Photo courtesy of Shannon Earl

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was in third grade when I wrote my first song. I don’t remember what it was about, exactly, but it had all the hallmarks of an Ava Earl piece - longing, imagination, hopeless romance. Much like running, another life-long passion, it felt freeing to create music.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was my freshman year of high school. I played my biggest crowd to date and opened for then-up-and-coming pop star Maggie Rogers. I sang a couple of wrong lyrics and played a few wrong notes, but no one seemed to notice. I was presenting myself truthfully and, not for the first time, was met with a kind and listening audience.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was a year later, when I first attempted actual banter. I told a true story about the inspiration for my song, and made the audience cringe and laugh and applaud when I had finished. After years of practice, that night my stage presence felt natural, like something I was made to do. Singing became like breathing; something I did constantly, not always thinking about it.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was the first time I recorded music with a band. It was my fourth time in a studio but this felt different. It was as if the music were weaving itself around me, wrapping me tightly in a cocoon of creation - my music imbued with the beauty and talent of everyone I was working with. I truly learned what it was like to create in that moment, and I swore I had never been happier. I thought to myself, “I could do this forever.”

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was at cross country practice, when a male teammate asked me why I was self-promoting “so much.” Why would I not pour everything into something I loved, something I was proud of? The answer felt so obvious for me, that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought or if I was being obnoxious. I would suffer greater embarrassments to be heard.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was when my sibling looked me in the eyes and told me how much they loved my new song. Usually my mom would be the first to hear it, but it was a present and I wanted to run it by somebody trustworthy without ruining the surprise. Most songs I write for myself, but giving a song away places an extra weight and I wanted it to be great. Even if I just played songs for my family, I knew I would always write music.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was when a girl referred to me as a “campus celebrity” in college. There is nothing I would rather be known for.

I’m looking forward to more of these moments; times in my life that underscore what I knew when I wrote that first song: that I am doing exactly what I was meant to do.