The dream was clear: leave the mountains, hit Nashville, and climb the charts. For years, West Virginia’s own Cassidy Dickens was the quintessential over-achiever, ticking off every box on the path to Music City success. Get the good grades, do the hard work, along with the familial push to “do something big.” But after six years in the neon glow of Tennessee, the glitz wore off, revealing an industry that felt “transactional, surface-level, and lonely.” Dickens, who had built a life on the pursuit of “making it,” suddenly found herself staring at the precipice of a devastating realization: the life she had constructed with the comfortable relationship, managing the city hustle and the success, was lacking something that really mattered.

Her new single, “Lanterns,” is the sound of an artist choosing self-preservation over an almost-perfect compromise. Inspired by a tearful return to the Mountain State and a winter of radical self-honesty spent “hibernating in a trailer” on her grandparent’s property, the song is a definitive step away from the career and relationship ‘almosts’ that haunt every big dreamer. It’s a raw, beautiful accounting of shutting out the world’s noise to finally hear one’s own inner voice and a testament to building a career in West Virginia.

We discussed her newest single “Lanterns” and her thought process.

BB: You state that “Lanterns” is about what happens when you “step away from everything familiar—the noise, the expectations, the almosts.” Can you elaborate on the kind of “noise” and “expectations” you felt compelled to distance yourself from, and how physically or metaphorically stepping away enabled you to write this song?

The inspiration for Lanterns came from a pivotal season when I was questioning pretty much everything about how I thought my life might go.

Growing up in southern WV, I was an over-achiever. I got the good grades, won the contests, worked really hard, and had a family who encouraged me to be successful. I heard a lot of, “You can do something big with your life, you just need to leave West Virginia. You need to get yourself to Nashville.” So for years, my idea of “making it” was contingent on hitting certain metrics, leaving home, and moving to the city.

I finally made it to Nashville in July of 2017. For the first few years, I absolutely loved it. Nashville is a town full of big dreamers and hard workers, which was super inspiring at first.

But as time went on, I found that the inner workings of the larger music industry were sort of antithetical to how I wanted my life to feel. Once the daze of the neon and glitter wore off, a lot of the things you’re expected to do to be part of the scene there felt transactional, surface-level, and lonely for me. 

People churn in and out often, so establishing long-term friendships can be tough. Even after 6+ years there, I didn’t really feel “at home.” I realized this idea of “success” I’d built up in my head didn’t actually fit who I was as a person or the way I wanted to live my life. 

I was desperately trying to make all of these expectations fit. I’d invested a lot of time into finding work and friends in Nashville. I’d poured my heart into trying to make that long-term relationship work. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right. 

This all came to a head when I came through WV on tour in the summer of 2023. It was the first time I’d seen many of my friends and family members for years. My eyes filled with tears almost as soon as I crossed the state line. I felt whole in a way I couldnt explain, even as I spent the weekend answering all the same questions: “How’s Nashville? Do you love it there? Are you and so-and-so getting engaged any time soon?”

I came back from that trip feeling like my world had been rattled. The blinders had come off. I couldn’t pretend that the life I was building in Tennessee made sense anymore.

At the same time, I realized that a lot of what I WAS craving—deeper relationships, a sense of community, connection to nature, a slower pace, a more sustainable approach to my creative career—was waiting for me right here in the Mountain State. And that all the stories I’d once believed about needing to leave home to be successful as an artist simply weren’t true. 

I felt really convicted by this idea of returning to my roots, detaching from “the way things are done” in the larger music industry, and carving out a life and career path that felt more like me. 

To make a long story short, I ended the relationship, packed up my house in Tennessee, and found myself in a state of limbo for a while. I spent that winter hibernating in a trailer on my grandparent’s old property in Raleigh County, WV, getting radically honest with myself about what I really wanted out of life, and answering a lot of the scary questions that we all have to ask ourselves at a certain point—about who we want to be, what our higher purpose really is, those sorts of things. It was in that in-between space that Lanterns came about.

BB: Why was embracing that sense of darkness or uncertainty—as opposed to seeking light immediately—necessary for this process of self-discovery? What did you find in that space that you couldn’t see before?

I think “seeking light immediately” was what I’d done for my entire early 20s. Instead of sitting in discomfort, misalignment, or pain until I found a real solution, I craved a “happy ending” and evidence that I was making the right choices in life. This pushed me to hustle and rush through life in a way that left me feeling unfulfilled and empty for a lot of years, despite looking successful on the outside. 

So I knew I couldn’t just slap a bandage on my discontent this time. Some part of me just recognized that I needed to sit in the muck for a while. I needed to shut out the noise of the world so I could hear finally tune into what my own inner voice was trying to tell me. 

When I talk about this time, people assume I was depressed. And there was a little bit of that, for sure. But it was actually really beautiful. It was the first I’ve felt genuinely at peace. I learned how to just be—how to like myself outside of any achievements, how to slow down and cherish life’s quiet moments.

