Every time I think I have managed to convince myself that I absolutely do not need to be traveling with a guitar…
I find myself in an airport, waiting for the sun to rise and my hotel to open so that I have somewhere to stay.
A man named Phillip was also waiting for the sun to rise.
He pointed to my guitar case and said “You play?”
So while we waited for sunrise, I learned about blues. I learned about Rock ‘n Roll, and fingerpicking. He played my guitar and I played my ukulele.
We sang House of the Rising Sun, because we both knew the lyrics to that one. (Mostly.)
Because music is it’s own language.
Because even at 4:00 in the morning, at the arrivals gate of Denpasar Airport in Bali, with two hours until sunrise, there is still space to create joy.