Head Full of Doubt
Updated: 5 hours ago
→ a first open mic story
“There was a dream. And one day I could see it - like a bird in a cage, I broke in and demanded that somebody free it.”
It started playing on my car stereo out of the blue. Somehow I must have had it accidentally cued up in my phone - The Avett Brothers’ “Head Full of Doubt”- a song I’d listened to before but not anytime recently. Sometimes those little winks from the Universe are subtle and you only catch them when you’re really paying attention.
And sometimes they are like this.
I had already driven several miles in uncomfortable, nervy silence - trying to ignore the noise in my head that was asking every fiber of my being to turn around and go home to where things were comfortable. And safe. I had already driven halfway there when out of the blue, my phone woke up, the stereo turned on, and Joe Kwon’s cello suddenly busted in with a chorus of warm, colorful sound.
“There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light.” Scott Avett. Where did you come from?
Maybe it all sounds dramatic. But for this stay-at-home mom that was about to do something way out of her comfort zone… something that she’d already had a couple miserable failed attempts at doing… that song magically appearing to serenade and soothe my terrified self was pretty darn dramatic. And just really, magically, beautiful.
... third time's a charm.
Sometime during that first year or so after my fourth child was born, I felt the pull. I’d been a stay-at-home mom for several years, and in between the diaper changes and the snuggles and hospital stays and bedtime stories and all of the beauty and all of isolation and… and… and…
… and in between all of that, and for whatever complicated and multi-chaptered reason, I felt a pull to create music. The feeling sparkled. It shimmered. It also seemed naive and ridiculous…
“Who do you think you are?” that little voice whispered to me on more than one occasion.
The imposter syndrome was only compounded when I confided in someone close to me at the time. Their response cut deep. “What - do you think you’ll be Joni Mitchell or something?” they said with a snicker.
The people we choose to surround ourselves with…
And that feeling… that pull to create and connect through music… it just felt ancient. Like a part of the very stuff I was made of - all celestial. All human. Just… me.
I had been Christmas-gifted an acoustic guitar way back in high school, but had never learned to play it. This old, dusty guitar… I figured that it’s a quiet enough thing to mess around with during nap time - to softly, secretly, pick a few strings and try something new.
Enter Seth Avett. I loved (and still love) The Avett Brothers. Seth had some solo acoustic videos on YouTube where he played sweet songs that were filmed in such a way that I could see what his hands were doing on the strings. This gave me a starting point to work from - if I could just figure out one note at a time by watching what he was doing and simply trying to copy it, I’d make progress.
And I did.
It wasn’t too long before I started thinking about what it might be like to connect with other musical people…to find a community, maybe even play a song in front of some people other than my own children (gasp!).
After some digging, I found a local open mic that took place just down the road. I’d learned enough… did I feel ready? Heck no. Good enough? Again… no way. I was the biggest imposter that had ever impostered the imposterable. What I was doing fell somewhere on the spectrum between naive (or even foolish) and (insert expletive) courageous.
My first attempt was foiled before it even started - a random middle-of-the-night fainting spell that sent me to the hospital with a concussion the week I had planned to go to my first open mic.
Once I had healed enough, I decided to take things a little slower and simply go as a spectator - check things out, get a feel for the vibe, maybe meet some people. It was a beautiful night, and there was certainly enough imperfection, encouragement, and vulnerability happening on that stage that I felt that maybe I could do this, too. When everything was wrapping up, I introduced myself to the host. He was gracious and kind, and enthusiastically encouraged me to bring my guitar out the following week and he’d make sure I had a spot on the signup sheet.
When that open mic rolled around again 7 days later, I was ready! …. or maybe not ready. Was I actually ready?!
As I pulled into the parking lot of the building where the open mic was held, I received an unwelcome shot of adrenaline that forced me to take a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. The lot was almost full, and I was grateful for the host’s reassurance the week prior when he said he’d make sure to keep a spot on the signup sheet open for me.
A flood of music hit as I swung the front door open and repeated my silent, mental refrain… “you belong”.
It then only took perhaps 15 seconds to realize.
This was no open mic. Not an open mic. “MAGGIE, THIS IS NOT AN OPEN MIC.”
No. Oh no. This was not the night where my folky, vulnerable, awkwardly-sung song would leave my lips for the very first time and float softly to the ears of a group of equally vulnerable people who would then tell me how brave I was for trying such a darn scary thing. This was…
a hip hop concert?
I froze as my brain glitched and I tried to sort out my next move. What is a stay-at-home mom holding a guitar in the middle of a hip hop concert supposed to do now?
It was then that I saw a familiar face - the open mic host. He smiled as he approached and explained that the venue had been booked at the last minute for the concert and that he was sorry that the open mic was canceled. “You’re welcome to stay!” he said.
I quickly realized that I’d much prefer to walk right back out that door to nurse my wounds and probably go have a good cry. Which is exactly what I did.
How much time did it take me to muster the courage to have another go at that open mic? I honestly can’t remember. Maybe it was only a week? It could have been longer. I can’t remember what happened or how much time passed between the moment I walked out of that concert and when I found myself driving back there to try again.
But here I was. Third time’s a charm.
“Decide what to be. And go be it.” sang the Avett Brothers over my car stereo.
I don’t remember pulling into the parking lot this time. I don’t even have a memory of walking through the door or feeling out of place or trying to find a spot to sit, though I’m sure I did… and felt… all those things.
What I do remember is hearing The Avett Brothers sing to me on the way there. Their words cheering me on. The melody soothing my fears.
What I do remember is sitting on a stool, fixing my gaze on a microphone in front of me, and delivering softly finger-picked renditions of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” and Townes Van Zandt’s “If I Needed You” to the room. That room full of beautiful people.
The people we choose to surround ourselves with…
That night… that night, my folky, vulnerable, awkwardly-sung songs left my lips for the very first time and floated softly to the ears of a group of equally vulnerable people who told me how brave I was for trying such a darn… scary… thing.
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