Too Many Voices. Not Enough Ears.

It's 2:40 AM.

Usually, I'd be catching my second wind. I think I'm getting old.

Speaking of old, I just noticed that my MySpace blog page states that I am female and 105 years old. I have no idea how to change this. (The fact that I'm an old centenarian hag, that is.)

I'm tired.

Tired in a way that transcends drowsiness. Tired of all the selling.

Everyone is selling something. Usually, it's oneself. It happens on an interpersonal level, every day, in everyone's life. We all want to be noticed, valued, loved. And so we sell ourselves. I'm not talking about selling oneself for money, although you hookers out there will identify with that. I'm talking about proving ourselves, getting people to notice, getting people to buy into what we're trying to be. It happens in the workplace. We sell ourselves, pushing our own agendas to get a raise, a promotion. A lunch break.

I do it too. In this crazy music business, it seems impossible to get ahead without selling yourself, unless you can pay the right people to sell you. All I really want to do is to write and play music, to travel, to meet people. It never turns out to be that simple. In the ever-burgeoning music scene, every artist, every band, is striving to sell themselves on what they have that's different. That's new. That will change your life. A chord, a rhyme, an image, a tattoo, a haircut, an interactive CD/DVD, a downloadable album that you can pick your price for.

There are too many voices, and not enough ears.

But the voices rarely take this into consideration. Instead, they babble on.

I wish I had a million fans, three platinum albums, and the last name "Pickler." I'd even take two out of those three. It's so easy to fall into the trap of wanting more, and to forget to be grateful for the people I know, the shows I've played, the fans who have connected with a lyric I've written. To be grateful for a show in Cave Junction, OR last week, in the middle of nowhere, in a dive bar, that by all of the standards of the industry was a worthless show, but where I met some amazing, giving, hilarious people with stories to tell.

Who am I? I'm a guy with a voice and a guitar. One of tens of thousands of such guys. Millions, maybe. How should I sell myself to separate my voice from the rest? I don't know. I wish I didn't have to figure it out.

I'm tired.