Lark

Last fall, a woman by the name of Jacki Lewis backed my Kickstarter.  She pledged at a level that included me playing a concert in her home.   She then went on to donate that performance to a senior living facility called Wesley Willows.  I played a show for them on Friday. 

I’m not going to lie: some of the audience members fell asleep.  I don’t blame them.  “Girl Singing At Piano” is hardly a novelty.   Still, there were people who listened.  Unfortunately several folks were hard of hearing, so I’m not sure how much of my show they really heard. 

By the end of the show, I felt at a loss.  Truly and completely at a loss.  In that moment, I decided we should have a sing-a-long.  (Because why not?)  I chose Moon River.  (Because why not?)    

The moment I started singing, everybody was singing with me.  People who had been sleeping woke up and started crooning.  People who couldn’t carry a tune were belting it out.  People in the back of the room were swaying. 

And I had to laugh.  The best part of the show was the part that happened on a total lark.  

It’s a great life lesson.  Some of my best calls have been made when I reach the end of my rope.  In those moments—when I’m flailing and uncertain, when my playbook is used up, when I’ve got nothing to lose—I resort to employing a sort of fearless whimsy.  And poof.  Magic.  It’s like Dorothy clicking her heels three times.  Who would have believed it? 

I’m keeping this lesson close as I embark on another challenging week at the building.  Reader, wherever you are, I hope you are keeping warm and happy in this mid-winter.  See you next Sunday. -Em

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