As I listened to the tunes of Chris Chambers filling the air, my gaze was drawn to a wooden sign proudly displayed above the bar, boldly declaring the words: “Sit Long. Talk Much. Laugh Often.”

“Sit Long?” Don’t mind if I do, I thought. I’m the type who can happily sit and soak in the magic of a live performance, especially with a cold drink in hand. Gone are the days of toiling on my feet. Though, if I’m being honest, I never really had those days any extended period apart from my days as a welder. These days though, I find solace in the comfort of a seat. I’m not even a little bit embarrassed to tell you that I’ve embraced my inner couch potato, complete with the midsection to prove it.

“Talk much.” Another easy check of the box. Don’t believe me, ask any of my siblings and they’ll have no shortage of stories with the same premise: ‘Damion doesn’t shut up!’ Apparently, I inherited this trait from my dad, who too had no shortage of words, but who became especially talkative when a few drinks were involved. And in my case, being chatty goes hand in hand with being a bit loud because, well let’s face it, I have a ‘big mouth’. Looking up again at the sign’s instructions, I can see that I’m two for two.

Now, what about the last one? Ah, “Laugh Often.” Hat trick! No trouble here either. Though, let’s be honest, we could all use a bit more laughter in our lives. There’s no such thing as laughing too much, right? (Well, I guess maybe there is, but my point remains) Besides, when was the last time you allowed yourself to properly indulge in a laugh? I don’t mean chuckle, or a laugh where you need to be ‘decent’, I’m talking about the kind of laugh where you have to slap your thighs, hold your stomach and massage your jaws after it’s all over. A proper dutty laugh.

As I studied the old sign, I found myself observing how intricately each letter was carved into the wood, and I couldn’t help but think of my Dad. The song came to an end and the applause from the crowd snapped me back to reality. Chris Chambers was unknown to me – I couldn’t even find him on Apple Music. Yet, here I was, experiencing his music in all its glory, and enjoying every second of it.

The venue was small and intimate and the upper room in which we were located could only seat a few dozen. It was warm and inviting and smelled of food, beer and life; a stark contrast to the frigid temperatures outside. The mature crowd was refreshingly free from the distraction of loud youths or a sea of phones recording every moment. These folks were here to savour the show, and, because no one had their phones out, I hesitated to reach for mine to snap photos. So, for the first half of the show, I sat sipping my beer, tapping my feet to unfamiliar tunes that seemed to be exactly what my soul needed.

Around halftime, I excused myself to the bar—a chance to stretch my legs but more importantly, to capture a few discreet photos while I waited for my drink. But I had to be quick – I didn’t want to be one of ‘those people’.

This show was Lei’s idea, and I was grateful she’d done all the planning. I think she’s learned that organizing things really isn’t one of my strengths and that simple tasks like these could stress me out way more than they should. (Something I really need to work on)  After the show, we ventured to a small eatery for a delightful meal (a crab dip thingy) and warm, refreshing drinks. The company was the best I could hope for and the conversation, as always, came as naturally as ever.

Eventually, the clouds cleared and as the sun made a welcome appearance, we watched the snow gently settle on the ground. I still find snow to be a magical and beautiful thing and I could easily spend hours just watching it fall.

With full hearts and bellies, we grabbed an Uber and headed home well before sunset. “My kind of day,” I thought to myself. We had an outing, drinks and a meal and made it back home while the sun was still up, like a proper old couple.

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I know that this post was a tad light on the photos, but I’d like to start sprinkling some more storytelling goodness in my content. Sure, pictures are awesome and will always be one of my favorite mediums. But I don’t want to let the absence of visuals stifle my storytelling groove, you know?

I’ve had a lifelong love affair with words (probably why I’m such a chatterbox) and have long dreamt of writing books. Even though I’ve never properly acted on this dream, it’s always occupied a small space at the back of my mind. From a young age, books played a big part in my identity and have shaped my imagination in all kinds of ways. Plus, I kinda believe that every reader is also secretly a writer.

But, oh boy, figuring out what stories to tell is a puzzle. Real-life tales or fictional adventures? Could I even tell either one and, if I could, would anyone even care to read them? Would my stories even matter?

These questions, and the fear of putting myself out there, have left me stuck in a peculiar limbo. I craved storytelling but dreaded picking the wrong stories to tell or telling them wrong. So, I ended up as a storyteller who, well, didn’t really tell stories. What do you even call such a person, right?

As the years rolled on, I found myself dabbling in various  art forms – words, images, films – searching for that sneaky little sweet spot. But guess what? It dawned on me that I don’t need to settle for just one gig. I mean, why limit myself when I can wear multiple hats? So I’ve decided to fully embrace my Damion-ness. And what does Damion do? Well, I think a more fitting question is, what doesn’t Damion do? As it turns out, I can pretty much do whatever I want.

Stay well friend. We’ll talk in the next one.

Damion