Driving down the road at 60 mph over butterfly hills.
The first time he holds your hand.
The first kiss.
The first day of school.
The first day on a new job.
Every time I step out on stage to sing.
It’s that feeling in your gut that’s filled with anticipation, excitement, nerves, fear.
Life gives us all kinds of moments to sense it. What is it? What is that feeling?
It’s so intense. It would be easy to see why some people would try to avoid it. But then again, it’s easy to understand why some would seek it out. It’s like a drug. The nerves right before a performance are like nothing else. I’ve felt it so strong that I was sure I’d be sick, but most of the time it’s just there enough to let me know that this…this is what I was made for. I walk out on stage and the music starts and I open my mouth, and I realize that I know what that feeling is called. It’s been there waiting for me to embrace it. Sure it’s scary, and nerve wracking, but it’s also exhilarating and joyful. It’s a reminder of all that we were placed on the planet to do. It’s thousands of years of humanity buried in our brain reminding us of every run from a wild animal and every first contact with another soul. There’s a word for it.
It’s called living, and I’m desperate to do it every day.