After my concert on Saturday night, a woman in the audience walked over and said, "This is the first live music I've heard since Covid hit. I didn't realize what an empty space it left in my heart until you filled it up again tonight. Thank you."
Such a softy. I got instantly teary-eyed.
Something about that quick conversation with her shook me. I felt the same way: playing live music on Saturday filled up a space I didn't know was empty. I felt free, in-the-moment, and more content than I've been in a long time.
On the drive home, I tried to think about what made Saturday night's show so magical. And I figured it out right as I pulled into my driveway. It was magical because I was enjoying myself. I wasn't being critical of missed notes. I wasn't bummed out because the crowd wasn't uproariously cheering between songs. I wasn't wishing the whole experience could be anything except what it was.
And that's the hole that was in my heart that was filled on Saturday night.
I think there's a real problem these days with how much we expect to get from work, and then there's a lot of let down when the work doesn't meet our expectations. I got to wondering what would happen if we went into it choosing to enjoy the experience for what it is. I'd imagine we could find true happiness in almost anything we're doing for work.
(Minus changing the waste water port at my restaurant...that job will be miserable forever. Gotta keep it real).
I'll always be grateful that one of my jobs is being a songwriter. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the job that I forget to let myself actually relish in it. Reader, whatever you do for work, consider joining me in trying to lose your expectations of it and try to embrace it for what it is. Maybe there's joy in there.
I leave you with this picture of Gregg and I walking through the woods at the venue like a couple of kids. Wishing you a week of lightheartedness. See you next Monday. -Em