Backstage Beats and Bravery
Guess what my š”š²š©š š¦š®š¬š¢š was backstage before š š¬ššš©š©šš šØš§ššØ šš”š šššš± š¬ššš š?
Not light jazz.
Not soothing ocean waves.
Not faith-based hymns.
Not classical.
šš š°šš¬ š¬šš«šš¢š š”š-š®š© ššššš„š„š¢šš.
With index cards in hand and a full auditorium waiting, I stood stage-right with heavy metal blasting in my ears. Iām not even a die-hard metal fan. šø
I had trained for that moment with š¤š©š¢š°š“ šŖšÆ šµš©š¦ š£š¢š¤š¬šØš³š°š¶šÆš„ ... 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 šš«šš§š¬ššØš«š¦ššš¢šÆš š©šØš°šš« šØš ššššØš«šššš„š š”šØš®š¬š¢š§š - š¢šÆš„ 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.
ššØš¦ššš¢š¦šš¬, šš„š„ š°š š§ššš š¢š¬ šš”š š«š¢š š”š š¬šØš®š§ššš«ššš¤.