The Two Musics
Both always playing. The choosing is mine.
I’ve been thinking about the dance of daily life.
There are two kinds of music. Both always playing. The choosing is mine.
One is loud. It sounds like checklists, mind racing, thoughts and feelings that want my attention at 3am — and that’s before my eyes open. This is a music that wants to be heard at all hours. Sometimes I like it and other times not so much. All of it gets measured in ways obvious and ways less obvious. How well did I do? Did I miss anything? Did I miss out on anything? What about yesterday? What still needs doing today? How can I not worry about tomorrow? Scenarios, conversations that haven’t happened, or get replayed and relitigated. Defenses prepared for threats that aren’t present. It’s music that knows how to fill a room and take all the focus.
And it’s not always unpleasant. Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I find it useful. It gets things done. All in ways that convince me — well this isn’t so bad. I’ll just keep focusing my energy on getting better at all of it.
Someday.
The other has always been there. Quieter. Doesn’t need to make itself known. Doesn’t need to convince me. Doesn’t need anything from me at all.
Just waits. Just is.
This music was present before I drew my first breath. It will be present after I lay this body down. It doesn’t run on checklists or scenarios or the measuring of how well I did.
It runs on nothing. Just is. The loud music lulls me into forgetting it’s there at all.
And yet when I hear it — when I stop long enough — it’s utterly familiar. Not surprising. Not dramatic. Just — of course. Yes. This.
I’ve been shown this music. Recognized it the way we recognize something we always knew. It was always closer than my own heartbeat.
The loud one requires my attention. And when I give it I experience a world where everything is happening to me. That I need to manage, anticipate, defend, get, and produce in order to be okay.
The quiet one knows something different. Not as a way of ignoring what’s hard. But in knowing that even when things are hard, I am safe, accepted, and loved. As my true nature.
Every thought, feeling, circumstance — a doorway back to what’s true. Not proof of not enough. Not proof of lack. Not proof of threat.
When I’m in the loud music nothing changes — but everything feels like it’s happening to me. Requiring me to plan, react, produce, know, and be ready.
When I’m in the quiet music nothing changes — but everything becomes a doorway. Nothing needs doing. Everything is choice. Freedom.
The dance is the movement between them. Not a destination. Not something achieved on the other side of enough work. Just the ongoing noticing of which music is playing. Which music have I chosen? What have I allowed?
But the choosing is always available. The quiet music is always there.
It is.
If one of these musics feels familiar — I’d love to hear which one and what that was like for you. Drop it in the comments....lets jam. Genuinely.
Still walking.
For the willing.
If this landed — share it with someone who might recognize one of these musics in their own life.
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My book Unlearning Myself releases June, 2026.