Because this is Austin, the guy performing was very, very good. Watching the sunset overlooking Lake Travis, eating spicy TexMex and listening to a talented musician was one of those soul-filling experiences. This singer’s beautiful baritone was so captivating, he sounded more like James Taylor singing “Fire and Rain” than even James Taylor does.
You could hear how much he enjoyed performing by the passion in his voice. This man loved these songs. Sixty thousand fans or sixty people eating dinner, it didn’t matter. All of us–steak-eating businessmen, tables of girlfriends, and middle-aged couples–were all connected by what this singer was doing on stage. His deep, gravely voice seemed to tell what he had learned about life.
Watching him reminded me of what I’m trying to do on this blog, what all bloggers are trying to do. We want to tell what we’ve learned about life. We want to connect with an audience of sixty or sixty thousand. We want our love affair with our art to affect the world.
We describe the guts of life. We tell how ugly, repulsive, and vital all the guts of life are. We describe all these guts to distracted moms on their phones, strangers brought to us by Google, far-flung friends and family, and ourselves. We are the live performers, pouring every bit of our talent and ourselves into our craft. We are real artists, with small, fickle audiences.
More so than writing books or articles or anything with huge audiences, I love blogging. I’m working on a book right now, but this blog space still feels more like home than the pages of any book.
Just like that live performer on a beautiful deck in Lake Travis, I write here for the connection. The real people, the comments, the instant feedback, the intimate audience.
So, thank you. Thanks for stopping your day, your proverbial dinner, to stop by. Thanks for listening to my stories, and my version of the truth.
Thanks for being part of this connection.