on-losing-focus-picking-up-what-you-should-be-putting-down

On Losing Focus and Picking Up What You Should Be Putting Down

creativity, productivity, self-love

I’ve just had one of those weeks when you question everything, are too exhausted to do anything, and end up watching ‘Jane the Virgin’ and eating pizza instead of doing what you probably should be. I don’t know why I have these weeks, and they don’t come often. This time, I blame it on the fear of graduation, the shifts in my personal relationships, and the realisation that I’ve been in Berlin for a while, wondering if it’s time to move on.

I was feeling drained and unmotivated, trying to work at my boyfriend’s place. Suddenly, I noticed myself rearranging his bedroom in my head, imagining what it would look like if I brought one of my fleece blankets over or bought some flowers for his desk. “I’ll help you clean your bedroom when I’m done writing my thesis,” I said. He looked at me with a look of confusion and said: “Cool. You don’t have to do that, but yeah nice.” In the evening, he finally got into a workflow after a day of running around, and since I didn’t want to interrupt it, I went to the supermarket and made dinner for us instead. Then we watched Netflix and went to bed.

In the morning, I woke up angry. It was one of those weeks, remember. “What’s up? Are you mad at me or something?” my boyfriend asked, and I shook my head and packed my bag, getting my bike and half-shouting: “I just need to be alone. It’s not you.” It wasn’t him. Not at all. I just had a flashback. I had a flashback to the last time I felt lost and decided to find myself by building a life with someone else. I neglected university, lost the few friends I had made in London, realigned my goals to fit his. Again, it wasn’t his fault. But this is what I do: when I don’t know what to do, I project it by trying to help others. If I can’t be useful to myself, I might at least be useful to others.

I cycled home on that Friday afternoon and when I got home, I crashed in bed and slept until the evening. I never have naps because I find it hard to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but I just felt drained. I had no idea what I was doing – I was angry with myself for falling back into old patterns but I was used to running away from my head when being inside it became uncomfortable.

Somehow, a shift happened between that Friday and today. Well, not somehow, I know exactly how. Instead of falling headfirst into fixing other people, I took time off. I spent time by myself. On Saturday, I went for a walk and sat by the river while listening to Laura Marling. I read a book and watched a movie. On Sunday, I cleaned and cooked. On Monday, I lit some incense, meditated, and journalled. By Tuesday, I was back in my body.

This morning, I was listening to a podcast while running in the park. It was sunny, and that was probably the real reason I felt optimistic about life after several grey weeks in Berlin. But I was listening to Hattie Hill talk to Marie Forleo about how women tend to carry instead of to care – how we feel compelled to take on other people’s problems and fix them because that’s how we’ve been brought up. I loved the distinction she made between caring and carrying because it’s so accurate. However, I notice that I often choose to take on other people’s problems not only because that’s what’s expected of me – and very much how my mum operates too – but because it’s a way to escape my own ambitions.

Ultimately, it’s a form of self-sabotage. The thinking that drives this is: “If I don’t try well enough, I can’t fail. If I say that I couldn’t go for something 100% because my time was taken up by helping this other person, it won’t be my fault if I don’t succeed.” Not to say it’s bad to help other people or be there for others. But my boyfriend doesn’t need me to rearrange his room or make his dinner (unless it’s just a nice thing I want to do). And you can care about someone and be there for them without having to uproot your life to make theirs more bearable.

The thing is, sometimes I choose to lose focus. I lose focus because I’m afraid to fail. I lose focus because I think that what I want is stupid and unworthy of my undivided attention and commitment. I lose focus because I don’t want to miss out on all these other paths I could take if I spread myself thin. But it all comes down to fear, and we don’t ever want to base our decisions on emotions that ultimately hold us back. We want to make decisions we wholeheartedly believe in. I’ve already spent a year of my life losing focus before and I don’t want to go there again. If you’re going through one of those weeks where you’re desperately looking for something to distract you, here is what I try doing now instead:

1. Switch off.

I mean switch off from technology, work, and other people. Sometimes, we want to escape because we feel overwhelmed, but instead of slowing down and taking time for ourselves, we overload ourselves with social engagements and new projects instead. Turn off your phone, throw out your to-do list for a day. Go for a walk, journal, read a book. Be with your thoughts. If you’ve been running around for a while, it will feel incredibly relaxing to just be.

2. Have a ritual.

I’m not talking about routine here. I’m saying that sometimes, you need to reset yourself. If you’re feeling low and you feel like there’s no point to anything anymore, you need some symbolic new start to breathe new life into your aspirations. For me, that was a full moon ritual on Monday – I saged my room, journalled about what I wanted to release and what I wanted to welcome, and burnt the pages over the kitchen sink. On Tuesday, I felt like I was starting fresh. New starts are important, so think of one for yourself and how you can mark it – maybe you can journal or meditate, or start a new resolution. Examples of new starts are Mondays, birthdays, new moons, full moons, new months.

3. Meditate, manifest, write.

Once you’ve taken time out for yourself and you feel well-rested, it might be time to reclaim your focus again. Meditate on what you want and ask for guidance, write down your vision, make a mood board. Remember why your focus matters, think about where you’re going. Instead of trying to flee your fears, work through them – write down your limiting beliefs, think about the real reasons you’re feeling lost. Is it because you don’t know what you want? Or is it because you’re afraid?

why-i-procrastinate

Why I Procrastinate

artist, productivity, self-love

I just spent all morning scrolling through Instagram, and my only achievements of the day thus far include: an Insta Story, commenting on a friend’s post, sharing a new song I’ve listened to. I also had breakfast.

Mornings like this make me feel guilty and useless, and I often end up overcompensating on other days, crashing late at night with a headache and back pain after sitting in front of a computer a whole day. Wouldn’t it be nicer if I could plan my days to be structured, if I went for walks in the middle of the day after having a productive morning, instead of wasting it all away on social media or staring into space? Yes, it would. And I know it would. Yet I still do this without fail, procrastinating into oblivion.

