To solo: to stand alone in front of others, performing.

It also means being scared of failure and a courageous attempt to embrace fear.

We need to solo.  Tackling those fears, with courage makes us grow.

It is a also great gift, rich in opportunity to fail.  It’s success is celebrated; it’s failure is ridiculed.  The latter makes us applaud.  The former makes us scared to try.

My mom soloed when she was alive.  Dad would be away for months at a time.  She didn’t pick up the mic and stand before a crowd.  She worked, shopped, played badminton with me, and laughed at all things that allowed for it.  Her hope was the chance to receive help.  It came when my dad returned.  His presence gave her respite from the mic, even if only for a while.  Then, would go on tour, and solo again.

My editor soloed when he worked on my first book.  He took my pattern of words and wove a tapestry that is an upgrade of my own.  Just like the sound engineer in the booth at a concert, he makes the final product more impactful.  He makes it shareable.  Alas, he gets no applause, as is the case with most who solo.

Most of my workouts are solo endeavors.  They are designed to strengthen me and keep me fit and free from injury.  I finished one and go on to the next act in my life.

Will my solo be remembered?  I must remember that performers, politicians, authors and housewives also solo, and they all have the same thoughts I do.  They also wonder if it really matters, in the end.

People applaud when I teach and offer their heart a touch that inspires thought.  They applaud what they see in the present.  Alas, they should cry with me at the pain that led me to my solo.  They didn’t see the childhood abuse.  They didn’t see all the boundaries that should never have been crossed.  Few know how much pain is right below the surface as I solo.  They only see the outside, the final product.  They hear the notes from the amplified, not all the missed notes that were a part of practice.  The act of watching my solo would be a bit too painful of an experience if they saw the whole thing.

The act of soloing creates literally every response known to man.  You can add your own to this list.

• It creates a ferocious fear of failure in a public light. This fear paralyzes our peers and the ones we love.  Don’t we all know someone meant to solo but doesn’t?
• Soloing mandates a passion to commit, in full, to strangers. Just as Christ died for the church, a true soloist must be willing to die to the strangers who see him solo.  Half efforts avail nothing.  No singing under your breath can create the impact a solo from the depth of your lungs is meant to elicit.
• Soloing contains humanity’s most complex algorithm. An honest soloist cannot tell you what is actually coming next in the timeline. Their predictions only come true on occasion.  They get a superficial understanding of the gift they have received and nurtured, but they can’t really tell you what the upside looks like.  Tell Michael Jordan that his first layup would lead to world championships.  Tell Gwen Jorgenson that her first running shoes would lead her to the middle of the podium at the Olympics, and they both would graciously discard such foolishness.
• Solos create a false sense of uniqueness. Every artist knows that there are those who have come before who have tried AND succeeded at what they are doing.  In the present, our outcomes appear to be magic, even to us, full of “I never have,” clauses in our descriptions.  But our truth is that we have nothing new to offer.  Just like the little drummer boy who has come to peace that his rumpy tum tum is all they have; it becomes the act itself that contains the meaning.
• Identity only comes from soloing. Nothing is riskier than staring at the required reconciliation between our solos and our sense of self.  Our heart is the part of us that first sees the disconnect between what we do and what we are meant to do.  The most honest among us see a need for a savior without any spiritual guide to convince us.

When the mirror comes around and we see our outcomes and compare them to the risks we took, a peacemaker is needed. We finish our days without the passion we told ourselves we would nurture.  We play it safe and bury those moments when we see that we were more like the man with one talent than the one with five.

I am always disconnected between who I am and what I do.  Soloing is the closest thing to bridging that gap that God has given us.

“I am,” is a sentence only finished when we solo.

I am blessed by God in His gift of the solo.  And for that gift, I solo.

For me, I serve Him when I solo.  Even if you don’t see all that is behind it.

Maybe now, you can solo with a different sense of why you are called to stand alone and deliver. No, it will never be safe, especially if it is really a solo.  No, you won’t get the affirmation your heart really desires.  You likely will not get applause, even though you deserve it.  Perhaps just thinking about soloing will give you a chance to catch up on all things that made you who you are.

But you might touch someone.  Maybe.  And that risk makes it worth it.

Dear Soloist,

Thank you for the risks you take.  Thank you for letting me see a part of you.    Thank you.

REALLY.

You inspire me.

You make me love me.  You show me how our Creator has made us.

Thank you.

REALLY.