Always in the audience, never the band

     Yesterday morning started off bright, beautiful and relatively warm. I was so grateful to be able to get outside and go for a run on my favorite course. As I started my ipod, I turned to the playlist I had made my daughter instead of my usual running mix. There were so many good, clean, uplifting songs on there and my mood improved as I pounded the pavement, the sun hitting me directly in the face. With each additional step, I felt lighter, my feet stopped hurting and I could see so many possibilities in my future. I dreamed as I ran, listening to Whitney Houston, Rascall Flatts and Louis Armstrong.
     I had forgotten the power of music to take us away, to heal, to excite and to empower, even if only for the length of a track. The lyrics sang out to me and for a few seconds I wanted to belt them out too, alone on my quiet country road with no cars or people in sight. I wanted to be part of the music; the one that inspired and healed. I pictured myself up on stage, sitting on a stool with my guitar and an audience in front of me. And then it hit me, the fact that despite my hours of practice in the shower and the car, I am no singer. As anyone who came to my third grade violin or piano concerts can tell you, I am no musician. Instead, in this realm of life, I am a spectator, a recipient of the gift instead of the giver.
     I have always been able to accept that visitor status on a hike through the Berkshire Hills, in the beautiful desert of Moab, by the ocean. I am not a part of the landscape, just someone who is walking through it, enjoying its beauty. So, too, with music. I will never be the one on stage, but I am so grateful to be a momentary audience. Because, as Louis Armstrong so beautifully summed up, as I listen to music, "I think to myself, what a wonderful world." And so it is.