We all know why we procrastinate: to put off something that stresses us out (like emailing blogs about my upcoming single out of fear for rejection), to put off something that’s plain boring (like starting an essay about the Lydian Chromatic Concept that’s due in April), or because deep inside, we’re convinced that what we’re doing won’t lead to anything anyway, which means that procrastination will lead to the abandonment of the project altogether.

I’m a fairly organised person – I love my morning routine, I have a bullet journal with daily, weekly, and monthly to-do lists. I clean my room at least once a week. But I’m also addicted to my phone, I wallow in self-doubt at every given opportunity, and I have no curtains in my bedroom, which means that I often wake up sleep-deprived if I’ve had a late night. All these form a perfect breeding ground for procrastination, and I’m currently on a journey to learning my triggers.

There are other reasons for people to procrastinate, though. My dad called me last weekend to tell me he started learning shorthand. Why he’d ever need shorthand is beyond me, but he has talked about writing a book his whole life. More so, he’s been writing every day for the last month, actually coming close to achieving his goal. And all of a sudden, he starts learning shorthand. When I pointed that out, he waved me off, saying he has a right to enjoy his life occasionally, which is true, only I don’t buy it.

Humans tend to self-sabotage. I know I do, anyway. Procrastination is the main weapon in our battle against ourselves. When we don’t believe we deserve something, or we don’t think we’re up to the task, or any other reason we’ve convinced ourselves something is not worth trying, we procrastinate. So, next time you watch Netflix instead of working on your new song, ask yourself: what are you afraid of?

I noticed that I procrastinate when 1) there’s an external reason for why I don’t feel capable of doing my best work, or 2) I am scared shitless of failing at something. These days, when I notice I’m procrastinating, I ask myself why first. Identifying the cause quickly leads to solutions. Here is my little list of things that I do that help me keep procrastination at least somewhat in check.


When it’s an external thing


1. I go to bed early


When I’m sleep-deprived, I can’t get anything done. At all. Sending an email will take me hours. Now that I know that, I don’t spend the night with other people before a big day, I value my routine even more and try to go to bed at regular hours, I go outside every day so I can fall asleep more easily. When you’re procrastinating because you’re tired, there’s nothing you can do until you take a nap, sleep it off, and recharge.


2. I put my phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’


I’m horrible with my phone. I check it all the time even when I know I have no messages, and when I do, I often don’t reply to them anyway. It’s a tic – I just want to hold the phone in my hand. So, now, I’ve started putting it on airplane mode not to give myself an excuse to look at it. I have specific time blocks when I check my phone – after breakfast, after lunch, but not during the hours I’m supposed to be getting something done. I say that. I don’t always do that. (But I should.)


3. I take breaks and dance around my bedroom


Sometimes, I start procrastinating just because I’ve been sitting in front of my computer for hours. Everybody needs breaks, and it’s recommended to have a break every hour. With the weather now, my hands freeze after an hour of typing anyway. So, every once in a while, I turn on Frank Zappa and dance around the room, hoping the school kids outside my window won’t look. It gets my blood pumping and my energy levels up, so I can sit back down at the desk feeling motivated.


4. I try to avoid sugar during the day


When I start my day with a croissant or a doughnut, I feel energised, for sure, but it’s scattered energy that doesn’t allow me to focus. Despite what some people assume, sugar slows down our cognitive function. It doesn’t help us get into gear, it holds us back. So, I try to be a healthy, mature grownup and have porridge for breakfast or yoghurt with fresh fruit. Whenever I do that, I feel much more productive during the day and it’s easier for me to stay on task. Of course, I’m not perfect. I make up for it by binge-eating chocolate before bed.


When it’s an internal thing


This is much harder. When it’s not a physical factor holding you back, but a mental block, you need to identify it first. Recognising it is the first step, though.


1. Affirmations


I often find myself watching too much Netflix, waking up late, and shirking all my responsibilities exactly when I need to get a lot done. I find it much easier to show up when I’m sure I can handle everything that’s coming my way. When I’m filled with self-doubt and anxiety, I just want to run in the opposite direction. Writing down affirmations and saying them out loud throughout the day helps me to stay motivated and battle the fear of failure that often keeps me from doing what I need to do.


2. I protect my time and energy from the people who don’t respect it


It may sound harsh, but I’ve started spending less time with the people who leave me feeling drained. Sometimes, our limiting beliefs come from internalised comments from friends and family, and I have enough of my own insecurities not to add other people’s to that list. When I set out to do something and feel like a friend might disapprove or think I’m dreaming too big or being too reckless, I tend to make a mental note of that. Difficult discussions are part of every relationship, and I always want my friends to be honest with me. At the same time, friends and family are supposed to be a support network, and when that’s not what it feels like, I feel justified taking a break from them.


3. I journal it out


Again, I’m a massive fan of morning pages. They hold you accountable. I can’t lie to myself every morning, that would just cost too much energy. Even if you don’t do this every day, journalling once in a while will help to know when you’ve picked up a new hobby just to avoid working on a project that really matters.


4. Visualise and remember why you’re doing it


It’s hard to stay brave, or motivated or focused when you don’t know why you’re doing something or what you’re working towards. A quick visualisation exercise, or making a Pinterest mood board (which I guess is also a form of procrastination) is what usually gives me the motivation to get going again.


These are the things that work for me, but different stuff will work for different people. There are also two great talks about fear of failure and procrastination for those who want to dig deeper into this.

Also, my new single ‘River Water’ came out today! Listen to it here.

books-that-motivated-me-through-lockdown

Books that Have Motivated and Inspired Me to Keep Going Through Lockdown

productivity, self-love

Before 2020, I never read anything that could be classed as ‘self-help’. I’m not sure why exactly, but I didn’t consider self-development books to be literature, at least not the Susan Sontag/Joan Didion type. I thought some people spent more time reading books about how to improve something than actually improving it. And I’m still weary of self-help books as a form of procrastination – none of this advice matters unless you practice it.

