Finding My Own Second Verse in Music

For you, maybe you're wondering if it's too late.

If you're second verse is just a fantasy, let me say it clearly

one more time: It's not too late.

You're not too old.

And your best lines might still be unwritten.

Welcome to Second Verse, the podcast celebrating artists who turn — or return

— to music after a different journey.

I'm so glad you're here.

Thank you for joining me for the special solo episode.

After a few really powerful conversations with fellow artists on this podcast so

far, I thought it might be time to share a bit of my own story, not because I

have it all figured out — I certainly do not — but because like a lot of people

I've been talking with — and maybe like you — I reached a point where I thought,

Wait a second.

I think there might still be more music in me.

So this is a story of how I found my second verse in music, which like any

good song, builds on the first verse and chorus that led me to where I am today.

It's also about what I've learned from the guests who've joined me

on this show and how their stories helped me better understand my own.

Whether you're an artist or just somebody wondering if it's too late to go back to

something you loved, this one is for you.

Like a lot of us, I was drawn to music from a young age.

I loved my family's record collection.

Singing songs was a feature of my early elementary school classes, which

I constantly brought home with me.

And I convinced my parents to buy me a mail order guitar

because I was obsessed with it.

Unfortunately, it would be several more years and a different guitar

before I would actually learn to play.

But the passion was clearly there at an early age.

My first serious instrument was trumpet at age 9, and for a long

time I thought maybe I'd end up in a symphony or a pit orchestra.

I loved learning trumpet, excelling at it, and joining high school

band even as a sixth grader.

And eventually I learned all the brass plus a few woodwinds, and so I

thought that was my musical future.

But as I wrapped up high school, my path shifted.

My spiritual life was leading me somewhere new and I headed off to

study Bible and Educational Ministries.

Still.

I joined the college symphonic band and basically lived in the music department

whenever I could to the point where there were a lot of music majors who

thought I also was a music major.

The turning point came the summer after my freshman year when I revisited the guitar.

In fact, this was my second guitar that I hadn't even brought to campus.

I prayed for the skill to learn to play it.

I was inspired by guitar-led worship gatherings.

I'd experienced all year as a university student, and I loved being able to

play an instrument where for the first time, I could accompany myself.

In fact, that whole summer I played so much that I put band-aids on my fingers

in order to keep playing past the point of pain while I worked to build up calluses.

I'd found my new musical passion and I wasn't looking back.

From then on, music was a fixture in my personal and professional life.

I've spent my whole adulthood in church music ministry — at

times on staff, sometimes a guest artist, and sometimes volunteering.

I also started writing original songs, many of them for worship

or to tell stories of faith.

So music was a constant, but it was like it was waiting to become something more.

I didn't know how to dream any bigger with it.

In my mind, you were either a household name or you gave your music away,

just hoping people were blessed by it.

And while I was — and am — deeply grateful to be in ministry,

I also had this quiet ache.

Is there more to this than I'm seeing?

But I wasn't looking for big change.

In fact, it was one day while I was at the vet with my cat for just

a regular wellness checkup, just waiting there, scrolling Facebook

like we all do, that one of those perfectly targeted ads found me.

It spoke directly to that stuck feeling that I had.

The belief that unless you were famous, music was just

something you did "on the side."

And that ad's invitation was simple.

A free five day challenge.

So I clicked, I joined, and something shifted.

That challenge introduced me to a community of artists who were dreaming

again — not in a pipe dream kind of way, but in a real, practical, inspiring way.

People of all ages and life stages who were saying, "I still wanna make

music. I still have something to say."

Eventually I attended an in-person event in LA and I remember sitting

there thinking, "I'm not too late. I'm just getting started."

Of course, inspiration is one thing.

Execution is a whole different story.

Approaching music as a professional meant facing some hard truths.

I had years of experience: writing, leading, performing, even live sound

production, but I also knew I didn't yet have all the skills or tools to produce

and release music at a professional level.

