As I adventure into drumming again, I contemplate what life at almost fifty would look like had that little girl never given up on a dream. Could I have made it as a rock star?

Doubtful.

Two memories vie for top billing as excuses for my dream deferred:

ONE:

After an argument with my sister, who despised the noise, I asked my dad if he thought I would make it in the music business. He paused and politely skirted the question by responding that he thought music would always be a part of my life and that I would likely marry a musician. How did little Renee translate her beloved daddy’s response? “No, I don’t believe in you and your dream, and you don’t have what it takes to make it.” That is not what he said nor what he meant, but that’s how I internalized his words.

Since my dad’s opinion of me meant so much, I often wondered what would have happened if he responded with a straightforward and convincing “YES.”

TWO:

After high school, I attended college in Nashville, fully intending to pursue the music dream and become a professional drummer. I gave it little effort, though. At the time, I was married to a real musician – someone who was Eddie Van Halen good. He thought very little of my desire to become a musician. Comparing myself to him, I knew he was right. Still, I made excuses, switching from a focus on music performance to music business before finally giving up altogether. The reason I told myself and everyone else? “I am better than some, and some are better than me, but they all have one thing that I do not – a desire and willingness to do whatever it takes to make it.”

Other music performance and music business majors spent countless hours practicing, taking advantage of the college’s studio time, internships, and playing anywhere and everywhere they could—all after spending all day in class. I had no desire to do that.

Although my excuse was legitimate, it was never the whole truth.

I came to realize the whole truth only recently after talking with my therapist about things that have nothing to do with playing the drums or childhood dreams.

What we did discuss in therapy made me think about the gifts we have and the gifts we nurture, about natural abilities versus skills developed through practice.

I compared drums with words.

The truth is that no matter what my dad said, who I married, where I went to school, or what I studied, I never would have made it as a rock star. The very same reason I never would have made it as a rock star is the very same reason why I have a gift and ability with words.

My imagination was my safe place – my escape when life and emotions became too much.

My dad made a platform for my drums – my stage. When I played the drums, I was never me – or I was some other, future version of Renee.

I was Tico Torres, the drummer for Bon Jovi.

I was a grown-up version of Renee, playing alongside Tico for Bon Jovi.

I was a grown-up version of Renee, playing for my band, Silent Echoes.

Even on those rare occasions when I played with a band in public or jammed with my friends at my house, I pretended.

The real Renee was never the one sitting behind a drum set and she never did the work to make those dreams a reality.

The real Renee, overshadowed and out-performed by imaginary characters, never had a prayer.

The craft of writing stories blossomed at the same time. Ill-equipped to understand, let alone work through my mental health challenges, I wrote fictional stories. I shut off my emotional spigot and gave my characters all those thoughts and feelings. They had to deal with the pain of their parent’s divorce. They had to suffer their first breakups. They had to face the demons that told them they were not good enough.

It scares me to look back and think what would have become of me had I not had these creative outlets. Chances are, without them, I would have died a long, long time ago.

So, I never became a rock star drummer. But my dad was right. I married a professional musician, and music has always been an important part of my life. And I am enjoying playing again for fun.

I didn’t even become a professional writer. But, my writing skills made advanced education so much easier and writing has continued to be an effective mental wellness tool. I even use writing, not so much to escape but to process what it is I am feeling and experiencing. During the pandemic, I discovered a unique way to use my writing to try to help others facing similar mental health challenges. This blog is one way. My fiction is another. I have even begun working with professional narrators to give my books new life and new readership – still for free – and that’s exciting.

Who knows what the future holds? I no longer desire to be a rock star, but maybe one day I’ll get to live out that childhood fantasy and play on stage with Jon and the boys. Maybe I’ll simply have to settle for writing a fictional story about a girl who gets that chance.

A girl can dream, can’t she?