3am. The room is dark and silent, save for a faint humming sound from a ceiling fan, but I can’t ignore the incessant sharp ringing in my ears from blaring speakers. There’s a pungent, complex aroma of sweat, cologne, and whiskey hovering over my listless body as I try to somehow convince my system that it’s time to sleep.

Restless. My brain replays countless events from the evening’s performance and I painstakingly over-analyze each one as they fly through my mind’s eye like fleeting vignettes.

“I should have said this, it would have been funnier.”

“That song would have worked better there.”

“Why didn’t you hit that note at the end there? You’ve hit it a million times before?”

Questions. Second-guessing. Pressure. Anxiety. It’s a nightly ritual. Some say that those with over-active brains tend to have trouble falling asleep at night and that it often times leads to the person becoming more intelligent, or creative.

If that’s the case, I should be a genius. Every night I lie awake, begging for sleep to find me quicker than the night before, but it’s always the same routine. Self-criticism. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. And that’s the good nights.

We’re psychologically programmed to possess this insatiable need to be loved and accepted in our every day lives as it is, but what if your entire livelihood depended on it? Your job, your source of income, and the quality of your lifestyle all boils down to whether or not people like you. How would that change your view of yourself, who you are, and what you ultimately bring the table?

There are those that will tell you, “I don’t care what people think, I am who I am”. I envy those people, I truly do, but in my experience, in my business, if that’s your motto, you fall into one of two categories: incredibly brilliant and too rich to care, or looking for work on a consistent basis.

Sure, the ones who have “made it” can absolutely afford not to care what others think, but for me? Every single opinion matters.

Every. Single. One.

Is that healthy? Absolutely not. Does it affect me in just about every other aspect of my daily life? You bet. But it’ll always be this way, because there’s just this absolute monster that constantly needs to be fed and no matter how much it gets, it’s never enough.

I am the entertainer.

It consumes you. Fuels you. It’ll even drive you crazy sometimes. But dear God that feeling. That adulation, that laughter, that applause under those bright lights in smoky rooms? It’s better than any drug, any cocktail, or any orgasm you’ll ever have. For just a couple of hours, all that hard work, all those bad gigs, and all the pieces of your soul you dedicated to your craft come together and create this one special feeling.

But what if it’s not there? What if it’s “just one of those nights” and everything falls on deaf ears or nothing seems to click? It’s torture. It feels like a little piece of you dies inside.

Have you ever been in weather so cold, that it chills you right down to your soul and it feels almost like you’ll never feel warmth again? That’s what a bad gig feels like.

Just like that.

Every performance feels like a high-wire act. Perfection is paramount. Want to feel embarrassed? Stand in front of a few hundred strangers, get their complete attention, and then make a glaring mistake. In front of every single one of them.

It’s excruciating, but it happens, and yet you move on.

So when I’m quiet, irritable, lethargic, or just plain insufferable to be around, there’s a good chance I’m physically and emotionally burnt to a crisp. If I put this much pressure on myself every song and every note, imagine what I could possibly feel like after doing it for five nights straight.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m coming across as a little whiny diva that’s complaining about playing music for a living. I get it. From the outside looking in it certainly pales in comparison to what the real world is like on the outside of my own little existence.

But don’t think for a second the effort, emotion, and consequences aren’t real, because I can whole-heartedly assure you, they’re as real as anything you can experience on a daily basis.

Giving yourself to something that is so much bigger than you is certainly romantic, but it’s a love that’ll bleed you dry of every ounce of your soul. You’ll lose sleep, you’ll struggle, but above all, you’ll LIVE.

Playing music has taken me to places I’ve never dreamed possible. I’ve felt things that some people could go their whole life not feeling. I’ve found myself, and it wasn’t at the bottom of a glass, in a book, in a church, or in the cosmos somewhere.

I found myself, all alone, underneath the brightest lights my eyes have ever seen, through an atmosphere of smoke, with a guitar in my hands, and a microphone right under my nose.

I am the entertainer, and I couldn’t envision myself being anything else.

Originally published at cocktailsandballads.wordpress.com on January 24, 2016.