A handful of years ago we were regulars at open mic in a suburb of Sacramento. Some of the performers were excellent musicians and singers; real artists.
Some, not so much.
One night two young boys, the older probably 15 and the younger 10 or 11, came in with their electric guitars. They used a recorded rhythm section backing track and played along and sang.
From a purely musical perspective, they were not very good.
I had seen something, though.
This post originally appeared on my philosophy blog.
Smart by anyone’s standards and strong by most, the young lad thought he’d find a better use for his talents than the family farm. As is often the case, he set out for the city.
Not just any city would do. He’d heard of a beautiful city whose smile would fill his soul, whose touch would inspire his dreams, whose breath would take his own away. Trusting that this ethereal place was the proper milieu for his own good judgment and drive, he set out.
Knowing the journey would be long and hard, he prepared well. He packed efficiently, found the best maps, and ate a hearty breakfast of whole grains and strong tea before stepping across his parents’ threshold.