Pride

This should have come first, in theory, before the previous post. But it happened afterward and I am not yet in possession of a time turner, so here we are.

Last night, our oldest daughter sang. On a stage, in front of her peers and their families. She and her friend were 2 of only 4 Year 7 students to participate.

I often stand in front of people and sing, whether they like it or not. It’s a strange thing to do, as you’re exposed in front of a room, hall, tent, field, black hole of judgment. The first time I tried to do it, they neglected to provide a microphone, so I half-played and immediately left the gymnasium.

The time in a year alone living in an unknown city when I thought I would take my guitar and try again, my battery died and my fingers were too weak for the string gauge on the guitar I borrowed to play songs poorly. It has been a foolish undertaking from the start.

But I keep doing it. At this point, I would imagine I’ve done it 1,000 times or more. So many times it has felt like failure. Like the time that I was booked to play at a small pub and recruited some astonishingly good openers, and none of the 10 people who told each of us they were coming turned up. We played to an audience of zero, and the pub couldn’t pay.

Strings break, voices crack, words go on holiday. People love it, hate it, or are most frequently indifferent.

None of those failures were failures, because it’s the bravery to stand there in the first place that is the test. It’s a test that I pass again and again, even when I feel like I shouldn’t be doing it anymore. Because I’m too old, too unsuccessful, too unpopular, too far gone from home for too little money (if there was any money at all). Flying colours.

She got up last night and she flew. I couldn’t possibly be prouder.