But in March 2020, when shit officially hit the fan, I found myself listless and disappointed, spending most days in bed in my childhood bedroom, messaging friends and curling up at night with memories of a life that had crumbled when I left London. London was life in fifth gear, and I had been going pretty hard for two years, without stopping to see where I was going. Somehow, I always found the motivation to get up in the morning and go to work, go to uni, go to gigs in the evening, and do it all over again the day after. I rarely crashed. But in March in Belgium, I couldn’t even get myself to go for a run. There didn’t seem to be much to work for.

I’ve always been an avid reader, though. So, while I wasn’t doing anything overly productive, I was still reading a lot. And one day, I stumbled upon Anne Lamott’s ‘Bird by Bird’, and this beautiful passage:


“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.”

Anne Lamott, “Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life”

While everything in the world was a big unknown, and everybody felt a little lost, this quote reminded me that all we need to do is take it day by day. And that gave me motivation to start a new project and another one, and to keep going. This was one of the books that gave me a nudge during lockdown and inspired me to keep creating and working towards something. But there were a few of them. Here are some other ones, in case you’re feeling stuck and need a little pick-me-up.


‘Grit’ by Angela Duckworth

This book is all about how perseverance and hard work matter more than talent. Angela Duckworth was researching success, and what made people get up after they fell down, when she stumbled upon the concept of grit. The premise of the book is that it’s not the people that are the most talented or have the most potential that turn out to be the most successful. It’s the ones that keep going despite all odds. It was an encouraging read because it makes you believe that if you work hard enough, success will follow sooner or later. Through the book, she emphasises the importance of deliberate practice and honing your craft even when you don’t want to. She also talks about the importance of having a calling and how that affects your motivation and grittiness. Duckworth also does a great TED-talk about her research.


“Grit depends on a different kind of hope. It rests on the expectation that our own efforts can improve our future. “I have a feeling tomorrow will be better” is different from “I resolve to make tomorrow better.”

Angela Duckworth, “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance”

‘Linchpin’ by Seth Godin

This is not the best-written book I’ve ever read by far. In fact, it has so much repetition sometimes it’s painful to read. But Seth Godin makes some valid points in his book, points that got me into gear during a week when I was feeling particularly low and highly unproductive. Godin talks about ‘the resistance’, how we’ve been taught to tow the line and follow rules that don’t make sense in today’s economy. The dream of clocking in and out and getting paid for simply being in a certain place at a certain time is dead.

Instead, Seth Godin urges us to become indispensable by throwing out the map, by carving out our own way of life. He stresses the importance of emotional labour – being there for other people, giving without any expectations, creating positive change – and being an artist who delivers. A big chunk of the book talks about our lizard brain, too, and how fear of failure and the unknown can hold us back. It’s a good read because it exposes the ways in which we rationalise our unhappiness and takes away the excuses we’ve been making for ourselves.


“When you set down the path to create art, whatever sort of art it is, understand that the path is neither short not easy. That means you must determine if the route is worth the effort. If it’s not, dream bigger.”

Seth Godin, “Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?”

‘Business for Bohemians’ by Tom Hodgkinson

Tom Hodgkinson is cool. He’s who I want to be when I grow up. He writes, runs The Idler, a magazine about how to be free in today’s society, and is the founder of an online school that teaches philosophy, calligraphy, ukulele, and a lot of other skills that no one would consider essential. As is to be expected, his book won’t teach you how to make money or run a business, not really. But by letting a reader into his life – in a farmhouse in Devon, or struggling to keep open a bookshop/coffeehouse in London, he shows that other ways of living are possible and we’re not confined to the lifepath we’ve been presented with since birth. And he doesn’t do that in a naive, idealistic way. He hit me with a couple of hard truths a few times. Like this one:


“If you’re not very careful, your creative business, the very thing which you hoped would lead to liberty and riches, will instead trap you in a hell of hard-working poverty.”

Tom Hodgkinson, “Business for Bohemians: Live Well, Make Money”

‘Authentic Happiness’ by Martin Seligman

Martin Seligman is the founding father of positive psychology, and this book encompasses most of his findings. It talks about simple lifestyle changes which will make you live a more fulfilling life, such as gratitude practice, meditation, and more time with loved ones. But what interested me more was the part where he talked about what doesn’t lead to more happiness, such as money (once you have enough, you really don’t need more) and professional success. Those make you feel happy only for a brief period of time, but are not enough to give you lasting happiness. Purpose is. Love is. Family and friends. The book is also chockfull with tests about your key strengths, your loving pattern, how optimistic you are, etc. It’s like Buzzfeed quizzes on steroids.


“Authentic happiness derives from raising the bar for yourself, not rating yourself against others.”

Martin Seligman, “Authentic Happiness: Using the New Positive Psychology to Realise Your Potential for Lasting Fulfillment”

‘When’ by Daniel H. Pink

This book is interesting because it focuses solely on timing. When is the best time to exercise, the best timeslot for an audition, the best time for a break? The most important insight for me was that everyone, no matter if you’re a night owl or an early bird, suffers a dip in productivity about eight hours after they wake up, and it’s more productive to take a one-hour break than to power through it. Pink also suggests to structure your day around your productivity, and – unsurprisingly – your most productive moment is in the morning if you’re an early bird, and in the afternoon/evening if you’re a night owl. That’s the time for analytical tasks.

This book is more than a time management manual, though. It also has some insights about life – about why we remember an event based on the ending (which is why beautiful endings matter!), why poignancy makes happiness more authentic, why synchronicity boosts happiness (hence why we should all join a choir). This is also the reason I’m mentioning this book instead of ‘Getting Things Done’ by David Allen, another classic that I read this year. It’s worth a read, too, but really does mainly talk about time management and organisation hacks.


“The best endings don’t leave us happy. Instead, they produce something richer—a rush of unexpected insight, a fleeting moment of transcendence, the possibility that by discarding what we wanted we’ve gotten what we need.”

