The booth is a confessional, and I’m still learning how to listen

I just wrapped a wedding in the mountains—three hours of music, two vows, one crying uncle who tried to dance to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' with his suit jacket off. The booth’s not just a place to play songs; it’s where people spill things they’d never say anywhere else. Last night, a bride whispered into the mic during her first dance: 'I don’t know if I can do this.' I didn’t answer. I just played ‘A Thousand Years’ softer. Sometimes you don’t fix anything. You just hold the space. And my old shoes? Still here. The ones with the hole near the toe. They’re better than the new ones. They know the rh