I see now that my original sweep of gig-grubbing emails was sent the first week of MAY. Time flies, yes? I received a sort of form rejection from one place, a kind word unaccompanied by a firm offer from another, and no reply at all from the other three places. I know that I’m supposed to follow up, but I’ve been stalling. Or is 100 days too soon? (Joke.) (I hope.)

I had this idea that if I could write a second part to my earlier post about performance anxiety, I’d answer some internal questions, get some things settled, and once again feel good about “getting out there.” But after weeks of poking at it, just this morning I looked at what I’d written and realized that I’d been winding myself up over two truths that aren’t revelatory, and that I wouldn’t be brave for pointing out. Namely, that 1) The moment you take a creative endeavor out of your basement, parties with profit as their chief concern WILL have to be dealt with, and 2) It’s okay to admit that some part of you wants to be recognized for your hard work and/or inherent talent (because everyone has that part).

Though these truths aren’t earth-shattering, they do bug the hell out of me. The first one’s a bummer, and the second is something I’d rather not admit to. The tempting thing is that if I don’t play out, 1) I never have to answer the dreaded question of draw (which equals beer which equals money), and 2) I can pretend I don’t care what people think. Truths avoided, problem solved! (In a totally cowardly and unsatisfying way.)

Thing is, I get to a point with writing and practicing and polishing where I think, you know, damn. I’m actually GOOD at this. I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I gotta be the Earl Grey for some percentage of Chicago’s music fans. It’s at this point that I send out the emails, and my vision is lofty, but incomplete: I see only the point A that is me and the point B that is “my audience,” with a black box obscuring all the sub-connections between.

Of course eventually, with the venue-silence that requires of me more self-promotion (sticky truth #1) and assertiveness (sticky truth #2), the black box is lifted, and the complicated jungle of circuitry is revealed. I can hear the booker asking how many people I can get out. I can anticipate the strained reaction of a crowd uncertain what to do with a somewhat-husky, somewhat-mopey, sometimes-twitchy guy in his mid-to-late thirties. Okay, fine: late thirties.

But while these fears are real — while the anxieties of the inbox and the less-than-perfect gig hum like window units in my noggin — I know that what’s scarier still is making music that no-one will hear. At the risk of sounding corny, as much as I despair the myriad x-factors that seem to conspire against it ever happening, I know that the pure A-to-B connection, when it DOES happen, is pure magic. In the end, it’s totally worth carving through the jungle for.

To that end, I’ve sent out a few more follow-up emails since starting this dumb essay. I’ll be live…soon.