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Me and Linda were just kicking it back and forth. She sang in chorus, got picked, didn’t even know she could sing. I was a shy, nervous kid—biting my nails, scared to speak—but I got up on stage anyway. Just had to face the fear.
We both had our things. Linda was flipping on uneven bars like a pro, but nobody saw it. Nobody said, “Hey, you’re good at this.” That’s the part that sticks. You can be great, but if no one’s there to say “keep going,” it’s easy to let it go.
Everybody’s got a thing. A spark. A weird little obsession. Ceiling fans, Rubik’s Cubes, kickball, viola, whatever. Doesn’t matter what it is—if it lights you up, it matters. And if you see someone lit up, especially a kid, say something. Encourage it.
Music by Steve "Trousers On a Bird"
By Steven RoweMe and Linda were just kicking it back and forth. She sang in chorus, got picked, didn’t even know she could sing. I was a shy, nervous kid—biting my nails, scared to speak—but I got up on stage anyway. Just had to face the fear.
We both had our things. Linda was flipping on uneven bars like a pro, but nobody saw it. Nobody said, “Hey, you’re good at this.” That’s the part that sticks. You can be great, but if no one’s there to say “keep going,” it’s easy to let it go.
Everybody’s got a thing. A spark. A weird little obsession. Ceiling fans, Rubik’s Cubes, kickball, viola, whatever. Doesn’t matter what it is—if it lights you up, it matters. And if you see someone lit up, especially a kid, say something. Encourage it.
Music by Steve "Trousers On a Bird"