When I first started doing work in radio, I tried to quit. The very first time I had to be live on the air, the person supervising me had to physically hold me to the mic. It’s terrifying, just like any first time. My first time driving, I felt the same way. The time I was kissed, I felt the same way. Any first time, even if it will be like freedom after a few seconds, can be frightening.
Now, coming back after six months of weakness and missing the Northwest, I feel such peace in the studio. The music pouring over the giant speaker mounted on the ceiling to the noise cancelling headphones I can place over my ears to experience utter silence (for once!). The calm settles on me as I imagine my mother, my best friend Kate, within arm’s reach, listening to me tell the radio stories.
But it reminds me too that many people have left this town-- it almost feels like I’m telling stories to the air. I’ve walked to the highest point to see the city from a bird’s view and I’ve told stories into the air there too, hoping they’d settle down on the streets and on top of people’s heads. Maybe even reaching far enough to touch the ears of long lost friends. Radio waves only go so far, but the wind I hope will reach them.
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