Dear Life, I mourn for a life I haven't lived.
a passage of mourning a dream that has not yet come to fruition.
8/13/20261 min read
I mourn for a life I haven’t lived yet.
A life where the stage feels like home, where highways replace routines, and every sunrise brings a new city to discover. I picture my girls beside me, learning not only from books, but from the world itself. Homeschooling them between soundchecks, museums, coffee shops, and long drives. Teaching them that courage isn’t something you talk about—it’s something you choose.
I imagine opening for artists I’ve admired for years, feeling the nerves before walking into the spotlight, knowing every small venue and every late night led to that moment. And one day, seeing my own name at the top of the marquee. Hearing a crowd sing back the words that once lived only in my notebook.
It’s not the fame I long for. It’s the freedom.
The freedom to create, to connect, to provide for my family by doing what I love. To show my daughters that dreams aren’t meant to stay dreams—they’re meant to be pursued with everything you have, even when the road is uncertain.
Sometimes that future feels so vivid I can almost touch it, and other times it feels impossibly far away. That ache isn’t sadness as much as it is hope. A reminder that part of me already knows where I’m trying to go.
Maybe that’s what longing really is—not grieving something that’s gone, but recognizing something your soul believes is possible.
Until then, I’ll keep writing the songs, playing the shows, taking the risks, and trusting that every step is leading me toward the life I’ve been dreaming of.
Because one day, I don’t want to tell my daughters to chase their dreams.
I want them to remember that they watched their mom chase hers.