Is This a Real Job?

With hesitation I glance at the clock, It's 3:45 P.M. My pulse quickens and I begin to feel that sense of anticipation build. "It's go time!", I mutter to myself, as I drag my old sorry carcass up the long flight of stairs. I start dressing and find myself pondering the age old question, Is this really a job? I have wrestled with this dilemma for months. Well do I remember the first days of my street performing career.

There I was standing on the street, timid and fearful, afraid to breath life into the waiting pipes for fear of incurring the wrath of some outraged passer by. Then the first tell-tell sounds of the drones as the instrument of antiquity slowly came to life, watching as I played, for any signs of police action. The siren that would signal my doom. It never came. Still, I played on. One by one, the rabble passed, some smiling, others merely trying to ignore me. Then it happened, a fan of Celtic music came by, and the first offerings found their way into my waiting case.

It seems like ages since those first intrepid attempts at Busking. So much time has gone by, now it feels natural to play on the street. I no longer worry, or even care about what others may think of the Celtic strains. How is it that such change has come upon me? Simple, I have learned the truth; people welcome the addition of music to the otherwise drab atmosphere of the city.

For months I have been frequenting various locations, playing my simple tunes. I have found fulfillment in sharing my heritage with those I meet. I have thrilled to the opportunities to play as young highland dancers consent to show their skills as well. Recently, while playing for the Quilting Convention (Rough crowd you say?), I met a young girl walking with her mother. They were from Canada and she was a budding Highland Dance star.

"Would you like to dance while I play?" I asked.

I expected the same response I usually get when I pose this question, but I was pleasantly surprised. The young girl merely smiled and said,

"Sure."

I played a Strathspey, to which she danced the "Sword dance". I struck in the pipes and began, watching out of the corner of my eye as she assumed a stately pose, then slowly gave a grand bow. She sprang into a beautiful rendition of the old Scottish folk dance. She bounced and bobbed with excellent style and grace. Her arms precisely mimicked the stately horns of the great stag. It was all I could do to concentrate on the tune. I didn't want to be the one who screwed up. I played a simple Strathspey called, "The Orange and Blue". Quickly, a crowd formed and watched as the spry youth danced and smiled brightly. I began the refrain a second time, then remembered how exhausting it was to dance the dance. I glanced at the young lady. She was smiling, but showed signs of fatigue. I skipped to the last bar and concluded the tune, to which she gave another bow amidst the cheers of the crowd.

Again I queried to myself, Is this a Job? Nae, I answered. This is a passion. I reflected on how blessed I am to have such an opportunity. Who would have dreamed that loosing my employment would eventually lead to such a wonderful pursuit. Whether street performing is a job or no' is a moot point. What is important is that I continue to pursue the dream, and to bring joy to others. Therein is my true satisfaction. Someday I may return to the workforce and earn money in the traditional way, but for now, I am content to share and offer my skills to others. Hopefully, they will be enriched by my efforts and I may yet be able to say, "I have done some good here."

So, when you are driving in downtown Salt Lake, and you see an old man playing the pipes, won't you give a wee honk of the horn and a wave? It will do me a world of good. Better yet, why not pull over and spend a moment or two listening to the timeless strains of the great Ceol Mor!

(Special thanks to Connor Barry for taking these photos of me. He is an awesome up and coming Photographer.)