On the other side of it, I feel so much more grounded and centered. I’ve fallen back in love with making music again, in the way I loved it back at the beginning my career. I’ve been writing more freely in these last couple of years. I think my songs are starting to sound more like me again, instead of feeling so boxed in by what was deemed marketable in the Nashville market. My return to home has really been a return to self and a recalibration of what really matters.

BB: You mentioned  moving away from the “almosts.” In the context of the song, what do these ‘almosts’ represent, and how does the single act as a resolution or a definitive step away from those near-misses in life, love, or career?

For me, it was almost building a life in Nashville. Almost staying in a relationship that was comfortable but not totally aligned. Almost setting for this entire path in life that would have checked a lot of the boxes I thought I needed to check, but felt wrong for me deep down.

It’s hard to let go of something that almost works. If you find a pair of shoes you love, and you try them on, and they’re three sizes too big or too small, you’re not going to try to walk around in them. But if they’re technically the right size, but they just squeeze your toes a little? Or they’re a tiny bit more narrow or stiff than you might prefer? We’ll tell ourselves we can probably break them in and make it work. I’ve found love, friendships, and careers to be the same. No one talks about how hard it is to admit when something is 90% there but 10% off. But if you’re the kind of person whose soul aches for 100%, that 10% will haunt you. 

We all pour time, energy, love, sweat, and tears into the things we want out of life. Sometimes it’s worth it, and everything works out. Other times, we have to take a hard look in the mirror and be honest with ourselves that it shouldn’t be that hard all the time. We have to have the courage to walk away, so what’s really meant for us can fill that space. 

As I’ve shared this song, it’s been so beautiful hearing how others relate to it. I’ve gotten so many messages from people who say, “I’m going through a painful divorce, and this gave me peace that stepping away was the right decision” or “I just left my dream job, and my family thinks I’m crazy, but I know I’m meant to do something else with my life.”

Seasons of life where we’re going through turbulence and uncertainty can feel isolating. These aren’t the moments that make good content or soundbites. They’re messy and uncomfortable. But I think having the courage to move away from an “almost” is often the catalyst towards creating a life that’s deeply fulfilling and meaningful. 

BB: You cited Emily Dickinson’s words, “I am out with lanterns, looking for myself,” as a key inspiration. What about Dickinson’s perspective on solitude and self-reflection resonated with you as you were writing “Lanterns,” and how did those words shape the final narrative arc of the song?

I’ve always loved poets like Emily Dickinson and Mary Oliver, people who write about how the beauty of stillness and the serenity of nature and the bittersweet aching of life all intertwine. 

It’s funny, I’d read the letter that inspired Lanterns dozens of times earlier in my life. But reading it while healing a broken heart, deep in a holler in southern West Virginia, snowed in, surrounded by nothing but space and time… it hits different. 

I’d been looking for a way to write about what I was going through, but I was struggling because it felt kind of big and hazy and abstract. Dickinson’s line was like the spine that I could build the rest of the idea around. It was the “why” that, at that point, I hadn’t yet been able to articulate. 

BB: Lanterns” is a powerful personal statement. As a folk musician, how important is it for you to use the traditional storytelling nature of the folk genre to convey this deep, almost existential journey of meeting yourself again?

One of the reasons why folk music has always captivated me, and why it’s my genre of choice, is the depth to which it looks both inward and outward. I think sometimes we hear “folk music” and we think of straightforward story songs about characters or communities or social issues. Folk musicians are uniquely good at capturing moments and really getting to the root of what makes a story matter. And I love using it to write about the external people and places and experiences around me, for sure. 

But I think it’s important to use those skills of examination and storytelling to look at our own lives too. There’s something raw and beautiful about sort of flipping the camera around and using the structures of the genre to take a good look at yourself and your own life. For me, creating autobiographical music isn’t just a way to tell my story. It’s a way for ME to see myself more clearly and to make a little bit of sense out of life. 

It’s not something I think about consciously when I’m doing it. But to be sure, I’ve been heavily influenced by artists like Jone Baez, Janis Ian, even more modern writers like Lori McKenna. I think of songs like Diamonds and Rust or Tea and Sympathy, that take a really personal experience, add layers, and make something so private and precious into something sort of universally recognizable. There’s something so beautiful and innately human about that to me. It’s a quality I strive to emulate as a contemporary folk writer, for sure. 

BB: What can we expect next? 

Lanterns was the first song of a collection. I chose to release it in advance of the full album because I think it gets to the heart of what I’ve been up to lately, and it sets the scene for the music that’s coming next. 

Since I moved back to West Virginia, I’ve been writing a lot about everything we’ve talked about here—the breakup, the move, what it feels like to be home again, the power of community, the beauty of making peace with yourself, what it feels like to trust yourself and trust love again after a big fall. 

So I’m working on finishing up a new full-length album for release in 2026. I’m working with a West Virginia based producer, Zach McCord, which has been really incredible and inspiring in its own way. I’m deeply proud of these songs and this project, and I look forward to sharing the rest of it soon. 

Listen to “Lanterns” co-written by Zach McCord HERE.

Follow Cassidy on Instagram and Facebook.