Awhile back, I heard about a mysterious songwriters retreat run by one of my favorite musicians. I submitted an essay and a song but didn’t quite get in. A couple weeks before the retreat I was offered a cancellation alternate spot but could not go because it was an impossible time to step away from my startup. A few emails, a bunch of planning, and a year later and I was in!
I flew into New York City with a bag and a guitar and was quickly humbled by the buskers at Grand Central. I hopped a train upstate and had no idea what to expect. I got off at an empty platform and waited while the fading train rumble gave way to the semi-silence of the summer wind through the leafy trees. A driver eventually picked me up and we drove up the hillside to an old stone monastery on bluffs overlooking the river where we would be writing and playing music for the next week. What did I do to deserve this honor I wondered and will I hold my own in a group full of songwriters?
The week that I shared there was like a good song. Sometimes the only way to convey it is to experience it. It is amazing what happens when you take away all distractions and then bring a group of people together who all believe that one shared purpose is really important. For that reason alone, I recommend a retreat. We would workshop in the great hall and sit together at long wooden tables for amazing meals sourced from what was grown and raised on site.
When I was stuck on a verse, I took it for a walk writing a few lines from the middle of the hedge maze out back or next to one of the many historical ruins that I came upon in the woods. Walking around the forest with my guitar, I would hear others and pause to listen a bit or sometimes join them with some feedback or collaboration. If this all seems overwhelming, it somehow felt very casual at the time.
Writing a song that matters is often about digging deep and dealing with the hard stuff. The monastery had no locks on any doors. There is community in understanding that we all have challenges and scars that burden us. One of my favorite places to write was from this empty gazebo hidden by bushes on top of one of the cliffs over the river:
I never did make it to morning yoga, but I did run miles of trails each day before another breakfast at the Hogwarts tables. Saying good bye and going back to the city and regular life afterward was something of a transition. I got some songs out that I had been stuck on for awhile and more came over the following months. I hope to one day return…