New Years and a new song

The new songs that I've written lately are directly inspired by the job I have. The ever travelling, ever on-the-move management consultant's life. As new year comes I thought back to this job on a train from Sprinfield Illinois to Chicago asking myself what I wanted from life and this question will hopefully be answered at home.

Once again I find myself packing to get on a plane. This time though it's for a happy cause. Home. The time of year when families across the world come together and old fights are forgotten and new ones emerge. Who's going to take the car out tonight? Who gets to have the first freshly made dosa? Who gets to watch their tv show? Who gets to tell someone that he/she has put on some weight and, consequently, who gets to sulk for the entire evening about his/her midriff?
But this is blood, isn't it? Ultimately, the hugs, the backslaps and the familiar, colloquial banter makes the house you once grew up in become a home again. My rosewood cot that I still sleep in is the most comfortable bed in the world. The swing on the verandah is still the best place to have a morning cup of chai before my music teacher comes home. Tamil starts to roll of the tongue a little more easily than one imagined. It all takes about 30 seconds to be comfortably and securely home.
Where you can re-imagine your life. Going home will let me just think about and rewind my life so far, the choices I made, stupid or otherwise. More importantly, it well let me think about the future, my future. At the end of the year, I find myself 26 years old, living in New York, with a job that is stimulating and challenging that I enjoy and that gets me to travel all over the country. At the same time, it is painfully obvious that music is taking a back seat and that I have to ration my time with those who are closest to me, alienating me more from the life I once had and the life I actually wanted. My reconciliation of both lives has been less than successful.
Every Sunday when I get on the plane I become a different person. The go-getter, the management consultant who will do anything for her clients.

But then the dawn of Friday breaks and the most precious thing is to have that boarding card in my hand that says Minneapolis/Chicago/Tuscon (insert city of your choice) to New York Laguardia.
In New York I am ecstatic in the studio writing music or on a stage singing. Nothing could make me happier. But it would almost be inhuman to say that I didn’t miss my friends and a little bit of social life. I try to squeeze that in between studio sessions and meal times. I finally feel like I’m in my own skin, I feel confident, comfortable and pleased to call myself a musician. And then Sunday rolls around again and I put my consultant face on and am back on a plane before I know it, leaving music, friends, love and life behind for another week. Realistically, I’ve asked myself, how long can I keep an insanity like this going?

That is what I need familial help with. They will talk me through every situation, put their heads together for hours and days to get me to a place where I can be comfortable with my choices—to give me a plan. They will give me support I need. To be able to cry about things I'm unhappy about (mum) and to work them out logically and sensibly (dad), to make snide remarks about the job, men, colleagues and clients (brother dearest), to swoon over movie stars and bitch and moan about boyfriends (aunts) and to just chill out, not worry and laugh at silly jokes (uncles and grandfather). And after many a cathartic session I hope to get back on the plane with an idea. A clearer picture perhaps. And definitely a slightly less tortured version of my 2008 self.