A tired, rainy, disjointed Wednesday evening here.
Told someone recently over a Texas-sized bar tab that I’m a musician who’s had to make a living doing other things. And when I rattle across a dog-eared photo of my children when they were sun-toasted little chiselers on the farm – they are now three remarkable adults who are thriving and peppered around the lower 48 – I am head-down, knees-bent grateful for the opportunities that tied me to a desk all those years. Took an all-or-nothing risk in my 30s going on the road with Bailey and came home embarrassed and empty, entirely stripped of my confidence. Worthless. Beaten. So I buried it in a cubicle for more than a decade, and what a perfect place to hide. Profoundly, my buddy Phillip once told me money and job security were the cruelest kind of self-punishment for having taken a chance and had it go so horribly wrong that I’d forever be afraid to take another.
Today I asked a colleague what she had planned when she was 21. She shrugged. She hadn’t known. Still doesn’t. I knew when I was 9. For decades sleep deserted me while I throttled myself because in a world where so many people can’t figure out what to do with their lives, I had always known and still managed to muck it up masterfully. Disastrously.
Eve and I work. Two, three, sometimes four days a week. Dozens of rehearsals the past eight or 10 weeks. Nap time. Lunch breaks. Shoes off at the door. She makes coffee. I get the Fiji. We’re buds. We talk about where we’re going. Banter. Mentoring. Writing our own songs. Meter. Pitch. Song selection. What fits? Set arrangement. Getting things right.
It was the first conversation the two of us ever had – let’s do the work.
And thankfully a few of you might see a video here, or you might generously grace us with your time and attention at open mic or the Bistro. And we are grateful. Tremendously so.
Tonight, disjointed as the keyboard might be under my fingers, I’m beginning to think of opportunities. It’s true, isn’t it? The harder we work, the more opportunities we get.