Backstage Beats and Bravery
Guess what my ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฉ๐ ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐ was backstage before ๐ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐จ๐ง๐ญ๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐ฑ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ ๐?
Not light jazz.
Not soothing ocean waves.
Not faith-based hymns.
Not classical.
๐๐ญ ๐ฐ๐๐ฌ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ-๐ฎ๐ฉ ๐๐๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐.
With index cards in hand and a full auditorium waiting, I stood stage-right with heavy metal blasting in my ears. Iโm not even a die-hard metal fan. ๐ธ
I had trained for that moment with ๐ค๐ฉ๐ข๐ฐ๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ๐จ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ... leaf blowers, at a jujitsu gym, my hangry 14-year-old. I needed to embed my message and build focus no matter what.
But something was missing now.
I needed to shut down my overthinking.
I needed hype.
The stakes were high.
I was about to share the ๐ญ๐ซ๐๐ง๐ฌ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ ๐ฉ๐จ๐ฐ๐๐ซ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐๐จ๐ซ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ ๐ก๐จ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐ง๐ - ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ for the first time share my personal journey with housing insecurity.
Vulnerability, nerves, passion.
All of it on stage.
We all have a story.
We all are afraid to push through.
๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ฆ๐๐ฌ, ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ ๐ง๐๐๐ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ซ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐ญ๐ซ๐๐๐ค.