In the course of my succor duties I encountered a pleasant family unit in need of assistance.

This work day had not been going particularly smoothly and other responsibilities were put on hold to assist these customers.  I considerately addressed their concerns and offered comprehensive suggestions to alleviate future issues regarding their complaints.

Upon satiation of their concerns, both I and this group, moved on.  Or, so I believed.  It hadn’t been many rotations of the elongated hand before one of the party returned meekly to the post I continued to occupy.

She, being the youth of the tri-generation entourage, hadn’t much to discuss in our prior palaver.  With no interest in the troubleshooting discourse that had occurred, she lounged dazedly to the side with a teenagers incredulous aloofness.  Despite the apparent presentation, this act was not without attentiveness.

She had returned, unaccompanied, shortly after prior concerns were resolved.  But, with rose in her cheeks she implored, “I don’t mean to seem like a creeper, or anything, but can I ask you something?”

Given leave, she inquired about my fingernails and whether I played guitar.  I confirmed her assumptions and we discussed her interest, nascent abilities, and intentions for continuing her lessons for this magnificent instrument.  I offered her my encouragement to continue her pursuit of learning the guitar and, upon further work necessitated duties, broke conversation.

Stretch your hand out.  Look at it lucidly.  Does it create as an extension of your soul?  Does it manufacture the pulse that propels your voice?  Does it generate the tones that sooth your restless heart?

There are so many qualities that inspire people.  I may see an empathetic, boisterous individual whose love of humanity makes me envious of their compassion.  I may encounter craftsmanship in a piece of furniture that beckons feeling of homage and appreciation.  I have a needlessly highlighted respect for musicians.  All of these craftsmen/women deserve utmost praise.

But when one exposes who I truly am, I balk.  I felt ashamed, embarrassed, exposed for the charlatan that I am.  I pose as  a competent, contributor to the social engine.   But I am a musician.  I am a writer.  I am a comedian.  I am a narcissist. I am a misanthrope.  I am all the things I don’t wish to expose to others.   But I love when people can sense who I truly feel I am.

So see me for who I am.

See yourself for who you are.

When its something that is worth the world to you, share it.

Be yourself, share yourself.

Please, Love yourself.

Humbly yours,

J