For the 15 Year Old Dreamer

...who is still in there

This is me, at age 15, holding the guitar I still play to this day. It was my dad’s, and he hid it in his closet for years because it wasn’t really his style. He stuck to simple classical jazz guitars, hung close to his roots. What made him the most comfortable.

I knew that this guitar was hanging out in the back of his bedroom closet, and (partially because of it’s cute teal-ish color) I wanted to play it. I wanted him to offer it to me, because it was simply collecting dust. He played the other guitars in his collection regularly, but this one remained in its case until I begged him to take it out and show me how to play a power chord.

Specifically, what I asked him to teach me was “Numb” by Linkin Park. I was 10 years old, with freshly divorced parents, and despite being incredibly angry, I knew what I wanted and where my passions lived. I knew that I would be able to bring them to fruition if he just plugged in that teal Fender Strat.

And he did. It changed my entire being.

Now, when I look at photos like the above, all I see is a young dreamer with genuine stars in her eyes. A girl who was filled with multi-layered pain, but any time she grabbed a guitar and began to sing, that melted away. A girl who took up space on her bedroom floor to write 4 songs a day, just to try and piece together some inkling of understanding about her oddities. I took my dads guitars and strummed away, writing endless melodies and teaching myself new chords to add variety to progressions. I remained inspired by that moment with dad and the teal Fender Strat; that moment in time carried me towards so many levels of creativity, ones I can’t reach anymore.

Now, at 31, I somehow feel the most lost I’ve ever felt. And the most jaded. And angry. And misunderstood. My life has changed over the last four months in ways that I never thought could even happen. Because of that, I’m truly struggling to find any remnants of that 15 year old dreamer. I’m at a point where I need her to come out of hiding and just say a quick hello. Strum a quick chord. Sing a few notes. I feel the most detached from the 10 year old begging her jazz guitarist father to teach her how to play “Numb” on a Fender Strat that was too heavy for her to hold.

How does a 31 year old adult just magically find a way to revert back to their 15 year old, most vulnerable self?

For the 15 year old dreamer, wherever you went - I need you to find your way back. Everything about your being was so deeply special, even though you didn’t believe it at the time. You were able to utilize music and the prospect of building a career out of your most in depth passions to get you through teenage years that were treacherous at best. Your dad believed in your so endlessly, to the point where he was willing to drop his pride and teach you how to play a new song by a nu-metal band just to make you happy. You made it through relentless harassment at school day in and day out, and even better - you showed all of those nasty kids just how capable you are.

For the 15 year old dreamer, I know that you are still there. Somewhere. Beyond. In a place that I’m having a difficult time accessing. But I hope that by looking through photos like these, I can find a way back into your orbit. Because I miss you. I need you. And your endless ability to initiate creation is always something I looked at with starry eyes.