last night was magnanimous; built of epic proportions.
i moseyed to work at sleepy dog brewery in tempe, AZ, ready for a good night of pouring beer and laughing it up.
often on thursday evenings, a talented artist named ian plays for us. last night, he announced the night to include open mic.
i’ve been writing quite a bit of poetry in the cadence of slam, as of late. so, as the night went on and more artists stood up to sing and play guitar, both my courage and my nerves were stacking.
it was close to the end of the night, and i looked to terry (one might dare to call him a ‘regular’) and told him that one day i’d find the courage to read one of my poems aloud.
we talked for about 15 minutes about how simultaneously difficult and rewarding it is to call yourself an -ist or an -or or an -t for the first time,
when you allow yourself to be what you do:
a person who makes art becomes an artist
one who sculpts becomes a sculptor
an individual who writes becomes a writer
the writer of poems becomes a poet
terry without many words, but much emotion, shared with me his own moment of transition.
i could feel the self-fulfilling power radiating off of him, and it stunned me.
he put no pressure on me to read right then, he didn’t even mention it.
i think that’s why i went for it.
i stood up to the mic and felt shaky.
one more check of my dexcom to be sure this feeling was nerves and not a hypo on the verge of landing
i told those listening that i’d never done this before and that it would likely be horrible. then i apologized because it was about diabetes and everything i write is about diabetes and secretly hoped it wouldn’t be too cryptic.
i began to read.
i shook and i read and i became