Tonight, I stepped out of my comfort zone and into the city, trusting an old friend to guide me on an unexpected adventure. We met at Keys Jazz Bistro in North Beach, a cozy little jazz bar where the air buzzed with warmth and anticipation. The owner, celebrating his wife’s birthday, had invited one of her favorite singers—Kenny Washington Jr.—to perform.
I’m not usually a jazz kind of gal, but oh, wow.
The music was hypnotic. As the melodies wrapped around me, I felt my shoulders drop from my ears, my breath deepen, and my heart relax for what felt like the first time in a long while. It didn’t hurt that my friend and I shared easy laughter, the kind that reminds you of who you are. I exhaled, softened, and found myself again.
And here’s what struck me most—nobody had their phones out. The entire room was present, attuned to the music, to each other. You could feel our hearts collectively opening. When Kenny sang Frank Sinatra, it was like the final key turning in the lock—something in me melted, softened, opened even more.
Then, an unexpected conversation unfolded. The percussionist, a genuine soul, came over, and we dove into a deep dialogue. I couldn’t help but blurt out how their music made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a while—the possibility of love, of hope. It was comforting in a way I didn’t know I needed.
He nodded knowingly and said, “That’s why we’re here.”
He shared that he mentors youth at the SF Jazz Center, and earlier that day, the teachers and mentors had gathered to check in with one another. “It was heavy,” he admitted. And then he asked a question that lingered in the air:
"Don’t you feel it? The personal and collective heaviness?"
I do. Maybe you do, too. It feels like the earth itself is holding dis-ease, uncertainty, and chaos, as if bracing for tremendous growth. And in these moments, we need each other more than ever. Interdependence is the center of well-being. We need to look around, to ask each other:
"How are you doing, really?"
Tonight was more than a night of music. It was a reminder—to breathe, to open, to trust, to connect. A reminder that beauty still exists, that our hearts can still soften, and that we can navigate this heaviness together.
I will always hold this night deep in my heart.
An Invitation for You
Step out. Say yes. Wander into something new. Let the world surprise you. Open your heart. You never know what—or who—might be waiting to meet you there.
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