One time in my 20’s I got a wild hair up my butt and decided I didn’t like my life any more so the best thing seemed to be to move to PARIS. Now I didn’t take this decision lightly! I thought it over for oh, fifteen minutes or so. How would I make a living?, people asked. “Well, I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I want to sing!”, I’d say. Where did that come from? It was just a gut hunch. Nothing else.
So, I set my sights on Paris. I set a date. I let my job know. I had a BIG sale and sold off most of my possessions. I packed away the rest, put them in storage and paid up the storage unit for a good long time. I bought a plane ticket with a flexible return date. And then…. I got on that plane and went to Paris.
I found my way around Paris surprisingly easily and found all of the places where the American ex-pats hung around. One day as we were discussing my job prospects, one of my new friends asked “You can’t sing, can you?” at which point little bells began to ring in my head and I replied in the affirmative. She took me round to the Hollywood Savoy, a popular American-themed restaurant where the waitresses would sing in between waiting tables. I was promptly hired.
It didn’t lead to any magical singing career, but it did lead to an important internal knowing, about listening to the little voice that knows. Because when the little voice knows, IT FUCKING KNOWS. Amen.