I’ve played the guitar for 30 years.

Unless you’re family or a very close friend, you haven’t heard me play. That’s probably for the best. I know the chords. I understand quite a bit of music theory. I can strum some cowboy chords and sing a passable melody most of the time. But I’m not a contender for a Grammy award or anything. I don’t write my own songs. I don’t play lead. I don’t use a pick. I get lost once I’m past the fifth fret. And if you paid to hear me play, you’d probably want your money back. My guitar has a pickup, so I can plug it into an amp. I’ve never done that. I’ve never needed to be heard by more than a couple people sitting in the same room. I’m not a performer. I don’t want a stage. I’m more at home playing on the couch or around the campfire.

In my mind, though, sometimes there’s an audience. There are songs I learned to play for specific people, just in case I happen to be in a situation where the opportunity presents itself. I’ve almost never actually performed them for those people. I had a colleage once whose child had an unusual name, and I learned a song with that name in it, so I could play it if we were ever in the same place, and there was a guitar handy. That never happened. I still play the song. I learned another one because it reminded me of the Twitter handle of a parent who used to volunteer on technology projects at my school. I never played it for her, either. Astronaut Chris Hatfield used to talk about being prepared “just in case.” He learned to play “Rocket Man” because he thought if he were ever in a situation where he met Elton John, and Elton wanted to play a song with him, that’s the song they should play together. So he learned it just in case. I don’t think he ever played it with Elton, but, you know, he is ready if the opportunity ever comes up.

The songs remind me of the people I learned them for, and when I play them, I think about them. Emily and Samm each have several. Dad had many. Some friends and colleages have them. Most of them don’t know. I play them for me, because they remind me of people, not because I want to perform them. I don’t really need an audience.

The same is true here. This blog doesn’t have an audience. I know a couple people might read these words, and at various times, I’ve written with specific people in mind. Over the years, my audience has varied a lot. Sometimes, I get feedback from unexpected places because I forget that it’s available for anyone to read. One of the implications of writing in public is that people occasionally find and read my words. That keeps me honest. I’m not interested in hiding behind anoymity or in crafting alternative narratives. If you want to engage with me on some of these ideas, I’m happy to do it. But I certainly don’t expect it.

Having the audience is not the most important thing. It’s not about writing for someone or writing to someone in particular. I don’t delude myself into thinking that I’m changing people’s minds or altering their perspectives in any meaningful way. I’m reflecting on my journey. And you can come along for the ride if you want. But my audience has always been me.

Just don’t ask me to play a song.