An aimless, spontaneous act of creation. This is the gift I give myself for turning forty— a project I kept postponing again and again. As someone who rarely has a clear purpose when doing things, I’ve made music for many years without ever wanting to release a solo album. It’s not that I didn’t make music; I just never thought about who should hear it.

Five years ago, I made a wish for myself: to finish a solo record before I turned forty. I didn’t think about the details at the time— I simply wanted to complete the music. I didn’t expect that along the way I would end up doing even the mixing on my own. The time, money, and sheer volume of knowledge I had to absorb all far exceeded anything I had imagined.

I never set any goals, never decided when it should be done, what style it should take, or which instruments I would use. Don’t know the software? Learn it. Can’t play piano? Learn. Can’t play drums? Learn it on the spot. Don’t know mixing or production? Learn that too. Whatever needed learning, I learned— simply according to whichever problem I encountered next.

But when I finished it last spring, I felt an immense happiness. The process taught me so much. I decided to use a photo I took myself for the album cover, so it could become a fully complete version of “me.”

No gift from anyone can compare to the one you give yourself, or the promise you keep to yourself.

A Day without Time— a day when time is absent. It belongs to a world of one, undisturbed (cats allowed).

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