Have you ever felt like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice, staring into a vast unknown, uncertain of what lies beyond? I have. It’s a place where the familiar voices creep in – those whispers of doubt that say you’re not strong enough, not brave enough, not enough at all. Sometimes, those voices feel louder than anything else, and it’s tempting to listen, to let them hold you back.
Not Going to Listen is about refusing to let fear and insecurity make the choices for us. I wrote it as a declaration, a kind of anthem against the lies that try to tether us. In that space where we summon courage to take even one step forward, it’s a vow not to wait on the sidelines any longer.
In that place, I pray for courage, for strength, for the faith that can move mountains, even when everything inside is trembling. Because courage isn’t about erasing fear; it’s about not letting it have the final word. Let’s not listen to those voices anymore – join me in refusing to listen to the lies your insecurity tell you!
Making an album is full of special moments, none more so than when we recorded the group vocals on this song.
It was an evening in June when seven of us from my church gathered at Parc Arts in Treforest – a small, timeworn building that once housed a bustling congregation, the same church where Tom Jones had toddled off to Sunday school and the gifted composer Morfydd Owen once worshipped. Now it’s an arts centre run as an outreach project of the Presbyterian Church of Wales, nestled in the heart of ‘studentland’, near the University of South Wales, where the hum of history and student life converge.
As dusk settled, jackdaws chattered and nested in the eaves, their squawks mixing with our voices as we sang. That evening, I looked around at friends – people who’ve prayed, laughed, and stood beside me in so many unremarkable moments – and felt the quiet joy of seeing my son among them, his voice adding its own spirit to the sound.
In that moment, it struck me how sacred it is to belong to each other this way. Singing in that old space, surrounded by the echoes of past and present, felt holy one of those fleeting moments where the past meets the present, and maybe, just maybe, we touch the edge of eternity.
Not Going To Listen
On the edge
Of the great unknown
I don’t know what’s up ahead but it’s time to go
Close my eyes
Take a long deep breath
Summon up the courage to walk ahead
I’ve spent all my life trying to be stronger, stronger
but I’m not going to wait around here any longer, longer
I’m going to tell those insecurities
The lies they tell I won’t believe
No I’m not going to listen to them anymore
Give me strength
To make the change I need
Give me courage to press through the uncertainty
Give me faith
To see this mountain move
I won’t give up I’m clinging to this attitude
© Olwen Ringrose 202T