Every new year, after fireworks crack the sky, celebrations are finished, and playlists run on repeat, I choose something quieter. I step away. I unplug. I retreat. It is my personal pause button, an intentional moment to unwind and rewind, to find strength, direction, and focus for the year ahead. Those moments remind me of a phrase in Matt Redman's song that says, “When the music fades...”.
Music has a way of carrying us. It fills our days with rhythm, keeps us moving, and often masks the noise inside our heads. Life itself feels like a long soundtrack with deadlines drumming, expectations humming, achievements rising to crescendos, disappointments fading into minor keys. But once in a while, the most important thing is not the next song, but the silence after it ends.
When the music fades, what remains?
That question is at the heart of my annual retreat. I withdraw from the physical noise, emotional and mental clutter. The applause of last year, the criticism, the unfinished melodies of dreams that didn’t quite land. I let them all settle. Like a concert hall after the crowd has gone home, the silence feels strange at first. In fact, it is almost uncomfortable. Yet, in that quiet, truth speaks more clearly.
This retreat is not an escape; but an attunement. Musicians know that before a performance, instruments must be tuned. Strings too tight will snap. Too loose, and they lose their voice. In the same way, I use this time to tune my inner life, values, motives, habits, and hopes. I ask reflective questions like "What notes am I carrying into this year? Which ones need to be released? Which rhythm truly aligns with who I am becoming?"
There is also rest in this silence. Not the lazy kind, but restorative rest. I mean the kind of rest that heals worn-out chords of the soul. I revisit the year that just ended, listening carefully to its verses and refrains. Some moments were joyful harmonies; others were dissonant and unresolved. Instead of rushing past them, I sit with them. I learn from them. Reflection becomes my rehearsal.
As a motivation and music-centered practice, “When the Music Fades” reminds me that inspiration does not always shout. Sometimes it whispers. Direction often emerges not during the loudest moments of celebration, but in stillness. When external rhythms pause, inner clarity finds its tempo.
From that place of quietness, new melodies begin to form. Goals stop being noise and start becoming intentional compositions. I don’t rush to write a full symphony for the year; I focus on the opening notes, which are simple, honest, sustainable. The aim is alignment.
By the time I return from this retreat, I do not feel hyped; I feel grounded. I'm not driven by the beat of pressure, but guided by purpose. The music eventually returns with responsibilities, relationships, work, dreams, but now I engage it differently. I choose what I dance to. I choose what I ignore. I move with intention.
“When the Music Fades” is my reminder that silence is not empty, rather, it is full of wisdom. And every great song begins on silence, before the first note is ever played.
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