Mike Glendinning’s Strum Life

So, I was grabbing lunch with a friend, and he drops this: "You should just put your music experience in a bottle and share it!" It kind of stuck with me.
 I've had websites before, but this one's different. It's not just about showing off my stuff. I really want to help other people out. Creativity is my thing, but helping you with your creativity? That's what I'm excited about.

If I'm honest, I shudder to think where I'd be if I hadn't finally wrestled procrastination to the ground. For too long, it held me hostage, whispering excuses and fueling my avoidance. I used to treat "getting to it" like a monster under the bed, preferring to numb the anxiety instead.
  Then, something shifted. Someone called me "Type A," a label that felt utterly foreign. I, who used to let tasks linger, now attack my to-do list with a newfound urgency. It's like ripping off a band-aid – swift and surprisingly satisfying.
 The root of my procrastination? Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of inadequacy, fear of stepping outside my comfort zone. But I recently heard a powerful truth: "What you fear the most is where your treasures are." That resonated deeply. Now, I see fear as a compass, pointing me toward the very things I need to confront to grow.

When Words Fail, Colors Sing. Sometimes, the right hue speaks louder than any phrase. My mind paints in vivid strokes, a symphony of emotions that words can't quite capture. Frustration mounts when I force lyrics, each attempt dulling the melody. Instead, the purity of a scale, the raw emotion of an instrumental, echoes the people and places etched in my memory. These wordless compositions become personal soundtracks, each note a memory, a journey. This is my creative process laid bare: life as my blank score, ready to be filled with the colors of experience.

A counselor suggested I comfort my 5-year-old self, but I feel my 19-year-old self is the one truly needing a hug. That year was a whirlwind of disillusionment. Role models faltered, my family life crumbled, and my entire world shifted. It was the catalyst for years of addiction and depression. My sister urged me to seek therapy then, and I deeply regret not heeding her advice. I often wonder how different my life would be if I'd started healing sooner. Despite the pain, I believe these experiences, however difficult, have served a purpose. They've given me a perspective on life that many never see.

Ever been trapped in an elevator with a stranger, and they hit you with the dreaded "So, what do you do?" If your response is a rambling mess, you've just failed the 10-second rule. It's not about regurgitating your resume; it's about dropping a sonic boom of intrigue.
Forget "uh, a bunch of stuff." That's a one-way ticket to Blandsville. You need to be a laser beam, not a fog machine.
Here's my weapon of choice: "Blues rock guitarist, film composer. I also ignite creative souls, on and off stage."
See that last part? That's the hook. It's the "what the hell does that mean?" that makes them lean in.
Yeah, I used to sling guitar lessons. But I'm leveling up. I'm diving deep into life coaching, specializing in pulling creatives out of the abyss. Think of me as your creative defibrillator. If you're stuck in a rut, consider me your personal demolition crew.