Sometimes someone says something, so simple, so pure…and you’re sure they believe it — so sure that you believe it too. And so you say it. The words roll in your mouth, and you start to believe it, sing it even, willing it to be true. 

“I had a feeling I could be someone. Be someone. Be someone.”

That was Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.” I was in my own state of becoming. Not even making a small splash in this small pond. It played on the radio. Not enough. I raced to hit record on the boombox that I got for my college graduation. Two fingers. Press. Got it. I couldn’t afford the real cassette tape, but listening to the lyrics, I thought maybe she would understand. And I made a promise to buy the original when I did in fact have enough money, when I did become someone. 

I took my own fast car to Minneapolis. Created my own soundtrack. Bit by bit. Job by job. I don’t know the exact time, the exact year, but my boom box was obsolete. There were cds now. And I had enough money to buy them. Drinking my coffee, browsing through the music section of Barnes and Noble, I saw it — Tracy Chapman. I bought it. 

I have made splashes in bigger ponds since then. Even crossed them. Fast cars. Faster planes. All fueled by small words that made a giant difference. Some I heard on the radio. Some came from teachers. A lot came from my mother’s mouth. But they all carried me. They still do. Because my heart hit record.