the price of sovereignty
what we lose when we choose it and what we gain
my daughter took this picture as i stood in the studio one last time.
a dream space. a hope for music and collaboration. a place i poured myself into, and now release.
i owned the studio for less than a year. today it closes, and i walk away carrying financial loss. on paper, it might look like failure, the sale of a building, the ending of a partnership, the unraveling of a dream.
but to me, it has become something else entirely: a mirror of old patterns, a teacher of boundaries, and a lesson in what it really costs to claim sovereignty.
i love how she captured the light coming in through the windows, reflecting the trees outside, as if to remind me that endings are also part of nature’s rhythm.
that room always felt like a cathedral to me, with its high walls, quiet reverberation, and the trees as stained glass windows shifting with the seasons.
when i first bought the studio, it was because i was following spirit. finn had sent me signs in dreams, nudges that this was the next step. i trusted those signs, even though i didn’t fully understand them at the time.
later, when i realized it was not sustainable, i remember crying and feeling the sadness of it all, the loss of relationships, the collapse of a model that was never going to work, and my own lack of clarity clouded by guilt and over giving. one of those final days, i went upstairs and sat, tears streaming down my cheeks, as i reached towards finn, begging him to tell me why.
why tell me to buy it if this is how it would end?
and then i heard him speak. i knew it was him because he used words i never would have used.
he said: you were mandated to buy this building.
those words have stayed with me.
sometimes the lessons we are given are not the easy ones. they are the painful ones, the ones that strip us bare so we can see what truly matters.
sometimes spirit mandates us to walk through fire, to carry what feels impossible, because only in that passage can the deeper healing take root.
when i purchased the studio, i carried a vision: collaboration, music, culture, community. but what unfolded was something different.
i had not fully thought through the expectations of how much i would give and how much i would receive. i chose to carry all of the financial liability and responsibility. at the time, i saw it as a gift, shouldering the building, the utilities, the taxes, believing that asking only for time in return would be enough. but the more i gave, the more i realized the balance was never there, and the more i found myself pouring in beyond what was sustainable.
i chose to do it as an opportunity to see what could unfold. but what i have now come to realize is that reciprocity is necessary for any venture to take root in bedrock and not in sand.
and i know i am not alone in this. so many of us give from guilt. we believe it is our responsibility to carry others along, to shoulder their unmet wounds, their silent expectations: you carry this, since i did not get my needs met when it mattered most as a child, it is your job to bear this burden for me.
many of us were taught this role from the time we were young. we learned to keep the peace, to meet needs that were not ours to meet, to make ourselves small so others could feel safe or cared for. and we repeat the pattern in friendships, partnerships, even business ventures. again and again, we over give: resources, energy, love. and we tell ourselves it is noble, when really it is unsustainable.
the studio became one more mirror of this pattern, an honest teacher showing me where imbalance lived, and where sovereignty was waiting to take root.
i had also bought for the studio a 1969 baldwin “model l” grand piano. it’s an instrument prized by jazz and classical pianists for its depth of tone, and i believed it belonged to that dream. when the studio collapsed, i thought i would sell it too.
but instead, as spirit would have it, the piano came home with me. only later did i realize it had been built the year after finn’s birth in november 1968, making it roughly his age.
1969 was also the year the rolling stones released their album, let it bleed, with the song you can’t always get what you want. that lyric has become the story of this season. i did not get the dream i thought i wanted, but i did receive what i needed: a return to myself, to soul, to music that is real.
in some way, it feels as if i finally have permission to play piano again now.
when i had bought my previous home piano, a brand new, shiny white kawai, with its gold lettering, finn was already sick with cancer. he questioned why i needed a piano like that, so glossy, so showy.
and after finn died, that shiny new piano sat unplayed. only now do i understand the truth he tried to point out in his subtle, loving way: what i needed was not something bright and polished to look at, but something i could touch, feel, and enter into. the old baldwin, with its beautiful sound and dings around the edges - just like me - gives me permission to sit down and play. it does not look like much, but it sounds amazing.
the other day in the shower, out of nowhere, the song it’s still rock and roll to me by billy joel, released in 1980 on the album glass houses, dropped into my head, and i knew it was from finn.
but i didn’t understand why at first.
then when i listened to the lyrics, i understood. joel wrote it as a pushback against the shiny trends of the 1980s, insisting that authenticity endures even when the world is chasing what looks new.
“everybody’s talkin’ ’bout the new sound, funny, but it’s still rock and roll to me.”
at its heart, the song tells me that no amount of shine can outlast the power of what is real. and that is where, in this fertile ground, i feel finn whispering still.
the lesson is the same as in the velveteen rabbit: that being worn, loved, and real is far more valuable than being shiny.
that baldwin has survived, endured, and now has come home from the studio dream to live with us. and that is the larger lesson of the studio too.
i may have made a shiny album during that partnership, but what remains, even if it is just me, my voice, my piano, and my guitars, is where the true magic lies.
our true vitality is within.
when we search outward, trying to prove ourselves, or show off to others that we are good enough, it often comes back to bite us. but when we return to what is real, to what has been loved into soul, that is where we find bedrock.
today, the studio closes.
what began as a dream, what became a teacher, is now an ending. i will take a loss, yes, but what i carry forward is far greater.
i carry the chance to see my own patterns clearly. i carry the chance to stop holding what was never mine to carry. i carry the chance to choose sovereignty.
this is the price of sovereignty: to close doors, even ones we dreamed of opening into magical new beginnings.
to walk away from imbalance, even when it hurts. to claim clarity, boundaries, reciprocity, as the soil of all that will grow next.
yes, sovereignty comes at a cost. but staying small, staying open to imbalance, costs far more.
today, i choose sovereignty.
and i wonder, as you walk through the thresholds in your own life: what are you being asked to release, and what deeper ground is waiting to hold you?
thank you for being here, it truly means the world. i love hearing your thoughts, if you feel called to comment.
i am a writer, speaker, and musician devoted to healing and embodiment. i share essays, poetry, and original music through venus consciousness. i’d love to walk this path with you. 💞
"So many of us give from guilt. We believe it is our responsibility to carry others along, to shoulder their unmet wounds, their silent expectations: you carry this, since I did not get my needs met when it mattered most as a child, it is your job to bear this burden for me."
Truth. And definitely true as well that we find ourselves through loss of what is shiny. It's this typical path in spirituality to seek and eventually realize, that what we thought we needed in the outside world, is actually what we hold within.
The shiny piano instead of the old piano. While the old piano has character, the shiny piano barely gets played. It makes us reflect on what we actually want right? Do we want glamour or fulfillment?
Death and love have their purpose. We can't gain without releasing.
That particular, Rolling Stones song– You Can’t Always Get What You Want – has become my mantra. So many times I request it on Alexa and turn it up loud!! Thank you for sharing and I wish you the best.