Daniel H. Pink, “When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing”

For those of you who are interested – I’m releasing a new song on 5 March. You can pre-save it here. I appreciate it so, so, so, so much.

releasing-music-is-an-act-of-bravery

Releasing Music Is Terrifying

artist, music, self-love

I haven’t been very good at announcing this so far, but I have a single coming out on 5 March, called ‘River Water’. It’s about getting over a breakup, having casual sex, falling in love, and wondering if love and sex are mutually exclusive. With the way artists are expected to promote themselves: posting five stories a day on Instagram, following the adagio of ‘a consumer has to see something seven times before they take action’, bombarding followers with self-promotion, some non-musicians start thinking that releasing music is an ego trip.

Gearing up for my release, I talked to a tutor at my university, who said: “How come you haven’t started promoting anything yet? Where is your pre-save link? Why are you not posting on Instagram?” I made up some lame excuse about how I didn’t realise it was already time to start the promotion, but really, it’s because I hate it. I hate self-promoting because it makes me feel uncomfortable, imposing, egotistical. “We’ve talked about this, Erika,” my tutor said. “The release cycle is three months. You’ve got to really get in gear.”

Few artists are comfortable with sharing the pre-save links to their songs three times a day. Few artists think their music will blow your mind. But we’re still expected to do it and do it regularly because in those early stages, if we don’t do it, no one will. And it’s a thin line between doing enough and doing too much, pushing friends to unfollow you on Instagram because you’ve posted the same ten seconds of your music video ten times in your stories. But it’s also a learning curve and something that’s a part of being a musician.

There are other sides to releasing music that require you to have thick skin. I got on SubmitHub a week ago to start sending out my single to blogs and radio stations. When I went to my account, I saw all the rejections I ever got for previous releases collected in my feed. It was disheartening reading all the feedback I ever got, although none of it was particularly harsh, and I’ve heard from friends that SubmitHub can be outright brutal (so maybe I’m even lucky?). I submitted the song to a few blogs and then watched the rejections stream in over the 48 hours the portal sets as the deadline, without a single affirmative. When I joined Musosoup, the offers I got were paid, and I wondered if it was now a standard thing for musicians to pay for reviews and how ethical was this, really? (Thoughts?)

As the week progressed, I started feeling increasingly more incompetent, uncomfortable, and overwhelmed, wondering if my shaky relationship with social media was a reflection of whether I was a good musician, and if those SubmitHub bloggers had a point, calling my melodies anonymous. Then it was my birthday (I turned 22), and one of my friends said: “Billie Eilish was 16 when she became famous.”

“Releasing music should be fun. You should be excited!” my university tutor said, and I wondered when releasing music had ever been fun. Sharing music was fun – playing it live and seeing people’s reactions, feeling a part of a community, and playing a part in creating one. But releasing music digitally – the promotion, the endless emails, and the following rejections – had never quite carried the same appeal. So, why do we even bother?

I release music so I don’t feel like a fraud when I call myself a musician. I also hope some people will recognise themselves in my lyrics and feel less alone. I release music because maybe someone will care enough to let me know they want me to keep going. There are a lot of small reasons for why I keep doing it, and big ones, like wanting music to be a full-time career. And they make all the other stuff that scares the shit out of me worth it. But for everyone else who’s struggling with their music releases now: releasing music is not an ego trip. If anything, it destroys your self-esteem. But it is an act of bravery, and if it doesn’t go the way you want it to go… Well, at least you tried and you created something. And that’s what we live for, isn’t it?




For those of you who are interested in the new song, you can pre-save it here. I appreciate it so, so, so, so much.

manifest-visualise

I Probably Spend Too Much Time Visualising But Here’s Why

artist, creativity, self-love

I have a sweet morning routine going: I write my morning pages, do yoga, meditate, have a shower, and have breakfast. One of my best friends has been pressing me to add in visualisation. When I told her about all the other stuff I was already doing, she was uncompromising. “You need to do it. It keeps you motivated. It helps you work through your limiting beliefs.” In case you’re wondering who the best friend is, yes, she is the same person who had already coached me through my limiting beliefs once.

I had tried visualisation earlier. If you’re unfamiliar with it – you basically spend some time during the day imagining your perfect life to the tiniest detail, which is not very hard. Imagining nice things is – it turns out – pretty easy. But when I did it in December last year, it left me feeling anxious about everything I was doing. When you have a clear vision of where you want to be, you get really fucking stressed about ruining your chance at future happiness by doing something wrong.

“You can’t visualise your whole future every day,” one of my lecturers told me when I shared my dilemma with him. “You’ll burn yourself out.” Wait. Huh? “Sure, plan ahead. But remember to stay in the moment, too.” I love how a lot of self-help advice is contradictory. Live in the moment, but visualise your future. Dream big, but be happy with what you have.

I told my friend this, and she didn’t seem fazed. “Of course you need to stay in the moment. But you need to spend a few minutes every day remembering what you’re doing it all for. Visualisation is the framework that makes the small stuff fall into place. It gives you purpose.” Actually, I don’t know if she said that, but that’s what I took from that conversation. The key was only doing it for ten minutes every day, instead of spending every waking minute imagining how a decision might affect my visualised ideal life.

I found a guided visualisation on Insight Timer, a free meditation app that I was already using (if you don’t know it – it’s great and free and features talks by Elizabeth Gilbert, Tara Brach, Jack Kornfield) and did it in the morning instead of an ordinary breathing exercise. I still think breathing exercises are valuable, but visualising what I actually want from life first thing in the morning – similarly to morning pages – set me up for the rest of the day. I was way more productive and in a much better mood than usual. So, I did again the day after. And the day after that.

For someone who always takes on too many projects, most of which are usually completely irrelevant to what I actually want to do, visualisation has proven extremely useful. If you don’t know what you want, you won’t know what to work towards. If you don’t believe you can have something, you’ll never bother trying.

The other upside of this is the energy you put out. This is not just spiritual babble, it also just has clear psychological benefits. If you know what you want and believe you can have it, you’ll be more hard-working, focused, positive, and will bounce back from setbacks way more quickly. (I confidently proclaimed having no psychological training whatsoever.) Positive energy is key for artists who deal with rejection on a daily basis.


