The taste of fame had a bitter aftertaste. At age 19, his band had signed a record contract and had a minor hit. An unfortunate car wreck, drugs and poor choices led to the band’s breakup one year later. He had been chasing after a fading dream ever since.
He spent the next few years of his life driving while looking in the rearview mirror. And the damage he caused because of it was legendary. Anyone — and anything — in his way was sure to be destroyed. Anger, Scotch and self pity fueled him on a mad march to the bottom. At age 45, he was burned out and walking away from music for what he thought was good.
The music inside of him had fallen silent. And it took and angel to bring it back out of him.
They met on an elevator. He tried to stare at the numbers but couldn’t help notice her smile. She was in her black cocktail dress and stunningly beautiful. He was grungy looking as always. Her face lit up with pure joy when she looked into his eyes. A couple of stale jokes and a nervous shuffle, he held the door as she walked out into the crowd. The elevator had gone down five floors and his heart had risen three. Now she was walking away for good. Just his luck.
Fate has a funny way of mending old wounds. They ended up sitting at the same banquet table that night. The chicken was rubber but the company was golden. Small talk grew to larger topics. Phone numbers were exchanged and calls were made. He could have asked for a better person for him — but there wasn’t one on the earth. A quick marriage was followed by a baby girl. At 46, he was a first-time dad.
He looked down at his angel sleeping in the crib. Life had handed him so many disappointments — but now, well now life had made up for all the past wrongs. She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was his little girl.
He walked out of her room and opened the hall closet. In there was an old friend named Martin. He opened up the case and pulled out his old acoustic guitar. He quietly tuned the strings and began to strum three simple chords. Then it happened — somewhere inside of him, the music came back alive. He began to softly sing to his angel. Music’s joy wrapped its arms around him held him as all the past pain evaporated.
Over time he began to write songs again. Songs of joy. Songs of thankfulness. He quit burying his talent and put it to song. Self pity melted like ice in the desert. An agent got a couple of his songs recorded. Several top country acts were soon recording his new work. And then he got the call to join one of the groups on stage.
As he played at The Grand Ol’ Opry that night, he looked out into the audience and he could see his wife and baby daughter. Although this was technically his night, it was really theirs. Their love had fixed him like a restrung old guitar. As he strummed his latest songs, he finally figured out what true success really meant.
Success was the stories that came from your heart, not money or fame. He smiled. That’d sound good in a minor chord.