NEWSLETTERS

October 04 GoatNotes 
 
I'm somewhere just outside of Austin, Texas, at a rock & roll show. As the band crescendos into their final number, I fold my hands around my sides and squeeze my eyes shut. The cymbals crash as the kick drum thumps in time to the bass. Unfortunately for me, the concert's not taking place in an arena. It's coming to a deafening conclusion in my head and stomach. "Peanuts?" the flight attendant chirps. She unfolds her hand, and I take the microscopic snack while graciously thanking her for what I'm certain will be my lunch. Eyeing the barf bag, I choke back the breakfast burrito I gobbled down at the airport prior to my flight, clutch my peanuts, and roll back and forth with the turbulence. 
"Confidence," I remind myself, in hope of taking my mind off my discomfort. That's one of the topics I plan on addressing at the Old No. 9 Workshop I'll be teaching this month in Waring, Texas. And right now, I can say with *confidence* that I'll feel better when my road-weary size 10's touch ground again. Just three days ago ? three *long* days ago ? Lloyd and myself flew from Austin, switched planes in El Paso, landed in Albuquerque, rented a car, and then drove to El Prado, New Mexico. Once there, we visited the kind folks at KTAO, the only solar powered radio station in existence, and then performed at fellow songwriter Michael Hearne's (www.michaelhearnemusic.com ) annual Barndance Weekend. The next day, we drove back to Albuquerque, turned in the rental car, hopped on another flight, switched planes in Chicago, landed in Detroit, rented a car, drove to and performed in Ann Arbor, Michigan, at the Ark, and then drove to Bowling Green, Ohio, for the Black Swamp Arts Festival (www.blackswamparts.org ), the next day. After a much needed nights sleep, we played for our good friends there, and enjoyed a dinner of hot gyros, Milky Way bars and Nutter-Butters. And today, sunburned from yesterday's afternoon performance, we drove back to Detroit, returned the rental car, flew to Nashville, changed planes for the last time and are now headed towards ? I can finally say with confidence ? home. If I can only survive the current turbulence.
"Confidence." In between Sprite burps, I write that word on the cover of In Flight magazine and try to focus on it. How fitting it be for me to be pontificating on the virtues of confidence when, (A) I have to struggle to preserve it and, (B) what guts I do have are currently being regurgitated along with the meals or lack there of I've consumed in the last 24 hours.
 
Confidence. That word's the living, breathing, core of my livelihood. Occasionally, Confidence ? I use a capital "C" because I think of "Confidence" as a person ? opts out of my performance, choosing instead to shyly peak at me through the curtains, behind the stage. And sometimes this precocious waif blocks my path or hides in the folds of my thoughts and twists my ego into a shapeless waxen puddle void of all reality. In short, Confidence is an unreliable employee that's created a niche in my small world, ensuring her tenure by convincing me that I *need* her in order to continue on my journey. Because when this character's been a no-show, I've forced my size 10's into size eights, changed from jeans to overalls and overalls to jeans ?till I pulled a hamstring, and tugged my fried hair (going from blonde to platinum to brunette to orange ? by accident ? and then back to blonde will do this) into a ponytail just to jerk it out to wear it down so many times I got a migraine. I've also turned opportunities into quicksand, lacked ability to make or stand up for my own decisions, suffered from a chip on my shoulder, plucked my feathers and garbled like a chicken in interviews, played my instruments like I've never picked one up before, and thrown lyrics in the trash that I'd once found refreshing.
 
But remarkably, for all the times Confidence has left me high and dry, I've survived. And though sometimes I don't always feel strong at the time, it's the times I've squeaked by the seat of my pants *without* Confidence that have really made me stronger, made me who I am. Don't get me wrong ? Confidence is nice to have around in a pinch. But sometimes I think I overrate her importance in the whole operation. From choices on my appearance, to my business decisions to, most importantly, all the songs I write, don't write, perform or don't perform ... I've *got* confidence, but she most definitely does *not* have *me.* And that's the secret ? having confidence in yourself even when "Confidence" herself is nowhere to be found. Knowing that is what will give me the, well, confidence to talk about Confidence at my Old No. 9 Workshop. Perhaps I'll always cruise down life's highway on wheels that wobble, but it's *me* behind the wheel, and inside I've got a better engine. And I built it without confidence! Because ... my heart seeks art. So, with 3/4 faith and 1/4 hope, I created a solar-powered, peanut-and-burrito-eatin' (runs on garbage), environmentally friendly vehicle that I'll get a ticket for sure in if I don't watch the speed signs. Confidence be damned! With the time I've got left on this planet, you'll find me chasing after the muse. I've got a lust for words, a purpose and a message I hope to convey through my music. So these days, when confidence bows out on me, I wave good-bye, chart my course (with or without the help of Yahoo maps), gun my engine and proceed anyway. And sure enough, the minute I turn around, there's Confidence, twirling a lock of her hair through her fingers, smiling at me from the backseat, enjoying the ride ... in spite of  the unpleasant sensations coming from underneath the hood caused by what I've crammed into the fuel tank due to my hectic schedule!
 
P.S.
After finishing my October GoatNotes, I played the Austin City Limits Music Festival. I'm proud of my show there and the way we, as a band, performed. I was able to communicate (with confidence!), through music, to several thousand people. The next night, I communicated just as effectively at a private function ... for a group of fifty. It's not the quantity of folks in an audience that gets my goat happy. It's not the quantity of folks I play for that inspires me. It's the opportunity to perform for an enthusiastic audience. Quality, not quantity. It's not the venue, it's what's inside me.
Happy Trails,
Terri Hendrix
(C) (P) October 2004 THM Music
Additions and deletions for my GoatNotes terri@terrihendrix.com 
www.terrihendrix.com