Visualisation Ideas:

  1. The classic letter exercise. Write a letter to yourself in five years. Then in two. Then next year. How are you going to get there?
  2. Write a list of the qualities you want your future partner to have. I was told to do this by my friend, who said: “It was insane when I did it. The guy I met after I wrote down what I wanted matched everything word-for-word. I only forgot to add mentally stable to the list.”
  3. Guided visualisation and manifestation exercises online.
  4. Sometimes, I just spend ten minutes or so in bed thinking about how I want my life to pan out, visualising everything in the smallest detail: how I will finally be able to afford organic vegetables, the soap containers I will buy to pretend the cheap soap I buy at ALDI is fancy, etc.
  5. Pinterest! It’s like… almost useful.

why-limiting-beliefs-are-holding-you-back-from-committing-to-music

How Your Limiting Beliefs Are Keeping You From Committing to Music

artist, creativity, self-love

I was curled up in the chair by the window of my childhood bedroom, my head resting on my knees. It had been a week of decision-making, and there was nothing I hated more in my life than making decisions. My notebook was lying on the table on the other side of the room, with pro and con lists taking up the last five pages. I wondered if my parents had reached the point where they just wanted me to leave so I would stop talking about my inability to make a choice. I felt like everyone was tired of my indecision by now, including me.

The choice was this: going back to London or Berlin. With Brexit, if I didn’t go back, I wouldn’t be eligible for settlement status later down the line, effectively losing my chance to build a life in the UK. But if I didn’t go back to Berlin, I was losing another thing: the chance to focus on music and stop obsessing about making a living and surviving, the way that London forces people to. Berlin meant more freedom, more music and creativity in my life, and probably sanity. But it wasn’t as easy as choosing the fun thing. What if I wanted to stay in London? Or go back in the long run?

I messaged my best friend in London with the words: “I feel so fucking confused. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” Two minutes later, she called back. Her voice sounded like an anchor pulling me back down to earth, from the hectic mental space I had been floating in that week. “Talk me through it,” she said. “Why are you afraid of going to Berlin?”

“It’s like that Sylvia Plath quote,” I said. “The one about the fig tree – she’s staring at the tree, trying to pick the ripest, best fig and while she’s staring at the figs, unable to make a choice, they all rot in front of her. That’s me. I’m Sylvia Plath, bar the head in the oven.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“You do know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I really don’t.”

“Stop convincing yourself that you don’t,” she said. “You’re starting to believe it, but it’s really just you that has convinced yourself of this. It’s a belief that you can’t make decisions, that you can’t trust yourself. But you can. You have that inner voice that already knows. What scares you the most? What will make you grow the most? That’s what you need to do.” I wondered when my friend had become a life guru.

“Maybe you’re right. I feel like I should go to Berlin, and do this creative thing…” I said, feeling stupid as I was saying it, so I added for good measure: “Though I don’t think it’s gonna work out. I should probably do a master’s instead.”

“What do you mean? Why would you do a master’s?”

“You know… To get a job.”

“Why do you think you won’t be able to get a job without a master’s?”

“As what? A musician?”

“Why not? That’s what you want to do, right?”

“Of course, in an ideal world!” I exclaimed. “But I also want a family and kids and a normal life. Maybe a house and a dog, that kind of stuff. Not now, but I want to at least have the option.”

“Who says you won’t have that as a musician?”

“Because that’s just not how it works. I’ll never make that kind of money as a musician if I make any kind of money as a musician.”

“But that’s a belief. That’s just what you’re telling yourself. Who says you can’t have it all? If you’re gonna believe that and not even try, then, yeah, you won’t. But ultimately, you can craft your own narrative. You can decide that you can have it all and work towards it. There is no set outcome attached to anything, but by believing certain myths about life, we start manifesting them.”

“Maybe I do want to be a musician.”

“Honestly, it’s clear to anyone but you, Erika. You’re being ridiculous.”

“And I do want to go to Berlin.”

“Yup,” she said in the least surprised tone I’ve ever heard in my life.

I’m in Berlin now, and I’m fine. The world didn’t come crumbling down when I didn’t go to London. I’m not in a financial pit of despair (yet). I have started writing music reviews for a music blog, and I’m gearing up for a song release in a month or so, and I’m looking into other ways of making money as a musician that hopefully won’t involve babysitting, but honestly, who cares if I get to make music. The point I was trying to make here is… If I hadn’t noticed how I was talking myself into believing I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have had the courage to come back here. And I would have started down a path that wasn’t meant for me at all. This is why it’s so important to identify the limiting beliefs you might hold, so that you know what you’re choosing to do and what you’re talking yourself into doing out of fear.

Apart from talking to wise, loving friends, there are other small tricks for identifying and battling limiting beliefs in decision-making that I’ve been using for the last few months. Here are some of them, and I hope they’ll help you, too:


1. List your reasons for doing something, and notice when fear is a driving factor


Lists aren’t the be-all and end-all in decision-making because I found that rationalising things often only complicates the process, getting in the way of that part of you that already knows the answer to what you really want. But seeing your reasons written down can help you understand whether you’re making a decision from a place of love, acceptance, and support, or if you’re making a decision from a place of fear. Fear and doubt are the worst motivators. If you recognise that they are the main driving factors behind a decision, maybe it’s time to reevaluate the beliefs that led you there.


2. You can’t “keep your options open”


I have trouble committing to decisions, to a certain life path, to a partner, to a place. Not because I don’t think that something or someone wouldn’t be good for me, but because I fear that there might be something somewhere that might be better. Or that down the line, I’ll realise that it hadn’t been the right decision all along, and I’ll want to try something else. Or that I’ll change and my priorities will shift. But that’s life. People do change, priorities do shift, but if you never commit to anything, and always go for the thing that gives you the most freedom to back out, you will never pursue anything wholeheartedly. And half-assing life is not something that anyone wants, really.


