It's Okay to Have A Vision for Yourself

6AM arrival and crew begins to load equipment and instruments out of the 53 foot semi-trailer. Cold winter air fills the corridors of the arena’s bottom floor as the loading bay doors slide open and the heater is boosted on. He wakes up three hours later to the roasting coffee on the bus counter. Walking outside with his cup of coffee in the crisp air is breathtaking for him. The gigantic arena was even more incredible.

Soundcheck arrives just moments after lunch. He hops on stage, grabbing his bass guitar and strums the strings. He feels the boost of the sound from the amplifiers underneath his feet while the warm, smooth sound fills the arena in every corner and even through the hallways. In just a few short hours, that empty arena would be filled with flashing cameras and crazy fans. Him and his band walk out front to do a meet and greet for fans who won tickets off of the local radio station. He shakes many hands and gives out many “My Pleasures." His hand ache from signing his name hundreds of times.

House lights are on and the pre-show music is softly playing through the PA system. Doors open and seats are filling up quick. The adrenaline starts pumping for him knowing this venue will be holding 21,000 fans including more than 50 of his closest friends and relatives. He sits in his tour bus watching the television while the tour manager radios in that the guitar technician is on the way with the guitars.

Since 6AM the corridors were filled with stage carts ready to be utilized once more. He walked through the narrow path holding his guitar at a special angle while putting in his ear monitors. The crowd could be heard pulsating against the walls, traveling through the hallway. He arrived at a black curtain where the house lights dimmed and suddenly turned off. Through the curtain was the ramp that led to the black curtain that covered the stage itself. Small beans from the flashlights led him through the path to his starting point, up the stairs and on the stage risers. The introduction music began and the crowd roared.

The curtain dropped and two and a half hours passed by like the snap of a finger. He came off the stage and handed the wet guitar to his technician, wiping his arms and forehead with a small towel. Tearing down the set and loading in the equipment took two hours and while he was still awake on the couch peering out the window, he couldn't help but think about the next night in a city more than eight hours away.

He is me.

This is my dream.