Then one day I was talking with a random stranger and I realised I didn't need any money, just fame. Because I wanted people to know me and appreciate me, making me fill that lack of confidence that every human has and that I cope with in this way.
But well. I came back from the Netherlands yesterday. I went without knowing much about it or having any particular expectation. I took the plane from London with a trolley, a notebook and 10 of my CDs in my bag, because you never know.
Got in Rotterdam and enjoyed its mesmerizing skylines, it's such a surprising city. My eyes weren't used to these wide spaces any more, and the clouds reflecting on the skyscrapers glass. Wow.
Then in Amsterdam I got lost (literally) in the streets, among the canals and the slanting façades of the houses leaning towards the water. The people, smiling. Colours, sunlight and flowers. It took me a while to get centred in my body, but eventually I did. And (among other unrelated things) started learning something more about myself, about me making music.
It may sound cheesy, and probably it is, but other than that, it is very true, and it's what keeps me going.
I've always asked myself why I'm here (in this room, in this city, in this continent, on this heart, in this moment), and rarely I have found a convincing answer. Well, I think I have a good one now.
I'm here for those smiles. I'm here to give them to these people I meet on my path. I'm here to be useful, to learn and teach, to make them happy. And one of the better ways I do it is with music.
That's why I make it.
For the guy sitting in the Starbucks at the station, for the one with the watery eyes in the audience and the other nodding his head with the beat, for the not-brave-enough-to-get-a-guitar-and-sing girl sitting next to me, for the clerk whose eyes brightened when I asked a different question, for the guy sitting by the canal and his little book.
Music can make people feel better, and I don't think I'm being conceited if I say that my music does so sometimes (or at least that's what they say).
To me, this is more important than money and fame. Of course, these two elements are useful and part of the process. My music won't be heard if I don't have (even a small amount of) fame, and I won't have fame if I don't have the means to produce something to be heard (which require money). I will need a bit more money and a bit more fame, which will give me more time to write and improve and distribute and reach more ears and souls. But the ultimate goal is the smiles of the people I meet, physically and acoustically.
Writing my emotions on the music staff (I am grateful for this possibility that music gives me of sublimating my sorrows and amplifying my joys) and putting my life, my body, my time, my words, to use of these smiles or tears that people give me in return.
I think this is why I live.