You work through the anxiousness. Practice. Practice. Practice. Practice some more. Until your fingers bleed and the words taste like brass. Perfecting the levels, the position of the monitors, your stage presence. Hop up on the drum kit here. Kick the mic stand there.
New band. A new set. Almost all new music. Will they still like me when I come home? Will they like the music? The performance? Will they leave wishing there was more, or wishing it had ended sooner?
It's not self-doubt. It's nervous energy. I'm like a dog at the door, wagging his tail. Can't wait. Can't wait. Knowing the whole world awaits just beyond the door.
Have to prepare for the cold weather. Russian cold. Not used to that anymore. Too much sun and beach. Too much Los Angeles. Should I pack a second coat? More thermals? Where's my wool hat? Can't remember the last time I've needed it.
You work through the anxiousness, but there's no working through this. Nervous energy never goes away, only fades, and swoons from stage to stage. It keeps you level. Never too high or too low. Always questioning. Excited. In the moment. This moment. Are you good enough? Prepared enough?
From somewhere deep inside me, I hear a voice whisper, "Yes."
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