Finding Your Way Back To The Songs That Matter
Remember Why You Started.
Maybe you remember it:
A song that cracked you open.
A song that said what you didn’t know how to say.
Perhaps there was a song that carried you when you thought you couldn’t keep going.
And somewhere in that moment, you made a quiet promise to yourself:
If I can ever give that gift to someone else, I will.
That’s the heartbeat behind all of this.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
The songs stopped coming so easily.
You find yourself staring at a half-finished verse you no longer believe in.
Your journal stays closed.
You get stuck in loops of overthinking — second-guessing every line.
You lost track of your own voice in the noise.
You try to write something meaningful, but it comes out forced.
Your voice sounds more like an imitation than an invitation.
And eventually…
The songs dry up.
The dream goes dormant.
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| “That growing pile of crumpled drafts That mocks you with a cruel laugh – Inspiration cast out by a cloud of self-doubt” |
| – “Thank You For Your Song” © 2024 Sean Shea Songs |
What That Silence Does to the Soul
When that creative connection goes dark, it hurts — not just because the writing is hard, but because you feel like you lost something sacred.
Left unaddressed, this disconnection doesn’t just rob you of finished songs.
It dims the spark that once lit you up from the inside.
It deepens a spiritual emptiness that gnaws at you.
It leaves a quiet ache that says: I know I’m meant for more than this.
And it isn’t just personal.
In a larger sense, when true voices go quiet, our culture grows poorer.
The world loses some of the medicine we need most:
Songs that heal. Songs that remember. Songs that awaken.
How We Got Disconnected
Here’s what I’ve seen, over and over:
We were taught backwards.
We were trained to focus on form before feeling.
Technique before trust.
We learned to copy, but not to listen,
To polish, but not to play.
Instead of being supported to listen for our own creative voice, we were taught to replicate someone else’s.
We were handed formulas, rules, and rubrics — as if you could dissect a frog and expect it to sing.
We lost touch with a shared cultural memory — the ancient wisdom of oral tradition.
Where music held grief, sparked joy, carried meaning.
Songs were born from stories, breath, rhythm, and ritual.
They connected us to each other, and to something greater.
And we lost the sacred thread of songwriting itself.
When that kind of connection fades,
we’re left with more than just creative frustration.
We’re left with a kind of homesickness.
A deep longing for something we can’t quite name.
A sense of belonging, of meaning.
And beneath that longing…
There’s grief.
Grief for the songs that never got born.
Grief for the voice that got silenced.
Grief for the creative spark that keeps getting buried beneath distraction, perfectionism, or fear.
Take a moment to let that sink in – just how deep that hurts. I know it’s not easy to sit with this, but it’s where the healing begins.
The deeper disconnection is this:
You got cut off from your own source.
From the place where songs used to rise up unannounced — like dreams, like prayers, like streams springing up from deep in the earth.
Disconnection from your original creative current.
What You May Have Tried (That Didn’t Really Help)
If you haven’t sufficiently dulled the pain with the many readily available distractions, you’ve likely tried some of these fixes:
- Tips and tricks from endless YouTube videos
- Copy-paste prompts that promise to “spark inspiration” but don’t move you
- Good old-fashioned music theory books
- Paint-by-numbers DIY songwriting courses
They said to write more. Push harder. Check the boxes.
But truth is, a lot of what’s sold as “creative discipline” only deepens the disconnect.
You’re not trying to hit a quota.
You’re trying to make medicine.
And medicine doesn’t come from formulas.
It comes from presence. From honesty.
It takes time. It takes listening. It takes trust.
The Search for the Underground River
You long to reconnect with the source.
A deeper current to drink from.
“There is a river
Flowing under the ground
There’s a stream of elixir
From the Ocean of Sound
You can tap into the current
If you dig deep down in your soul” *— from “Underground River” by Sean Shea
There is a path back.
But it doesn’t look like what we’ve been taught.
The Way Back
Forcing it won’t get you there.
Neither will waiting passively for the Muse to knock.
It calls for going deeper.
You can begin right now — by inviting the possibility.
Imagine a different approach:
What would it feel like to trust with your creative source?
Not by pushing or performing, but by listening.
What would it be like to:
- Make space for stillness, deep listening, and emotional truth
- Quiet the inner critic and nurture a spirit of curiosity and play
- Clear obstacles like perfectionism and self-doubt — without getting stuck there
- Build simple, flexible structures to catch and shape inspiration
- Strengthen your relationship with the Muse — showing up in a spirit of faith, not force
Does this feel like a stretch? Good. That’s how you grow. Stay with it.
You’re not here to write more songs just to prove you can.
You want to write songs that feel alive — first to you, and then to those who hear them.
Songs that carry something true.
Songs that hold weight.
Songs that matter.
Because when we’re connected to that underground river—
We are not just making music.
We are making meaning.
If something in this speaks to you, let’s connect »
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Whether or not you ever work with me, I hope you remember this:
You’re not chasing something outside yourself.
The song you long to write is already within you.
And your voice — your true voice — was never meant to stay quiet.