05 May Ch ch ch changes

I started to fall out of love with my music career about 5 years ago. It was a gradual falling out, not one terrible show, or experience, more like a hundred teeny tiny pin pricks in the vessel that held my belief in what I was doing.   I found that getting on stage became an effort in just holding the vessel together, and that any moment it might just disintegrate completely and I would be washed away with the pieces.

There are a few moments in my life that have challenged me to redefine who I am. Not who I am to others, but to myself, that relationship, the one with me, that is most important. When I was in my late teens and early twenties I found my home on the road. My trusty Subaru Outback was basically my main residence and I spent many hours adventuring throughout the western United States. I played music with various bands, met some amazing people and found inspiration in those long hours of solitary travel. I LOVED those hours. I could drive all day, all night, I never tired of it. I am not a fan of flying, because just getting from point A to point B is not as interesting as finding a road less travelled and making that spontaneous decision to turn the wheel and travel it.  I once drove through a meteor shower during a late night passage from Denver to Salt Lake City via the vast emptiness that is Wyoming.. poetry for days.  Fast forward 15 years and I share my story with you as the suburban mother of 3, with a dusty guitar in the corner and nary a song in my head. The poetry of the meteor shower remains but I don’t need to sing about it and that’s okay.

Having children was one of those redefining moments for me. Maybe not my first child, as some of you may know, your first steps into the world of new parenting feel a little like being blown down the highway like a tumbleweed by a gust of wind that seems to come at you from all directions. I tumbled along still playing music, still trying to hold on to who I was before I was a mother, not doing it very gracefully but doing it all the same. Baby number two was when the wind blew me straight into a sturdy wall and I realized it was probably time to grow some roots and build that village I had always heard was so important. It took awhile. I’m awkward in person. The stage provided me with a safe distance from which to connect with people without actually having to “connect” with people. School events, play dates, neighbors, checkers at the local grocery store, this was the most repeat contact I’d had with people since I was a kid. It was hard, it was scary, and it was isolating. Who am I in this strange and wild place!? I spent almost the first 4 years of my eldest child’s school career avoiding eye contact with people.. retreating with relief back into my safe space, a very sensible child friendly station wagon. Gone were the instruments and bags of clothes crammed in back and the odd assortment of musician friends who occasionally adorned the passenger seat.. in their place, backpacks, toys, petrified french fries, babies.

Almost 10 months ago we had our third child, a boy. I think of him as my happy pill. After a scare during an ultra sound and follow up tests to confirm he would be okay and I would indeed hold him in my arms, I let go of the fear of having a third child, a boy no less, and felt overwhelmed with happiness, and love. Remade again, the mother of a son. I also let go of that fragile vessel I had been keeping my music in. I don’t need it anymore. I spent many years putting my music out into the universe, it continues on. Right now I am my happiest being a mother, amongst the village of women I found when I let down my guard and opened my heart. I relish the volunteer hours at school where I get to watch my daughters unfold into the beautiful and weird people they will be one day. I have honest to goodness real smiles for the other mothers at school, who show up every day, even when its hard, I even know most of their names. I couldn’t have said that one year ago.

There is one thing that hasn’t changed, even in the midst of all the changes. Inspiration always strikes while I am driving in my car. I find my mind whirring with ideas. I am transported back in time to those endless highways with the windows down and some jangly, moody alt-country band coming through my speakers.  I could have an adventure, somewhere  new, burn up some asphalt and explore, I won’t today, but I could. There is freedom in knowing you could, even if you don’t.  But you know what I did do? I bought myself an old car, a car that embodies those adventures that I had, and will have again. Its a beautiful old navy blue Grand Wagoneer.. I named her Clem(as one does with vintage cars).  She is big enough for carseats, and extra friends.. there’s room for a tent in the back, or toys for the beach. She is going to take not just me, but all my babies on adventures together. And someday, she may even drive us through a meteor shower in Wyoming.

photo: Brian Kelley

Lux Vander Ark is a 35 year old mother of 3, wife to a rockstar who still makes her palms a little sweaty. She has a thing she calls Sparkle Brain, the unrelenting waves of creativity that washes over her quite frequently. After years of being a singer/songwriter, she decided that her sparkle brain would prefer to help other’s tap into their sparkle brains — and so she’s sharing a little bit of magic in her new event planning/creative consulting business called A Car Named Clem.