3. Decisions that you can go back on are not decisions


I’ve been living in limbo for a while now. I’ve never signed a lease on a flat without checking what the breaking clause in the contract is, and so far, I’ve always used it. I’ve walked away from jobs I didn’t like, I’ve broken a lot of promises to a lot of different people. I’ve made a lot of decisions that I then went back on, which means they weren’t decisions at all. I came to Berlin with the thought that if I hated it, I could still return to London. It left me just as stressed as if I hadn’t made a decision at all – I was constantly evaluating whether to go or to stay. I’ve decided I’m staying because there’s no satisfaction in making a decision that gives you an out. Sometimes, it actually is easier to commit.


4. Discussions and affirmations


When I started unpacking the reasons and beliefs that were keeping me from committing to what I really wanted to do, I started wondering how to battle them. According to Martin Seligman, the father of positive psychology, you have to dispute and energise. When you encounter a limiting belief, ask yourself what the effect of that belief will be on the rest of your life. Are the consequences of that thought destructive? Then explain to yourself why you’re catastrophising, and why your belief has no basis. Finally, energise by changing the limiting belief for one that motivates you. Here’s a short example of how I go about it:

Limiting belief: I can’t make decisions at all. I’m always going back and forth on stuff. I’m a flaky person.

Consequence: If I keep believing this, I will always distrust my gut, which will make decision-making even harder. Believing I’m flaky also makes it into a self-fulfilling prophecy, perpetuating the cycle of indecision.

Why it’s not true: I have actually made a lot of commitments in my life. I’m finishing my bachelor’s degree, I have spent three years living in London, I’ve stuck with a long-term relationship before, and I have worked through problems in friendships to keep the people I love in my life.

Affirmation: I can make hard decisions and commit to things that are important to me.


These are the little tricks that work for me, but I’m sure that different stuff works for different people. Let me know if you’re struggling with this, too, and what works for you. I’m still very much in the process of figuring this out, so I’d love to hear more tips!

musician-friends

Why Having Musician Friends Matters in this Shitstorm of a Time (and Where to Find Some)

artist, self-love

Some of these days, I wake up energised, go for a run, sing in the shower, down three cups of coffee without having a nervous breakdown. But these are difficult times for everyone, and more often than not, I wake up with a groan, say something mean to my parents, who have been putting up with me on and off since March, and spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell I’m doing.

Like most musicians, I’m happiest at a sweaty bar show, dancing to music, shouting into a friend’s ear, while downing a pint of warm English beer (although that last one is up for debate). I’m happiest when I’m rushing from work to a gig, squeezing onto the tube with all the 9-5ers, with some 40-year-old dude in his running outfit and his work clothes in his tiny backpack elbowing me in the stomach on his way out. It’s a busy life, and it’s hard, and sure, I used to burst out crying after getting home at 2 A.M. knowing work started in five hours. But I had a purpose.

Now, that purpose seems to have disappeared. Musicians that have been making money with music for years are suddenly forced to look for new jobs. I spend my days strumming my guitar and writing lyrics about stuff that happened ages ago because I haven’t left the house in weeks. I’ve written a song about my mum’s cat.

The only thing that’s keeping me afloat these days is my musician friends. It’s the people that call to check in with me, send their demos, and compare notes on release strategies. It’s the friends that are as lost as me, but also friends that are doing far worse, having lost their biggest income streams.

In the last several months, I’ve grown more as a musician than I had done in years, and it’s mostly due to the other musicians I’ve let into my life. I’ve started listening to albums instead of playlists, I’ve started playing guitar more, and I’ve had so much feedback on my songs that I’ve become a better songwriter. I have people I can offload on that understand and share my concerns. Before COVID-19, the idea of a music community seemed like something intangible. But now, with our defenses down, it has become necessary.

Music communities come in different shapes and sizes. Mine is made up of chance encounters, travels, gigs and support slots, my university, workshops. Normally, meeting other musicians is easy – you just rock up at an open mic or a jam night. But if you don’t have a community, if you don’t know how to start, and if you’re feeling lonely, here are some ideas that can put you in touch with fellow musicians right now:


1. Reach out to musicians you’re already ~kinda~ friends with.


This one is so obvious, but I thought I’d mention it anyway. If you’re a musician that has ever played a gig, you will have befriended a musician on Facebook, followed someone on Instagram, or made that vague promise of writing together someday. All the musicians everywhere right now are feeling uprooted, slightly desperate, and probably lonely. No one will find it weird if you reach out to someone you haven’t talked to for a year. Now is the time you’re allowed to without looking like a creep. Just ask how someone is doing. Ask if they have any new music coming out. Start somewhere.


2. Join a Facebook group.


There are loads of Facebook groups for musicians depending on location. When I moved to Berlin, the first thing I did was post in the Berlin musicians’ group. I did the same when I lived in London. Some musicians might want to go for a socially distanced walk to talk about music, or do a co-write, or have a phone call. You can schedule some stuff for when you’re allowed to have fun again. Don’t just look at the location, there are groups for everything. Join a songwriting group and give each other feedback on songs. Join a group for musician mums (only if you’re a mum, though).


3. Take an online music course with others.


There are loads of courses out there you can take for free now, and some of them come with a platform or community where you can exchange feedback and get to know other musicians. I took this short course on Songwriting by Pat Pattison years ago. It’s free, there’s a platform where you can talk to other students, and it’s often followed by Facebook groups and Soundcloud link exchanges. You might even learn something. In a similar vein, you can attend a webinar, an online panel, etc, and get active in the comments.

Finally, reach out to me. I’m always happy to talk.



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how-to-be-okay-with-not-getting-the-perfect-take

How to Be Okay With Not Getting the Perfect Take

artist, music, productivity, self-love, songwriting

I’ve been struggling with that one myself for a while. My experience with recording has always been rocky. I did my first recordings in the attic with my dad, using a badminton bat with a nylon sock as a pop filter. I’ve taken recording very seriously and not seriously at all. I’ve released songs that I knew I’d done a half-assed job on and I’ve been proud of others. I never listen to my recordings once they’re out. Recording is a big part of who musicians are and having fits of anxiety over getting the perfect take is just not an option if I don’t want to die of a heart attack at 35.

