trust our internal reactions and to listen to our gut when writing, but once the thought of sharing work enters the picture, it’s easy to flip to the overanalytical side. Is it ready? Could we play/sing/perform it better? While those are important questions, and ones that we ask in order to keep us from putting out stuff that needs to stay in the notebook, vulnerability is important too.  As is a reaction to want to share a new song because it expresses what we think others might be feeling right now too—exploring a place we are all finding ourselves.  

The other day I went inside our house, opened the junk drawer next to the stove, pulled out a scrap of paper and a sharpie, and drew this.