I performed at my first open mic yesterday. It was a rainy Tuesday night at the old train depot in Issaquah. I was late on the sign-up sheet and got stuck near the end, so I was only allotted one song. I had a chance to reflect on the value of going early as I sat through performer after performer who was much better than I, including an 18-year-old who was a fantastic guitar player. He also had a polished singing voice and wrote his own songs. He played one of his own and then did the Beatles’ “Come Together.” It wasn’t like a typical open-mic cover; he really put his own stamp on it. When he was done everyone wanted to shake his hand or pat him on the back. I took an inventory of my vital signs. Breathing was shallow. It felt like somebody had me in a bear hug. My right knee seemed a little jumpy, and my arms felt heavy and semi-paralyzed. I couldn’t imagine strumming a guitar. What were the words, what were the words? They seemed to have evaporated. Then I realized that I’d brought only one pick. My god, what if I dropped it? My Jim Dunlop Jazztone 206. I can’t play with just any pick. I talked myself down from about eighty percent of this anxiety. It helped to imagine myself the next day describing to Wendy how terrible I was—because I knew that at that point it would seem funny. It helped to look at myself objectively: everyone there had a role to play. My role was the guy that other performers measured themselves against. They would walk away saying, “I did OK, I wasn’t the worst.” Maybe what helped the most was listening closely to the other players, and clapping when it was time to clap. Joining in. Suddenly it was my turn. I got to the stage and turned to face the room. It was full: about forty people, from children to grandparents. I introduced myself and said this was my first open mic, that in fact it was the first time I had ever sung into a microphone. By that I meant amplified. I said I was a bit nervous, but strangely I didn’t feel all that nervous. I sang “Home,” which is a song full of personal imagery of my life with Wendy. Nobody would understand it, but it’s one of the easiest of my songs to play and so the obvious choice. As I launched into it I noticed how strange the guitar sounded through the PA, and how strange my voice sounded. I sing fairly loud, and the sound guy kept twiddling with the levels, which was disconcerting. It’s interesting how one part of your mind takes note of all this while the rest of you is sinking into the song. And I was sinking into it! It didn’t sound half bad, and I wasn’t blanking on the words. The audience was out there, but abstractly out there. It was over too quickly. I hit the last three notes (which I don’t always hit) and the audience broke into applause. It may have been the biggest applause of the night, aside from the 18-year-old prodigy and maybe the guy from Vegas. Of course my applause was because this was my first open mic and I was able to walk off the stage smiling. People were shaking my hand and patting me on the back and saying “Good job.” One tough-looking guy said, “You nailed it,” which was kind. I stayed to the end and talked with people and helped put chairs away. It felt like I was becoming part of a community.