“You don’t always need a plan. Sometimes, you just need to breathe, trust, let go and see what happens.” ~ Unknown
“Do you remember me?” He asked. Of course, I did, but not the story that followed. I hadn’t seen David Musser in more than 25 years. Likely longer. We met through Pam Oldfield Meade. She was very involved in Foothills Artists, a group working to highlight the art and artists of Appalachia. One of their programs was to bring arts into the classroom. David was teaching, and he was a maker of small guitars for children. He and his wife, Janine, were vital to area arts and to Foothills Artists, getting the word out about local arts and artists, and more importantly, bringing that art into the classroom. I can’t tell you how many adults have come up to me decades later and thanked me for coming into their classroom when they were children. The music, the art – me – somehow made an impression far beyond anything I was aware of at the time. It was all due to Pam and the work she did with David and Janine. Apparently, decades ago, I visited David’s classroom looking cool like a rockstar (his words) and proceeded to say not a single word to him. Not one. All these years later he has remembered that slight, so when he told me the story, I was aghast. It’s not like me not to speak, and the only thing I can imagine is that my shyness – a form of anxiety no doubt – got the better of me. Most people don’t know that I am extremely shy, and what often comes off as rude behaviour is nothing more than shy paralysis, or “shyralysis.” When I was a child, I would hide under my mother’s coat when we were out among people (true story). I grew out of some of it, but in certain situations, I will revert to that child and all but run from the room. If my mother was there with a coat I’d probably crawl under it. I felt terrible and apologized to David over and over. Then we proceeded to have a lovely conversation about writing, journalism in the mountains, politics and so much more. When he stood to walk away I gave him a big hug and apologized one more time. He gave me a wide smile and said, “That was better than an apology.” Day made.
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