During one of my tours as a singer-songwriter, I visited high schools to hold fundraisers for their music programs. We ended up raising and donating $300,000 to these programs with this tour. As part of this tour, I would involve the school choirs, jazz band, concert band, drumline, and dance teams in the show. They would join me on stage, performing my songs with me. 

I made a stop in Dallas to one of their high schools. The ensembles were all ready for me. They had been rehearsing to my music for the past few months. I showed up the day before our benefit concert. The dress rehearsal went well, and I found out the school had already sold out the show. It was going to be a full house. 

Feeling good, I headed back to my hotel room. it was late afternoon, and I drove past an empty soccer field. I had the random, strange urge to run some sprints. Not sure if anyone in the world has ever driven past an empty field and thought to themselves, "that fields lookin' mighty fresh. I'm gonna run some sprints!" Well, that's what I did. I pulled over and spent the next forty minutes running sprints, like Forrest Gump. 

After the workout, I drove back to the hotel room and started to notice something. My throat was swelling up, and I was struggling breathing. My sinuses were congested, my eyes were itching like crazy. I was experiencing a massive allergy attack. And what's worse, I completely lost my voice. 

Panicked, I race to the pharmacy, grab allergy medicine and all the home remedies and return to the hotel room, breathing in steam from the shower while I drink throat coat and pop some Claritin pills. I go to sleep early, hoping the rest will solve the problem. 

Next morning, my voice is still completely gone. Big show, no voice! I drive back to the high school and explain to the choir teacher what's going on. She can hear it in my voice. I ask her to round up some choir kids to sing my songs for me. I've never seen a more nervous bunch of kids, but they were there and willing to bust out a brand new song in front of a full house that evening. 

A few hours later, it's showtime. The kids are rehearsing back stage, nervously pacing. But there's one kid who doesn't seem nervous. Jordan the trumpet player. He agreed to perform an instrumental version of one of my songs. 

The show begins, I explain the situation to the audience. They can hear me squeaking out words--it's obvious what's going on. I bring one student out after another, and they perform their songs. Some of them are visibly shaking with nerves, but they press through it, performing for a supportive crowd. 

Then out comes Jordan with his trumpet. I begin the song on the piano and he starts dancing. He blasts his trumpet, running all over the stage. The crowd is immediately up on their feet, cheering louder than any crowd should. Jordan is working that crowd like a rockstar, kicking his feet and blowing his horn. He wasn't even playing my song in the right key--he was missing all the notes, but it didn't matter. That crowd loved his confidence. He had the stage presence. 

I learned a lot from Jordan in that moment. I had been stressed this whole time about letting everyone down, I hadn't taken the time to live in the moment. Jordan didn't care his performance wasn't perfect. He was ok with almost being enough. And because of that, he lived in the moment and showed the rest of us how. Everyone in that crowd had experienced the intense nerves of all the previous performances. For the first time in the show, they could let loose and enjoy it. Jordan set the tone for the night. 

It's easy to get caught up on our own high expectations. When we demand perfection, we're usually disappointed. While we should still do our best, we need to let go of our expectations and take a page from Jordan's book to live in the moment. Because "Almost is Enough!"