Here i sit waiting to do what I have prepared in ernest to do. I have selected the songs and verse. I have alphabetized. I purchased new 3 ring binders to hold the words I feel so insecure in knowing, so I must read. I have worn my self ragged in preparing to go again in front of people and play music. I have been doing this for half a century. I’m not a novice but for the life of me I can’t understand the seed of doubt and fear that just waits for me to get a gig and when I manage to procure one, I loose sleep, ruminate the process, the ‘show’ as it were.

There in lies a bit of a problem. It’s not a show. In a world of American Idols, of iTunes, You Tubes I’m simply an old guy who writes songs and like them and yearns to play them well enough for others to find some meaning and enjoyment.

Long gone are the day’s when I had ‘the voice,’ the power to command a band and rock the house. I’m old now, I’m wounded vocally from years of abuse and misuse and thinking NOT of the future but only the moment, the song, the words, the passion, the meaning, the message.

There it be, the insecurity. OMG! I’m only going to play a little coffee shop tonight in a little midwest suburb where the beans are the draw, not me!!!!

Who do I think I am, and what do I have to prove to who and whom?

I believe I was given a gift, a morsel of talent and I squandered it. Like seeds thrown on un-fertile soil, or rocks, or sand there was no root to grow a tree to produce fruit.

Again I say, who do I really think I am? WHO IS IT I WISH I WAS AND WHY AIN’T I HE!

I hear the lyrics of that old blues song, a 12 bar in the key of G, and now it’s come back to haunt me!
I’ts my own fault baby, treat me the way ya wanna do!

So be it!

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