![]() I hope I don’t get pulled back into the undertow of bad habits, snarky-ness, meanness, or bullying of any kind. I hope, going forward, that I will remember this woman, that night, and those words. I felt a voice enter into my mind - my intuition, or maybe God, or maybe a sudden remembrance of something that someone said to me long ago - and I specifically heard the following phrase: Who am I to say that her voice is “good” or “bad” or that her art is “worthy” or “not worthy”? She is courageously standing onstage - and what am I doing?ĭrinking a coffee, hiding in the shadows. Thinking all kinds of mean things about her. I might not be doing it out loud, in words, or in actions, but secretly, privately, inside my own mind, I am cruelly bullying this performer. Not the performer, and not the other people in this room. Then I realized, swiftly and uncomfortably: In another coffee shop, in another city - say, Los Angeles, where I grew up - this woman would have been booed offstage before the end of her first song. How could this be? Why were these people being so gracious, so kind? I felt like I had stepped into an alternate universe. To the contrary, everyone listened politely, applauding often, nodding, smiling, sipping their beverages and just giving this woman the time and space to do her thing. I glanced around the room, eyeing other people, expecting to see smirking, laughter, or people quietly mocking her. I felt myself cringing in my chair, feeling worried and embarrassed for the current performer. The whole situation felt like such a bummer, especially compared with the last performer, who was so soulful and mesmerizing. She had no charming banter in between songs. She seemed to be completely tone-deaf and made frequent mistakes, awkwardly stopping and then re-starting various songs on her guitar. The proprietor announced the next performer.Īn older woman took the stage. The young woman finished her number and made her way offstage. I had the whole evening open and not much to do, so I slipped inside and ordered a drink. I peeked through the doorway and saw a performance in progress. I heard a young woman belting out the final few words of a classic folk song and I stopped in my tracks. The sign said “hot coffee,” the door was open, and the music was loud.
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