Cook Spaghetti

I’m really glad I did this.

I just snapped the photo for this post between these two sentences. I’m sitting in my car in an abandoned parking lot in the rain, listening to jazz and drinking coffee. I’m typing this on my iPad that I brought with me today for no reason at all. Seems like I was supposed to end up here for my writing today. It’s been tough to keep this going, especially when there’s just nothing in me, that’s why I’m planning a story out. But, today is different.

Today I’m filled with good vibes, strong and positive emotions and a general sense of chill. I laughed so much today at work; the people around me laughed so much. Yeah, sure it was a slow day that felt like it was going on forever, but there was a whole lot of good things to come through anyway. A new skill or two, a good meeting, and bunch of laughs—I’d call the day a win. Later, I’m going to send an old story to some friends a new perspective; a big step for me. I’ve tried to do this whole writing thing in a vacuum for a very long time, and to now (comfortably, for the first time) bring people into it, and to talk about my music with confidence at work is a huge new thing for me. I haven’t been like this since I played in a band. I’ve never been this confident on my own.

I remember the single time I played a show as a solo artist. I had enough get-up-and-go to send a message to a friend who was on tour, Pamela Pachal; she was playing at Better Than Fred’s on her way through GP and had no opening act. She didn’t have to pay me, I just wanted the experience. I played original music, I think I played all of my little “demo,” How Fickle My Heart, and was met with the hard clacking of pool balls. I knew the sound guy, the drummer from my band was there, but no one I had invited showed up. I left the stage, stayed for maybe one or two of Pam’s tunes and hit the road, nursing the single deepest wound I ever received in public.

I think a little piece of me died that day. Like I believed it when I told myself that I couldn’t do it. It’s been about eight years since that night, and I still think about it all the time. The only difference is now I know that I’m better than I was. There’s not a lot of self doubt anymore, just a curiosity as to whether or not other people will like my music as much as I do. I think I’ve just finally figured out that it isn’t about me as a person, it’s about me as an artist, and though they may be intertwined from the deepest point of the root, what someone thinks of my writing, my music or even my podcast/videos of years gone past—it’s not about me. It seems simple, but I overlook a lot of the simple facts in life.

Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. Right now, I have to defog my windshield, drive home, cook spaghetti and send that story off.

See you tomorrow.