Haven’t done this in too long, but today I looked and it’s Day 16,200 for me. A nice round number. Fitting.
For today I have the chance to sing. Those chances don’t come often enough, and there’s no guarantee that they will ever come any more frequently.
In many ways, singing is making my offering. “Here, people in the world. This is what I can do for you. This is the thing I think I do best, and I offer it to you. What do you think? Do you accept it? Do you like it? Are you interested in it? Do you want it?”
In rooms large and small, to many people or few, I put that out there, believing that what I’m putting out there is My Self. And if the room is full or empty, if the people are responsive or apathetic, if they stay or if they go, I take it personally.
And I believe these things to be a subtle imbalance in my psyche. I should believe my worth inherent, not based on how well I sing for you. I should not take your validation (or lack thereof, as applicable) of my singing as a validation of my being. But there it is: my flaw, one of many.
Nonetheless, tonight I’ll get together with friends and together, with music, we’ll create a series of moments. It’s easier to remember, at such times, that individual moments are special—or, it ought to be easier.
That will be my offering. To invest in the uniqueness of the moments we experience together, and put the best of my flawed, imperfect singing and flawed, imperfect self out there in the co-creation of those moments. To say no to banality; to make something special of every sublime note and every random unintended fart. And if you’re there or if you’re not, if you like it or if you don’t, if you stay or if you go… well, I guess that’s how the cookie crumbles.
There are no small gigs, only small performers. There are no unimportant days, only apathetic people. May it be that I learn that, some day.