I had two ways of accepting that fact – the first was to pretend I didn’t care about getting a perfect recording because no one was going to listen to it anyway. I’d probably forget it was coming out at all (and I did forget it when my first EP came out). The second option was to obsess about the recording because if people were gonna listen, the song needed to be fucking perfect. I’m an all-or-nothing type of girl.

Last week, I figured, there must be a third way. I came home from Berlin to get my dad’s sage advice on my songs and for him to press record and sit in the room while I played. Usually, those recording sessions are quite boring and stressful, made somewhat bearable by my dad’s jokes. But I had become spiritual in Berlin and I started to believe in detachment, visualisation, and the Universe. So, this time was going to be different.

I lit cedarwood incense and scented candles, said a quick prayer to my creative genius, and started playing. And God, it was a fucking struggle. I could hear my dad sighing from the other end of the room as I wrestled my way through the first song. I recorded songs in full takes, so after every mistake, I had to start from the beginning. Two hours later, we’d only got halfway decent takes of two songs. My dad called a break and we went to the kitchen for hot toddies.

We spent the whole day recording, and despite the incense and the candles and the prayers to the gods, I felt paralysed. It was the old second way all over again – if it wasn’t perfect, it was because I was shit. I went to bed feeling dreadful. The morning after, my hands shook as I listened back to the recordings. “Feels like a struggle,” I wrote in my notes about one of the songs.

I was confused. What was it that I was supposed to do to make recording fun? I’d tried the spiritual stuff, and that didn’t work one bit. So, I kept experimenting. And here is what worked:


1. If you can’t get a technically perfect take, get a heartfelt one.


I called one of my friends when I was at a recording low point last weekend. “You sound so depressed I’m legit worried,” she said. I felt stupid because even though I felt like shit, I am also lucky and grateful to be making music and I am aware of that. But what I said was: “Yeah, I think I’m a terrible musician.” My friend was quiet while I told her about my recording struggles. Then she said: “Well, who cares if it’s a perfect take? There’s always gonna be something you wish you would’ve done better. But if you put real emotion in the song, you give the recording something more valuable than technical brilliance.”


2. Have someone else in the room.


My whole phone conversation with her was full of useful gems. She also said that it’s really hard to do anything alone. And sure, I had the one recording session with my dad, but I spent hours afterwards recording by myself. “You need someone who tells you when it’s time to move on, and when you’ve done a good enough job. We’re always much harder on ourselves than we need to be.” I stand by recording on my own because it allows me to sit with my emotions and feel less self-conscious, but after 10 takes of the same song, it might be worth sending a couple takes to your friends to get their opinion. And more often than not, that weird lisp you keep hearing is just in your head.


3. Go for a walk.


Sometimes, you just need to step away. When I keep missing the same note time and time again, it’s more often than not because I need a break. Get out of the house. Stretch. Have some green tea. Laugh. Call a friend. I noticed that good recordings only come when your mindset is right. If you’re in a downward spiral of self-hatred, get out of the house. Reset.


4. Ask yourself if you’re self-sabotaging.


I spent three days telling myself I sucked. But then I stopped for a minute and asked myself why I was saying that at all. Did I even believe that? I know I’m a good musician, I know I love writing. I know that, for better or for worse, I’m true to myself and my music. But I was afraid to fail, so I was making excuses for not having to try. Yes, I might put out songs that no one will listen to. Yes, other people might not like them. But does that mean I should give up before even starting? Figure out the reason for your negative self-talk. You need to understand your fears before you can conquer them.


5. Write down what went well.


And if none of that helped, and your recording session still sucked, and you’re going to bed with a heavy heart and a deep feeling of incompetence, get your journal out. I keep talking about cultivating a gratitude practice, and how it puts things into perspective. And after any kind of bad day, that can help. But after a day of self-deprecation, it especially helps to remind yourself of what you‘ve done well. Write down three things. Don’t tell me you haven’t done three things well that day because I know you have. And you should know too.

how-free-writing-can-free-your-mind

How Free Writing Can Free Your Mind

creativity, self-love, songwriting

My dad is an avid journaler, who has a stack of red, hardcover notebooks that date back to when we lived in Russia, and, though my parents never taught me the importance of journaling or introspection, I have always seen them practice it. To this day, my dad sits down every night to write at least one page in his journal. My mum writes like she lives – sporadically, in great bursts of enthusiasm.

My journaling practice started early on but wasn’t consistent. It had more to do with my obsession with pretty notebooks – I had stacks upon stacks of spiral notebooks, sketchbooks, diaries with locks that I kept losing the keys for. I usually started the notebooks with a lengthy introduction of who I was – my favourite colour (purple), my favourite book (‘The Secret Garden’), my favourite film (‘Spirit’ or ‘Home Alone’), and then promptly forgot they existed. I still have all those notebooks in a box in my bedroom. I’m a hoarder at heart, I guess.

What started as a hobby that I wasn’t all that committed to, became a lifeline when I was a teenager. I remember anxious nights before school, anticipating eating my lunch in the girls’ toilets or spending breaks hiding in the library. I remember the comments the teachers made about how my uniform was not the right shade of green, and how respectful they were to my mother when they thought her accent was German, and how swiftly their faces changed when she told them it was Russian. Filled with frustration, anxiety, and loneliness, I spent nights journaling.

Somewhere down the line, those midnight journals turned into morning pages and bullet journals, but the purpose is the same – purge whatever’s holding me back and stressing me out, write down my thoughts to understand them, own up to other thoughts I didn’t even know I had. It’s a practice that has always sustained me, but I have made another discovery recently, which has changed my life and my writing: free writing.

