Posted by: pendrops | December 15, 2006

worth it


“Master Copy” was all it said, scrawled in black permanent marker. I slid the mystery CD into my car’s player and heard the distant, but familiar sounds of the demo I recorded in April 2002 in Nashville. While it played, I retold my story to myself…

The crowded cafes, the bad musicians, the even worse songs. The adrenaline rush, the weak applause, the gigs where only mom, dad and brother showed up. The image-shaping, the being seen, the humiliating faux pas on stage. The practicing for hours, the songwriting till 3 in the morning, the day job.

The great expectations, the naïve hope, the debilitating disappointments. The sad realization, empty failure, the calling it quits.

But you’re in a little café just south of town, espresso machines drowning out half of your songs, a static-warped sound system occasionally feeding back. And one of the eight people crammed in the dim-lit room, half-listening to you, glances up just as you sing something like:

All this time
Without any answers
All this time
With nowhere to go…

And something, you’re not sure what because all our stories are unique, but something common, something universal, reaches back to dude sipping coffee in the shadowy booth. Connection. Something in his story looks like yours. Your words resurrect some dead memory. And you think by the end of the song you see tears on his face.

You remember this while listening to your old demo. Your regret and shame sheds itself again and you remember that it was worth it. Every minute of it. Because people are worth it.



  1. Krista,

    I loved the story and I remember every minute of it too. And yes, it was worth it. Some of my best memories when we first moved to Nashville, came from those great venues for “Songwriter Night”. Some of the worst music I’ve ever heard, but what a great time. Loved every note of it. Hope you always make time to use the gift God gave you, whether it’s on a big stage or in your apartment. Don’t ever stop singing and playing, whether you’re connecting with someone in the crowd, or the giver of the gift.

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