A faint glow appeared on the dark horizon.<\/p>\n
Nashville was close, I could feel it. Goosebumps ran up and down my arms.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d made this six-hour drive down I-71 from Columbus, Ohio, so many weekends to sing at karaoke bars with my cousin Jay, who lived in a tiny one-bedroom not far from Music Row.<\/p>\n
But this time was different. I was moving to Nashville for good. Every time my truck hit a bump, I heard everything I owned rattle in the back, reminding me of what a huge leap I\u2019d made. The biggest of my life.<\/p>\n
I was 27, and knew success in Music City was a long shot. I left behind a job I\u2019d had for 10 years, a job I loved, training the developmentally disabled to work and live independently. Now, nearing that distant glow, I thought about the clients I\u2019d left.<\/p>\n
My eyes still felt wet from the tears I\u2019d shared with Ruth, whom I\u2019d worked with for seven years. She\u2019ll be okay. But will she ever understand how much she meant to me?<\/em><\/p>\n Music was big in my family. My grandfather taught me to sing my first song when I was seven, \u201cOld Rugged Cross.\u201d I recorded it on a little tape recorder, my high, quiet voice struggling to be heard over my grandfather\u2019s guitar.<\/p>\n I got my first electric guitar for Christmas that year, and learned to play by watching my dad and my grandfather.<\/p>\n The first time I sang in public I was nine, in the Christmas pageant at church. Over the years, my little voice got big. I never took lessons; it was a gift from God. One that I wanted more and more to use.<\/p>\n By high school I knew I wanted to be a singer. Guitar strings and tapes weren\u2019t free, though. Mom suggested I take a summer job where she worked, at the Ohio Department of Mental Retardation. My mom, grandmother and Jay\u2019s mom had all worked there for decades.<\/p>\n \u201cFollow me around, see how you like it,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n That first day I watched Mom guide a man down a hallway, pushing a vacuum. She was training him for a janitorial job, but he kept missing spots. They repeated the hallway over and over. He\u2019ll never get this right<\/em>, I thought. How does Mom do it?<\/em> But they kept at it.<\/p>\n Finally, at the end of the day, he cleaned the entire floor by himself. He was beaming. He hugged me, hugged Mom. I couldn\u2019t help but smile, his joy was contagious.<\/p>\n I wasn\u2019t finding much to smile about in music. After a stint in college, I played clubs around Columbus, but couldn\u2019t make a living. I was frustrated.<\/p>\n In the meantime, I got a job doing what I\u2019d watched Mom do so well. I trained seven to eight people a day, breaking down, step by step, each part of having a job: punching a time card, packing a lunch, basic conversation.<\/p>\n One of my clients got so nervous in front of people he couldn\u2019t fill up a bottle of cleaning fluid without spilling it. But every day he tried harder. He didn\u2019t let the small stuff get him down.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t stop dreaming about a music career, but I could see why Mom liked this job. The people are inspiring.<\/em><\/p>\n One day I was at the training center when a group of clients came back from the Special Olympics. I was about to turn back to what I was doing. But then I saw my client\u2013the one who\u2019d made all those spills.<\/p>\n That can\u2019t be\u2026<\/em> He was proudly displaying a medal he\u2019d won racing in front of a stadium full of strangers.<\/p>\n Wow.<\/em> He\u2019d put aside his fears. Just because he had challenges didn\u2019t mean he would give up. That took a kind of faith I\u2019d never seen before. He took a risk each day, hopeful he\u2019d succeed. I was happy my client had done it. I longed to draw on that kind of courage myself.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n At the end of my shift on Fridays, I\u2019d drive to Jay\u2019s place in Nashville. We wrote songs all night and performed them the next day. Often we played to empty rooms.<\/p>\n But one night at a popular karaoke bar, Lonnie\u2019s Western Room in Printers Alley, the crowd was feeling it. I got the loudest applause. It felt good.<\/p>\n A guy in a cowboy hat approached. He offered a weekday gig at his guitar bar down the street. \u201cI\u2019d love to,\u201d I said, \u201cbut I don\u2019t live here.\u201d<\/p>\n Jay shook his head at me on our way back to his place. \u201cYou have a gift, Gary. Can\u2019t you tell God wants you to use it? You have to move down here.\u201d Yeah, right<\/em>. Jay had more talent than most, and he\u2019d gotten a few gigs. But he wasn\u2019t making much money at it. Besides, I was helping people.<\/p>\n I left Jay\u2019s place headed back to Ohio, watching the lights of Nashville fade in my rearview mirror. Man, that stage felt good<\/em>, I thought. Not just the energy from the crowd. It felt like I was in the right place.<\/p>\n Should I turn around?<\/em> I shook it off. In Ohio I could see success in every person I helped. Who knew what I\u2019d find in Nashville? I prayed for God to lead me.<\/p>\n I was being silly, I figured. God wanted me in Ohio. My clients needed me. Like Ruth. I had been her trainer, helping her be a greeter at Walmart. The first time I met her, she was too shy to even look up at me. Her confidence was shot. She even told me she\u2019d never have anyone fall in love with her.<\/p>\n Over the years, though, I saw her become more comfortable in her own skin. That\u2019s what\u2019s important, not some impossible dream.<\/p>\n One day I met with Ruth, but she seemed distracted, staring off into space. \u201cIs something wrong, Ruth?\u201d I asked. She just shook her head. Was her confidence taking a nosedive again? \u201cSee ya tomorrow,\u201d I said at the end of the day, but she darted out without a goodbye. I hoped she was okay.<\/p>\n A few days later, though, she practically bounced into the room. \u201cWhat\u2019s up, Ruth?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI have a boyfriend!\u201d she shouted gleefully. That was why she\u2019d seemed distracted the other day\u2013it was the day she\u2019d finally had the courage to talk to one of her coworkers, another of our clients. Yesterday he\u2019d asked her out. Way to go, Ruth<\/em>! I almost shouted.<\/p>\n This wasn\u2019t just about getting a job, I realized. Being a janitor or a greeter\u2013that\u2019s not where my clients\u2019 joy came from. A job was the first step toward living life like anybody else\u2013that was Ruth\u2019s dream. She\u2019d taken a leap, and it paid off.<\/p>\n Seeing her so happy, I felt that pull again, the pull I\u2019d tried to ignore for too long. How many of my clients had I seen get jobs, even when no one thought they could? Every day they put themselves out there, facing obstacles far greater than any I\u2019d ever face.<\/p>\n They\u2019re living their dreams. Is it time to start living mine?<\/em> Maybe I was at this job for a reason, but not the reason I thought.<\/p>\n I wrestled with my decision for weeks. Telling Jay was easy. He was excited I\u2019d decided to move in with him. I gave my two weeks notice, but telling my clients was the hardest. Finally came the day I knew I couldn\u2019t just say, \u201cSee ya tomorrow.\u201d I sat down with Ruth and told her I was leaving.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen are you coming back?\u201d she asked me.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. She cried, and I cried too. They were more than clients, I realized. They were friends. I was going to miss them all. \u201cI couldn\u2019t do this if it wasn\u2019t for you,\u201d I told Ruth.<\/p>\n Now, driving to Nashville at last with everything I owned in the back of my truck, I felt a feeling I hadn\u2019t known before. I stopped feeling the bumps of the road as that glow on the dark horizon became speckled with the lights of the city.<\/p>\n