“I don’t have enough time.”
“I started too late.”
“I don’t have the right credentials.”
“I don’t have the right skills.”
“I’ve got too many other commitments.”

Sometimes our greatest feats are a result of unshakable self-belief. But far more often, they come from carrying self-doubt, staring down challenges, and continuing anyway.

My husband is living that out this weekend, as his group, Nick and Brew, is featured in the band competition at MerleFest. His music has been a ten-year endeavor—wavering between hobby and part-time work, and often resting, for days at a time, on the shelf… or the chopping block.

It’s hard to make money—or even cover your costs—as a musician. In our family, we like to joke that it makes professional hiking look like a responsible life choice. But what music can do is fill your soul, give you a voice, spark creativity, encourage connection, and add beauty to the world—even when most of the songs are about broken homes, bootlegging, and battle scars. (I do sometimes wonder what Brew's songwriting implies about our domestic life.)

The truth is, Brew’s music is not my music—not my genre, not my scene. And if you’re like me, a somewhat shameful consumer of pop music, you should still give his work a listen. Because while it’s hard for me to digest his favorite artists, I genuinely like his stuff. And I really did try to like the other stuff, too.

Early in our marriage, we went to MerleFest multiple times. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s one of the premier Americana and bluegrass festivals in the country. Founded in 1988 by the famed Doc Watson in memory of his son, Eddy “Merle” Watson, it now draws around 75,000 attendees over four days, with headliners like this year’s Alison Krauss & Union Station and Old Crow Medicine Show.

Every year, I watched my husband wander the campus of Wilkes Community College in an enchanted state, gazing lovingly at the different stages and bands. And every year, the only thing I could think was: How far are we from the Mountains-to-Sea Trail—and can we please go for a hike?

It wasn’t for me—the crowds, the loud music, the idea of camping in a field with hundreds of other tents (this isn’t camping!). But it was for Brew. And I came to love it simply because he loved it—especially once he stopped asking me to go.

When Brew is in the presence of Americana and bluegrass music, something in him comes alive. He connects with it in a way that is distinct from everything else he loves—including me. I’m in awe of that, and grateful for it. One of the goals in our marriage isn’t to fulfill each other’s every need, but to encourage one another to find the things that do—so we can be more whole, and more content, together.

So I’ve tried to be supportive. Even when it takes time away from work and family. Even when it adds stress or responsibility to my column. Even when it bleeds more red than black. There have been many moments when I could have done better—but I’m trying, because I want to. And because if you know how much Brew has supported me—on the trail, in work, and in life—then you know he’s earned it.

Now, I'm willing to wager that most of the musicians playing MerleFest started as kids—and that very few began in their 30s, with the responsibilities of family and work already filling their days. So yes, when Brew gets on stage this weekend, he won’t have a lifetime of experience to draw from, or time to practice before 8 p.m. But what he does have is a damn good band—instrumentalists who help make up for the decades he didn’t have—a love for the music that can’t be manufactured, and the spark of not giving up on a dream, even after 40.

He’ll also have a wife who is incredibly proud and cheering loudly for him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll hear me from the work event I'll be at in South Carolina. So if you happen to be in Wilkesboro this weekend, please give him an extra whoop or round of applause from me. And if you’re not at MerleFest… phew. But maybe give Nick and Brew a follow on Spotify—or listen to their new single, Hold On to the Memory. (Any may we all hold on to the everyday dreams that make us feel alive.)