It took years for me to finally understand that the music was never a choice. As life played out with a lyric and a melody, I simply captured as much of it as I could. I was 11 years old when a guitar found its way into my hands, and I haven’t put it down since. I studied theory, composition, and production so I could learn how to avoid their influence. I listened to the biggest artists of past and present, so I could find a way to craft my own sound. At 18 years old I started sending songs to Nashville and it wasn’t long before I was writing for a few publishers, learning how to spin my narratives with a greater respect for the craft. It was there that I ultimately learned the rules, mostly so I understood how best to break them. People started to record my music and it gave a little bit of validation to my previously unheard tales of hope, redemption, and love. As life got busier and more complicated, and in a world that placed little financial value on artistic expression, it was still the music that got me through. It gave me true and lasting friendships out of strangers. It made miracles out of science. It gave clarity and direction to a long, winding road. After all, the music gave me a way to weave these incredible stories out of the fabric of a strange and unexpected journey: stories of life and love, the past and the future, loss and perseverance. And in exchange, I’ve gained a little insight into who I am, and perhaps some perspective on where I’m headed.