Little Story #23

For a few years I put bands together and tried to find gigs. Musicians always got paid. I never did. Of all the things that happened in my life, this time of trying to do what I didn't believe I could do - be a singer in a band - this time is hardest to remember. I drank too much. I smoked too much. I did known poisonous substances with abandon. Trying to live the rock-n-roll life style when I didn't always have a band felt foolish and desperate. Every time I did get to sing I felt like was all worth it. Those few shiny moments when I sounded OK. When I wasn't too drunk and acting the fool. When the faces in front of me were all smiles. When strangers came up to me and told me they loved me.
I was always battling the feeling of just not being good enough. I think a lot of creative people feel this way.
There are musicians who work. They work at being better. They work at staying actively employed.  I admire them so much.
I went to New York and studied with a teacher. I did a few showcases with him. I never sang that well in them.
I never made a choice to stop singing. I just stopped. And I mean. I stopped. I rarely sing.
When I had that blue record player stacked up with forty-fives I sang. I sang for hours. I closed my eyes and opened my throat and I sang. I did that through my early twenties. It was like my heart needed to feel that sound. But when I couldn't find my footing in the music industry my heart closed.
I know musicians who are so much more talented than I am and they are working away with out recognition or profit. It's a hard life in many respects.  I don't think they love music more than I do/did. I just couldn't find my way.
Recently I've written about being molested, rejected, abandoned. None of it was as much of a struggle or as painful  as writing about this has been. I don't think I knew it would be.