I was reading ‘Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women‘ by Mirabai Starr, a book given to me by one of my spiritual friends. Mirabai writes about female mystics and how we should implement their wisdom in our daily lives, offering writing prompts at the end of most chapters. Her writing prompts follow the rules of free writing by Natalie Goldberg, which you can find here. The main idea is: time yourself while writing and write as fast as your hand can move and your mind can think. Don’t edit yourself. Not on the page, not in your head.

I was reading ‘Wild Mercy’ after coming home, feeling uprooted and out of whack. I spent a week feeling at a complete loss, and the only thing that helped was talking to friends. Even the morning pages weren’t cutting it – I felt I wasn’t being honest with myself anymore, I could feel I was suppressing something but I wasn’t sure what. In short, I felt stuck.

But then I sat down with one of the writing prompts Mirabai Starr suggested: “What do you want from the Holy One? Write a letter to your Beloved, stating your demands.” I’m often sceptical about anything that has to do with God, after having been to a humanistic school and grown up in a mostly atheistic family (apart from when my mum lit candles to help my brother or me pass an exam). But for this exercise, I let go of judgement. I just wrote. And it all spilled out.

I wrote about why I felt like the ground was disappearing underneath my feet, I wrote about what I wanted the Universe to take away from me, like my anxiety, stress, the want to be liked and loved by people I don’t even care about. And it was stuff I’d been holding back in my other writing, but setting a timer for ten minutes and not stopping until I finished, stopped that inner censor from creeping up. I’d been talking about our inner censors for a long time now, so I was surprised to find out I still hadn’t banished mine. I’ve been keeping up that free writing practice for over a week now, and it’s made its way into my morning pages, my lyrics, my academic writing. I’ve been writing more easily and honestly.

If you want to try free writing, here are some writing prompts to get you started:

  • What are my values? What would my life look like if I lived it accordingly?
  • What do I believe to be true about myself? Which of these beliefs are limiting? How will they affect my life if I act as if they’re true? Why are they not true?
  • What does living with intention mean to me?
  • What emotion am I trying to avoid in my life? What do I think will happen if I allow myself to feel it?
coming-home-is-hard

Coming Home Is Hard and That’s Fine Sometimes

self-love

Last week, I returned home. After two months of hungover walks in Treptower Park, drawn-out breakfasts with friends, and spaces filled with music, patchouli incense, and poetry, I came back to my childhood home to spend time with family, record new music, and self-isolate.

After having been sent off by three of the most radiant, loving people I’d ever met after a massive breakfast together and a loud Uber ride full of hugs and I will miss you’s, I arrived at a train station in Aachen to find my dad waiting for me with a coke and a banana. It was a bit of an anticlimactic welcome when he sprayed my hands with alcohol before hugging me. “You sure you don’t have corona?” he asked. “Not at all,” I replied.

I had this vision of what being home would be like – a little like ‘Walden’. In Belgium, where lockdown is still in full force, I imagined I’d fill my life with contemplation, long walks, and writing. Even though I was gutted I had to say goodbye to my friends and a city that had taught me so much, I was also looking forward to all the deep insights I would have in my hometown.

Instead, I had massive FOMO. All I could do on that first day was imagining the excitement I was missing in lockdown Berlin. To ground me, I wrote down a list of challenges for my stay in Belgium. What was I gonna do to make my time here worth it? I wrote down so many goals it ended up stressing me out more. I tried meditating in the morning to ease my anxiety and ended up crying for an hour before leaving the bedroom. All the while, I was terrified of picking up the phone and calling my friends to offload. All these thoughts are first world problems after all.

It was a weird shift being back home with my parents. Everything I did – from how strong I drank my coffee to the weird itch behind my left ear – seemed scrutinised and analysed. “Why do you wanna go back to Berlin?” my mum asked. And when I told her, she replied: “We’ll see about that,” as if I hadn’t moved out of the house almost three years ago and was waiting for her seal of approval. Which I was! Every small comment set me on edge, and in just one week, my journal went from talking about how happy and centred I felt to how small and unsure of my choices I had become. The walls I had carefully constructed around myself in Berlin had started crumbling, and I was letting everything in again – the doubt, the anxiety, the stress.

I wanted to come to everything from a place of love, but, increasingly, I had started to come to everything from a place of fear and insecurity, including my music. My practice sessions became regimented and timed, and if I didn’t accomplish what I’d set out to do, I considered the day a failure. Even though I had more time than I did in Berlin, where I was working, studying, making music, and spending time with friends, my days here seemed busier and I collapsed in bed at eleven after a full day of to-do lists. I hadn’t really laughed in a week. I snapped at my parents. But I did make a kickass apple cake last Tuesday, which was ace.

But yesterday, a friend called me and she had that warm, radiant voice that made me light up. She was watching the sunset at Tempelhof and thinking of me. And she said that coming home to her parents made her dislike who she was with them, and I exclaimed: “Yes, me too!” It’s like a fight you can’t win. You’re always going back to that person you’re trying to escape. And it’s not your mum or your dad, it’s you and that unfortunate picture where you look like a 12-year-old boy that your mum has hung on the wall in the hall.

Maybe being here is not going to be the contemplative practice I’d imagined, but it is a spiritual practice nonetheless. It is not going to be the glorified, romantic spiritual journey of walking in the woods (what woods?) and writing in solitude. It is going to be a tug of war with my parents about my every decision, I am going to question my ideas and to doubt myself many, many times over the next month. But maybe that will make me stronger than a solitary retreat ever could.

I came here feeling rooted in love and community, with the idea that I had found what I had been looking for as an artist, as a friend, and as a woman. Now, that feeling of rootedness feels like a distant memory. I guess it’s because we can’t run from ourselves. And coming home means coming face-to-face with yourself in the most confrontational way.

Usually, this knowledge makes me feel overwhelmed. But this time, I’m going to take the time to acknowledge this feeling. I want to take it in, think about it, wallow for a little, and maybe write some songs about my parents and my teenage years. Then I’m gonna let it go. All because the good feeling I talked about, that light that exists inside of all of us… I want it to shine here too. And that’s why I can’t run back to Berlin just yet. Because I’m home. And I’m dealing with it.