I was having a horrible time in Paris.
Trying not to play the role of a tourist openly, I had spent two days meekly walking from place to place attempting to sink into the background – thus avoiding the unpleasant attention so uniquely reserved for Americans traveling abroad during the George W. Bush administration. By day three I was miserable. I sat in a beautiful park next to a breathtaking fountain and thought, “This sucks.”
WHAT? How could I be in Paris, France – one of the most beautiful cities in the world – and be so …uninspired? How could I look at this amazing place where art and beauty are taken into consideration above all else and feel NOTHING?
That was when it hit me. I was so completely preoccupied with the appearance I was projecting that I was missing all of the incoming beauty. I turned to my travel companion and said: “I quit. I AM a tourist. That’s that. I’m over it.”
From that point on, I had a blast. I laughed and talked out loud, pointed, gaped, and posed for pictures. I left no doubt in anyone’s mind that I was a tourist.
That afternoon, I was standing on the west façade of Notre Dame Cathedral. My hands on the stone railing, I contemplated the gargoyles and the setting sun. This was beautiful. This was inspiring. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
I am me.
I am here.
Without announcement, the bells began to ring. So loudly they shook me to my core. I raised my hands above my head and swam in the sound – the experience – the present.
I am joy.
I am ecstasy.
It was a miracle – a complete re-birth of spirit in one instant. A baptism that removed the veil from my eyes. The last notes drifted away into the sunset and we were once again met with only the sounds of the busy plaza from below, and I was changed. I had met myself – my true self.
I have carried this experience with me and used this lesson to help me hone my craft – free of false appearances, what I write is what I hear in my head, unedited.
I am me.
I am here.
I am joy.
I am ecstasy.
I am a composer. A musician. An artist. I write music not because I choose to, but because I can’t help it. It is what comes out of me – as naturally as tears. Even if I chose to be an accountant for the rest of my life, there would still be music in my head, on the tips of my fingers, and scribbled in to the margins of the papers on my desk. I am Music as much as I am a woman – as much as I am alive.
Am I classically trained? Yes. Do I have an extensive and impressive resume? Yes. Does it matter? No. All that matters is what you hear. And if my inspiration triggers your own, then everything is as it should be.
Thank you for listening.
Kat Downs
