Music has always been my safe space. No matter the situation, the time, or place, discovering new albums and listening to my favorites has always brought me back to my center. The harmonies, drums, melodies, and lyrics come together to tell a unique story that feels deeply personal.
My love for music began at a very early age. I vividly remember riding in the back seat of my family’s car, asking my mother to turn the radio up on our morning rides to school. My head would sway from side to side as I tapped my foot on the back of the passenger seat, singing along with the wrong lyrics. I would become so immersed in the sounds and frequencies that it felt like I was floating—nothing else mattered in those moments.
My father also had an extensive cassette tape and CD collection, and on the weekends, I’d spend hours digging through it, making my way through his favorite tunes and finding new ones for myself. I’d spin the CD carousel and let my hands glide across the cases, my curiosity guiding my selections for the day. I learned to appreciate the vastness of his curation, which introduced me to a new artist nearly every week.
As time passed, I realized that music was part of my world in a way it wasn’t for most other people. It was part of my daily routine, from singing in middle school chorus and learning to play piano, to making CDs in high school for my friends. In the rare moments I didn’t have my earbuds in, a song would always be playing in my head, and I would finger drum on my desk or hum melodies without realizing it.
With my long-standing love of music growing by the year, it isn’t a surprise that I became a DJ in college. I spent hours teaching myself the fundamentals of mixing. There was a lot of trial and error, but that practice ultimately helped launch my DJ journey. I started out playing at local art shows, but soon found my way into the Atlanta nightlife scene. I played what brought me joy; the mixes that made me wanna dance, not just standard crowd pleasers. Maintaining that authenticity was a big part of my success, and before long, opportunities began to open up.
Despite all the gigs, those early days were challenging. Between keeping up with school and managing a budding career in a male-dominated industry, the pressures were immense. I worked hard to avoid mistakes, feeling as if someone would pounce on me the moment I did something “wrong.” But in reality, nobody actually cared. I was the only person hyper-focused on my mistakes. So even when I doubted myself, I kept going. I practiced and put myself out there until I built up the confidence to trust myself, and I’m forever thankful I chose to push through those early fears and uncertainties. Now, eleven years later, I’m confident in my skill set and am genuinely enjoying my life as a sound selector.
But there was another avenue I still wanted to try: music production. Although I’d picked up the fundamentals of DJing quickly, producing felt intimidating in a new way. The software was unfamiliar, and I allowed self-doubt, my busy schedule, and other excuses to discourage me from giving it a fair try. I had a pattern: download the software, watch a few tutorials, and play with it for a few hours, only to then delete the software and put it all aside. I eventually gave up trying to learn music production and moved on with my life.
Or that was the case until a recent realization: my greatest moments were the result of pushing through discomfort. For example, at my first DJing gig, I remember being so nervous and afraid of failing that I ducked down behind the DJ booth so no one could see me as I worked the table. But there was one guy who came up to me in my hiding spot to tell me how much he appreciated my song selections (I’d played a track that he hadn’t heard in a long time). In that moment, I found the courage to raise my head and stand tall in that DJ booth and own who I was and what I produced.
While I like to credit much of my successes to that learned persistence, I honestly don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for my peers motivating me to take risks and give myself grace. A few months ago, in a sort of serendipitous moment, my friends invited me to attend a creative session for DJs at a recording studio, where they held a session on the basics of music production. I took stock of myself before arriving at the studio: my software was all downloaded, my ear attuned to new inspirations, and I brought along a Yerba Madre to fuel the session and keep my momentum strong. As the instructors outlined and explained the process, things began to click into place. I became an active participant throughout the lesson, asking questions and piecing the steps together in real time.
I realized I hadn’t been ready to face the challenge of music production all those years ago, but this time it wasn’t so daunting or difficult. I could’ve learned how to produce sooner, but the high-pressure, perfectionist mindset I’d approached it with initially made it impossible for me to make the necessary musical missteps that could’ve helped me grow. In that class, I wasn’t overthinking or fearful of failing again. I gave myself grace and patience, and with a Yerba in hand, I could tackle each lesson with clear, energized focus that kept me moving forward.
We’ve all experienced those vulnerable moments, the brief seconds between inaction and action, where we question our greatness out of fear of the unknown. I’ve lingered there for too long, keeping myself from some of my best creative breakthroughs. Strength in art builds when we commit to seeing ourselves through the process. With the right energy and the courage to press play, our ideas stop living in our heads and start moving through the speakers. That’s when we truly come to life.
