I came back to this country in Oct. of 2000. I’d been traveling the world, making my living as a musician. But I was lost. I’d hit rock bottom with poor, self-destructive choices. My mother had to pull me out of Guyana, South America, and bring me home.

Even though I had sung at Lincoln Center and on many of the major stages in Europe, when I came home without a pot, a penny or clothes to put on my back, the shame devastated my already damaged spirit. So I did the only thing I could at that time: I decided to play it safe. I recreated myself, putting the musician inside me aside. I began a career in education, and did what it took to make money and survive in America. In the process I became more and more fearful of living my dream: music.

Through every open window, in every church on any given Sunday, I heard voices from the soul that could lift you up beyond the clouds and set you down in a field of hope. And I cringed. My achievements became nothing. I buried my desire to sing, to perform, to step on a stage and be the guiding light…