There is a rock band forming in my house. For two days in a row my music loving daughter has had other kids here. All down in my basement. Making a ton of noise.
But I don’t mind it at all.
Let this be the house where they make that awful noise. Let this be the place where they turn that noise into actual music. Where they change and grow and learn, and write the perfect lyric. Strike the perfect chord. Find the perfect beat.
Let this be the place where they experiment wildly and hone their craft precisely. Where they evolve into what they might become.
They have brought an energy into the house. An electrically charged hint of the future. A future where anything can happen. The whole world lies ahead of them and anything is possible. Anything good. Anything amazing.
These kids don’t know a world before Nirvana. Anyone who tries to start a band in the basement can grow up to be the next Dave Grohl. There is nothing stopping them. Nothing holding them back. Nothing telling them that their biggest and wildest dreams can’t come true.
The absolute positivity is palpable. It takes my breath away. My heart grows fuller with every sound. Every guitar riff is potential. Every crash of the cymbal is possibility. Every burst of laughter is hope.
Hope for all of the possible futures they can imagine. Every single one of them.
And hope that perhaps someday I’ll be on one of those VH1 Behind the Music Shows.
“Yes, that’s right. I am Maggie’s mom. I used to make them snacks.”
Anything is possible.