Find People Who Push You

Early May. I walk into the studio for our weekly session and Henry’s at the deck, headphones half on, mixing. He turns around with the biggest grin.

“I booked a DJ gig!”

Bridget’s party, a little over a month out. I got SO hyped . . . . because I knew exactly how long that grin had been waiting to happen. DJing was the dream he’d circled for years and never let himself touch. Now there was a date on the calendar, and no more circling.

What you wouldn’t see in that moment is how far back it goes.

I was the first artist Henry ever worked with. Back then he was shy, reserved, a producer who didn’t believe he was one yet. So I kept pushing him. Produce for other people. This is the thing you’re meant to do. He didn’t trust it . . . . but he did it anyway, and now he’s got a real client roster and a craft that’s fully his.

And he’s handed it all back tenfold. He’s at nearly every show I’ve played, friends in tow, the loudest one in the room. Lately he’s been teaching me to produce [patiently + generously] so that one day I can make my own music without him. That’s the part that stays with me. The most loving thing someone can do isn’t to keep you close . . . . it’s to make sure you’d be okay if you weren’t.

Because nothing about a creative partnership holds still. We’re not the same two people who met over a year ago. He’s grown into himself; I’ve grown into my own voice, the one I used to be terrified of, the one I now love more than anything.

Two lines moving in parallel, taking turns being the brave.

And maybe that’s why the grin hit me so hard. It wasn’t only joy for him, though there was so much of that. It was knowing that this . . . . the two of us in this studio, scared and showing up anyway . . . . is its own kind of creation. The shape of it will change, as these things always do, but somehow that only makes me want to be here more. not less.

So I’m here. Grateful for the friend who pushed me toward my own voice, and grateful I got to push him toward his.

Anyways, He booked a gig. I cried a little. We got back to work.

pics I took from the event

Who’s your two-lines-in-parallel person? I want to hear about them. . . . .

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