How to Write One Song: Loving the Things We Create and How They Love Us Back

That’s one of the problems with humans—that we can be talked out of loving something. That we can be talked out of loving something that we do, and we can be talked out of loving ourselves. Easily, unfortunately.

Your ego wants to conceal your insecurity and your fear. And that’s why it can be such an unwelcome intrusion when we’re trying to create or perform. You need your human frailty to be at least somewhat visible if you want to connect on an emotional level

Don’t undervalue things that come easy. Sometimes they’re the things that would be the hardest for someone else to do and often they are the things that would be almost impossible to do when you try too hard.

No work of art is ever finished; it can only be abandoned in an interesting place.

learning how to disappear is the best way I’ve found to make my true self visible to myself and others.

It’s just a matter of telling yourself that your creation is OK, no matter what it is.

Walking tends to unravel the knots in my thinking, and I’ll always recommend a leisurely stroll or even a brisk one around the block to alleviate almost any kind of mental stress.

You want words to burst into the room, demand your attention, and remind you how exciting things can be. You have a responsibility to challenge yourself to use them in a way that is more vivid than your normal daily usage.

Being willing to sound bad is one of the most important pieces of advice that I can give you. Writing a song will teach you that it’s OK to fail. And more than that, that it’s actually good to fail, and that you can come to appreciate the gifts of failure.

Maybe it’s a cliché, but you have to focus on verbs over nouns—what you want to do, not what you want to be.

You can’t quit because there’s a Beyoncé in the world. You can’t quit because you went to see the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and realized that everyone on stage knows more about music than you ever will.

I think it’s the coolest thing in the world when someone steps outside their so-called station in life to indulge in a personal “art for the sake of art” moment.

showing up with a reliably open heart and a will to share whatever spirit you can muster is what resonates and transcends technical perfection.

you will hear something that you want to keep. Or hear something that reminds you of something else. Songwriters are just people who have claimed those things—who give themselves credit. Who say they invented rock and roll. And you can do it, too. You just invented a song. You just invented music.

I find it’s almost impossible to put two words together and not find at least some meaning. We’re conditioned to look for patterns and identify mysteries to solve much more than we are designed to dictate what we’re searching for. I recommend allowing that natural curiosity and our sense-making brains to do their thing.

So if you’re doing something with your free time other than writing a song, it’s because you really don’t want to write a song.

I’m convinced the dreams we have for ourselves go unattained from a lack of permission more than any deficit in talent or desire. And I’m going to stress again that when I say “permission,” I mean the permission we withhold or give ourselves to pursue those dreams.

Nobody makes good choices when they aren’t aware they’re making a choice.

inspiration is rarely the first step. When it does come out of the blue, it’s glorious. But it’s much more in your own hands than the divine-intervention-type beliefs we all tend to have about inspiration. Most of the time, inspiration has to be invited.

How do you teach someone to write the kind of song that makes someone else want to write a song?

To all of the songs like windows, open just enough for us to make our escape, and to all of the songs like windows, closed and clear enough in a dim light to see our own reflection and be reminded of who we are.

When I'm on stage, my experience often goes something like this: Blankness . . . bliss . . . blankness . . . twinkle of awareness that rocking has been achieved . . . bliss . . . Voice of Observing Ego yelling over amplifiers, WOW! YOU ARE FUCKING KILLING IT DUUUUDE! . . . Clang! Wrong chord.

So yeah. Go for walks. If you want to write a song, take a walk.

Feeling attached to something can be uncomfortable. Sometimes you’re stuck because you’re anxious about losing something you love. Maybe you were sailing along working on a song and you kind of fell in love with it. And then you felt vulnerable because “What if it’s not really good?” Or “What if I can’t realize the full potential of this song?” Isn’t that what someone in the world of psychology would call an “unhealthy attachment”? Maybe you pulled back when you started to feel something. Maybe you recognized yourself in the song and felt a connection that felt like love. And then you worried, “Will it love me back?” Just let a song be itself. Let it be what it wants to be—what it needs to be. A song will always love you back, but sometimes it just needs a little space.

Don’t we want more than anything to make something that reflects who we are and how we feel honestly enough that someone else might feel seen or acknowledged, and less alone?

It can be very daunting and upsetting when people realize that others are more talented than they are. But you have to work through that. You can’t quit because there's a Beyoncé in the world.

Failure can be a kind of pain that you shouldn't let go to waste, at least as long as you're in the proper space mentally. It will help you deal with rejection in a lot of other areas in your life.