Being broken isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. Specifically, it’s the beginning of the new you, should you choose to accept it.
Like Being Punched In The Gut
March 15, 2005. Sometime between 11PM and Midnight.
I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. My stomach was doing flip-flops (or was it wearing them?), trying to get its bearings in a world that had suddenly been turned upside down. My eyes were swollen and red, dried and crusty from the amount of tears I’d shed over the past couple hours. My mind was wandering, running through everything I’d just experienced over and over again, trying to find answers.
How did a day that had started out with so much promise end in so much pain?
Earlier that afternoon I had launched my third album Lemonymous. A strange, explorative piece of work, it was my first collection of songs since I’d moved out of the house where I’d grown up. My first “on my own” album. Something that gave me a real sense of accomplishment. Naturally, I had been excited to get it out into the world, ecstatic to celebrate the release with my fiancee, who had lived with and supported me throughout the entire project.
But now she wasn’t here.
With absolutely no hint or warning, she had turned to me and told me she wanted to break up. Just like that. Completely blindsided. A punch in the gut. That’s putting it mildly. It was a punch in the gut, for sure – if that punch came from a wrecking ball the size of Los Angeles.
We fought. Or, rather, I fought. For her. For us. To undo it. To fix it. I really didn’t know.
But it didn’t matter. In the end she got in her car and eventually left for her aunt’s on the other side of town.
She was gone. Her side of the bed was empty. I was empty.
And alone.
And broken.
What was going to happen now? Would I survive this? And if I did, who or what was I going to be?
The End of An Era
September 4, 2008. Evening.
I sat in the passenger seat of my girlfriend’s car looking out the window at the Nashville cityscape rolling by. A dark, unsettling pit grew in my stomach as I struggled to get my mind around what the future might have in store for me. My heart raced just as quickly as the vehicles speeding past us on the highway.
I was free again. Or was I free-falling? I didn’t know. I couldn’t really quantify it. I should have been happy. At least somewhat.
But I felt empty. My newfound freedom felt incredibly bittersweet. And terrifying.
Two years prior, I had signed a recording contract only months after moving to the Music City. Well… of course I did – I was destined to become a huge rock star! My dreams were coming true! My music career was about to achieve liftoff!
Or… that’s what should have happened.
Instead, in what seemed like only minutes after I had put my name on the dotted line, the label had decided to take things in a different direction. They weren’t going to focus on just music anymore – they were going to develop multiple media platforms and properties. They weren’t building the label around me. I wasn’t the big deal asset I thought I was going to be. I was just another guy.
Over the course of the following two years I never recorded one bit of music (the first time that had happened since I was a teenager). Anytime it looked like I might be getting my turn, the rug would be pulled out from me. Always passed up for the new thing. As if I didn’t exist.
Meanwhile, I languished. I couldn’t perform my own music and I couldn’t team up with other musicians. I was miserable. As much as I hated to admit it, the record label experience hadn’t been what I’d dreamed – it had been a disaster.
So I went ahead and asked for my release. And now here I was in the car, release in-hand, contemplating my next move.
On the one hand, I was now free to make my own creative decisions. On the other, that creative freedom was a wee bit limited. When I had signed my recording contract, I’d stupidly transferred the publishing rights of some of my best songs to the record label. Though they’d just released me from my recording contract, they had kept the publishing rights to my music in perpetuity – a kind of “fee for having paid for my lunch a few times”. If I wanted to do anything with my songs again, I’d have to ask them for permission.
Yeah… sure… I was free. But I didn’t feel free. I felt numb. Like I’d lost a part of my soul.
And as far as my music career was concerned, I was alone again. Alone and broken.
What was going to happen now? Would I survive this? And if I did, who or what was I going to be?
Building Something New With The Pieces
As I’m sure you can imagine, both of these experiences were absolutely awful for me.
When my fiancee left, she took more than just her belongings. She took our entire future. It wasn’t just the three years we’d spent together that were gone – it was all those years ahead of us that we’d already imagined. When she left, all of that went with her. It was excruciating. Not only did I have to start all over again, but I had to face the fact that someone else was going to have those future memories with her.
At first I hated it. More than “at first” – I hated it for a long while. Being broken, I was uncomfortable, far too self-aware, and seriously lacking confidence. Over time, and in trusting God that not only was there a reason for this but that someone was still out there for me, I began to enjoy it. I had experiences that I never really got to have growing up. I got to discover new facets of my own personality. I got to try new things that I never would have pictured myself doing.
I also came to realize that someone else was going to have those future memories with me. Once I turned that idea on its head and accepted it, things got much easier.
And I completely moved away from home to Nashville (where I would meet my future wife). I never would have done that (nor been able to) if I hadn’t had this experience.
Likewise, when the label experiment crashed around me, I felt truly gutted. Apart from having my “big break” dashed (I guess it turns out the “big break” was me) I now couldn’t proceed forward with my own songs like I’d wanted. Once I let that go – at least temporarily – and trusted God that there was a reason for this, I was able to forge ahead and experiment with new directions of creativity. I made music I never would have thought I would make. I got involved in film and television, and learned how to edit video and produce other forms of media (which, as it turns out, I’d need to know if I wanted to have a successful music career). And I took the knowledge I gleaned from my time at the label to build my own production company and music label.
Over time, I added layers of complexity to my creative personality. I embraced humor and satire. I learned how to add visual accompaniment to my work. I found new ways to tell stories.
Ultimately, I found my true voice. And the story I was born to tell.
Oh, and I grew the courage to get my music back (which I successfully did)!
Being Broken Isn’t The End
My son loves playing with his giant Lego blocks. He takes a certain Joy in building this really odd looking tower-thing and then, once satisfied with his work, smashing it all to pieces. At first he seems a little disappointed that his beautiful creation is now just… well… blocks of broken somethings. But then he methodically picks up each piece, connects them, and creates something entirely new that he can take Joy in.
In much the same way, I think being broken is an opportunity to be made new. Certainly, some experiences are far more terrible, painful, and traumatic than others – it’s all subjective. But if you recognize why it’s happening, and trust in God that there’s a purpose, you won’t just be put back together again – you’ll be put back together as something better. Like the Six Million Dollar Man, but way cheaper (and without the corny sound effects… unless you’re totally into that kind of thing).
These painful experiences are not easy. They are dark and uncertain. They challenge your notions and perceptions of what you thought your life was going to be. I can’t tell you how many times I look back to the early 2000s and think “Wow! My life looked entirely different back then!” Me back then would never have pictured the life I have now.
The life I have now is much better than anything I’d ever imagined! If for no other reason than it’s purposeful. I’m truly grateful for being smashed all to pieces – I wouldn’t be the me I am today without it.
Being broken isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. Specifically, it’s the beginning of the new you, should you choose to accept it. You will absolutely not like it at first. Maybe even for a long time.
But when that switch finally flips and you begin to accept what’s happening and why, you’re going to find yourself having the experiences and adventures of your life – all there to help turn you into the new you you’re supposed to be!
Don’t be shocked if you have a little fun along the way.
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When have you experienced a very difficult and painful end to something that, in hindsight, you can see needed to happen so that you could experience something new and different? What was that experience like? Where do you think you’d be now had you not had that experience? Would you be in a better place, a worse place, or the same place (and if the same place, do you perceive that as a good or a bad thing)? How did you get through those trying times? What advice might you have for someone now having that kind of experience? Share your thoughts and experiences below!
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