Tomorrow at 7 p.m., I will show up at Rooz Cafe, 1924 Park Boulevard, Oakland, and see if I remember how to sing my own lyrics and play an acoustic guitar at the same time. I am almost wondering if I should bother walking and chewing gum earlier in the day. I have had the pleasure of opening for my friendly neighborhood modern/urban-folk band State Secrets twice this year, but I hadn't taken two months off playing in public before either set.
I'd like to think the half a dozen or so times I've sung karaoke in the last month would be some kind of help, would set my mind at ease a little further about performing, but it's an entirely different beast. There's really no comparison to the songs you've casually or informally invited into your life as guests, or even familiar friends, and combinations of chords and words who owe you their life, any life you can breathe into them in front of people.
I owe them a fair shot at existence, even if no one shows up, even if I have not been giving them the attention they might deserve. If I had sense, I would have tried lowering the stakes by busking once or twice a week somewhere no one could get in trouble and embarrass themselves. But as we have established, I do not have sense, I have songs and a set to sing them in.