I Never Thought I Could Write a Song. Then I Wrote Three
- Sarah Tian
- Mar 26
- 5 min read
Updated: Apr 21
I grew up loving music and listening to songs. I also learned the piano. But writing one? That was for other people — those with real talent, real training. The kind of gift you either have or you don't. I never once thought of myself as someone who could write a song.
Then one evening, I was reading a book. A sentence stopped me mid-page — the kind of line that lands in your chest before your brain catches up. And I thought: that's a song. So, I wrote one. It was a rough first draft — just feelings and phrases, nothing polished. Then I brought it to ChatGPT to help shape it into verses and choruses. I used Suno to bring it to life with music and vocals. Within an hour, I was listening to a finished song that started as a feeling I couldn't quite name.
Then I wrote another. And another.
This post is about those three songs — what inspired each one and what it felt like to create something I never thought I was allowed to make. But more than that, it's an invitation. If you've ever had a sentence, a feeling, or even a half-formed idea rattling around in your head, you're closer to making something real than you think.
This is the first song I wrote, edited, and produced using AI.
This song was inspired by a line from 鲁豫 Lu Yu's book 《岩中花述》 — a collection drawn from her podcast — where she writes: "To live is meaning itself."
We grow up believing life must mean something to be worth living. So, we search — desperately and earnestly — writing it in our hearts, carving it into our chest. We ask over and over, as if the right answer would finally give us somewhere to stand.
But one day, you let the question go. Not because you found the answer, but because the light fell across your hand. The smell of coffee drifted in, and your cold finally broke. Small things. Ordinary things. Things that meant nothing — and yet, were undeniably real. This song is not about finding meaning. It's about the moment you stop looking — and life quietly answers you anyway.
To live is meaning itself. No proof required. No explanation needed. Like breathing. Like sunrise. It simply happens.
This second song is inspired by my recent fascination and shock at what AI can do for us. From creating my first podcast to vibe coding my first app and writing my first song — we are truly living in "The Magic Era"!
For most of human history, a single lifetime wasn't enough. To become a doctor, a lawyer, a filmmaker, or a musician — you had to choose one path, commit to it for decades, and accept that everything else would remain a dream. Not anymore.
This song is about the moment you realize the rules have changed. The barriers between who you are and who you could be are thinner than you ever imagined. That voice in your head saying "I'm not qualified," "I'm not ready," or "I need more time" — that voice is running on an old operating system.
The Magic Era isn't about technology. It's about permission — the kind you give yourself when you finally understand what's possible.
Dream bigger. Then dream bigger than that. Because the only question left worth asking is:
What if it actually happens?
I was inspired to write this song after watching a debate about the question: "Is it more difficult to follow what most people do in life?"
You Say You're Just an Ordinary Person is a letter you write to yourself at 3 AM — when the noise of other people's expectations finally goes quiet. You're left alone with the question you've been avoiding:
Am I living my life, or someone else's version of it?
The song traces a journey most people recognize but rarely name out loud. The moment you chose the "safe" path, not because it was yours, but because it was crowded. The exhaustion of walking a road that was never built for you — every step heavier than it should be, the fog never lifting. Then, quietly, the turning point: closing your eyes and finally listening to the one voice that was always there.
But the outside world doesn't stay quiet for long. People watch. People talk. They call it wasted time. They say you'll come back. The hardest part isn't proving them wrong — it's realizing that you once said the same things to yourself.
This is not a song about becoming extraordinary. It's about something harder — unlearning the idea that ordinary is a default you fall into, rather than a choice you keep making. The real question was never how do I stand out? It was always do I know who I am when no one is watching?
By the end, the answer isn't loud. It's just one line, left hanging in the air:
A person who is anything but ordinary.
Not a declaration. A quiet arrival.
The Journey of Creation
Three songs. Twenty years of loving music. A few evenings of curiosity and a willingness to feel a little ridiculous.
We all know what it's like to hear a song that speaks your heart out — to press replay because someone, somewhere, put into words exactly what you were feeling. But listening to a song you wrote is something else entirely. It's the closest thing to hearing your own heart played back to you. AI unlocked an experience I never could have imagined: sitting there, listening to my music, singing my words, feeling something I didn't even know was possible. That alone was worth every awkward first draft.
I think we're entering an era where the line between creator and audience is dissolving. You can listen to a song that you wrote, watch something you imagined, and learn by building the thing you were curious about. Not because the tools are doing it for you, but because they've removed the barriers that used to stand between an idea and its expression.
You don't need permission. You don't need credentials. You just need a sentence that won't leave you alone, a question you can't stop asking, or a feeling you want to hear back in your own voice.
So here's my real ask: don't just read this and think that's cool. Open Suno. Open ChatGPT.
Write the worst first draft you've ever written. Let it be messy, awkward, and not quite right — and then watch what happens when you keep going.
The magic isn't in the technology. It's in the moment you stop saying I can't and start asking what if I did?
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As always, feel free to reach out to me at jytian188@gmail.com with any questions you have or anything else you'd like help with!
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