So I had to put in the work, and maybe more importantly, I had to

decide I was worth the investment.

And that meant avoiding the whole DIY YouTube rabbit hole, and

instead finding real mentorship.

It meant learning new tools in tech.

Thankfully, I love tech.

It meant saving for gear that would let me create with excellence.

And it also meant battling that internal voice that kept saying, "You're too late,

you're too all over the place. What makes you think anyone wants this from you now?"

So what does my second verse look like today?

I. Well, I'm writing more.

I'm singing more.

I'm producing and releasing more music than I ever have before, and I'm building

real relationships with other creatives.

Not just trading likes, but sharing ideas, collaborating, co-writing, encouraging one

another, learning and growing together.

I'm working on music that I love with people I respect, and connecting

with listeners in ways that feel deeply personal and honest.

And for me, it is still just one part of all the creative things I do.

And success for me now?

Well, it's not about virality.

It's not even about constant output.

It's about connection.

The connection with collaborators, the connection with people who hear

a lyric and say, "That's me." The connection with my own sense of purpose.

This... this is my second verse, and honestly, I think it

might be better than the first.

And along the way, I've learned so much from the people I've interviewed

right here on Second Verse.

Rick Molloy reminded me that you don't have to be perfect to

start — and sometimes we are the only ones holding ourselves back.

Rose Calkins brought so much heart to the idea that music can reconnect

us to what we thought we lost.

Jack Marchant showed how persistence and creativity can overcome limited resources.

I deeply resonated with that.

And Bob Strachan's story — grief, healing, neurodivergence, artistry just reminded

me of how powerful this medium can be when it comes from an honest place.

Their stories helped me better understand my own.

Each of them is writing their second verse too in their own way, and I'm

so honored to be part of that chorus.

One thing I didn't expect to become such a major theme in this

journey, though?

Discovering that I'm neurodivergent.

I've always had what I called "serial obsessions." I'd hyperfocus on

something, go all in, and then burn out and move on to the next thing.

I blamed myself for being inconsistent or procrastinating or feeling

overwhelmed by things I used to handle.

And then I saw a TikTok — because of course — and it hit

me like a freight train.

So I did what many of us do: deep dive research and eventually get a diagnosis.

Finding out in my 40s that I had ADHD didn't change my creativity.

But it explained so much of it.

It reframed how I thought about my whole life, and it reminded me that the way

my brain works definitely is different.

And that's amazing.

What others might think is broken... nah.

It's designed for imagination, innovation, and artistry.

It's not a flaw, it's part of the melody.

So where does this all lead?

Well, for me, more music, more collaboration, and

more episodes like this one.

And for you, maybe you're somewhere in the middle, maybe

you're wondering if it's too late.

I probably have said what four times?

You're not too late, you're not too late.

So if you're second verse is just a fantasy, let me say

it clearly one more time:

It's not too late.

You're not too old.

And your best lines might still be unwritten.

Don't wait for everything to, you know, make sense.

Just start.

Even a whisper is a verse.

So here's the Spotlight Moment.

Coming back to music isn't about picking up where I left off.

It's about writing something new with all the life I've lived since.

And here's One Takeaway.

Ask yourself, what would success feel like today?

Not five years ago, not 10 years ago.

Today.

And then this is your Second Verse Spark.

What dream have you been quietly carrying?

Could this be the moment you bring it back into the light?

Well, if this resonated with you — if you're finding your way

back to music or creativity, or any part of yourself you thought was

gone — I'd love to hear your story.

DM me, email me, tag me in your post.

Leave an audio message through secondversepod.com.

Let's build a community of artists writing their second verse together.

And if you haven't already, I hope you'll listen back to the first four episodes.

Every guest has brought something beautiful to this conversation.

Thank you for spending this time with me today.

Keep singing, keep writing, keep creating, and I'll see

you next time on Second Verse.

To wrap up today's episode, I'd like to share a song of mine that

really dives deep into this emotional experience of reclaiming one's life.

So stick around and listen to "It's Your Story Now."