I Promised Myself a Year of YouTube. Gulp.
I made myself a promise when I started taking YouTube seriously.
One video a week for a year.
Gulp.
Not because I thought I’d be brilliant every Tuesday. Please. I’m still figuring out lighting, editing, thumbnails, titles, and where to look so I don’t appear to be addressing a ghost just off camera.
But I wanted to learn.
And apparently, learning in public is now part of the deal.
If you’d rather watch, here’s the full video.
Learning in public
When I decided to show up on YouTube every week, I knew there would be a learning curve.
Actually, that sounds too tidy.
It’s more like a learning hill. In sensible shoes. With no tailwind.
There’s the filming part. Talking to a camera is not the same as talking to a person. I’m used to stages. I’m used to audiences. I’m used to feeling the room.
A camera gives you nothing.
No smile.
No raised eyebrow.
No one coughing in the back row.
No woman in the second row who has clearly decided within the first 30 seconds whether she likes you.
Just a lens. And sometimes a cat.
So I’m learning how to talk to that little black dot and still sound like myself.
Then there’s the editing
Good grief.
I have learned more about jump cuts, awkward pauses, sound levels, subtitles, thumbnails, and my own facial expressions than anyone should have to know.
There are moments where I pause the video and think, “Is that my face?”
Apparently, yes.
That is my face.
Then there are titles and thumbnails, which are their own little circus. You want people to click, but you don’t want to become one of those people making a shocked face beside the words “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS HAPPENED.”
Although, never say never.
I am a working artist. I have bills. And a new iPad to buy.
One video a week
The point is, I made the promise because I knew the only way to get better at YouTube was to keep doing YouTube.
Not thinking about it.
Not planning it forever.
Not waiting until I had the perfect setup, the perfect schedule, or the perfect level of confidence.
Just doing it.
One video a week.
And for a while, I was doing pretty well.
I had videos batched. I had ideas. I had a little breathing room.
Then March and April happened.
April looked at my plans and laughed.
There were gigs to prepare for, songs to rehearse, regular life things, work things, editing things, and all the little tasks that sit quietly in the corner until they suddenly form a committee.
Before I knew it, I had burned through every video I had saved.
The video cupboard was empty.
And I still needed something for Tuesday.
So I filmed what was actually happening
Me, at the table, putting music into a binder for upcoming gigs.
That’s it.
That was the video.
I love digital. I really do. I use my iPad all the time. But when I’m playing piano and singing, the screen is just not big enough. I need to see the music without squinting, panicking, or leaning forward like I’m trying to read a menu in a restaurant by candle light.
So, binder it is.
Old school.
Practical.
A little annoying.
Still useful.
And honestly, that felt about right for the week.
This is part of it too
Because this is part of being a working artist too.
Before the song, before the dress, before the lights, there is usually a woman in sweatpants trying to get her charts in order.
There are pencil marks.
There are songs you thought you knew until you had to put them in the actual set order.
There is tea.
There is mild confusion.
There is a cat who eventually decides the music would be better with her sitting on it.
Very helpful.
But I kept the promise.
That’s the part I’m trying to pay attention to.
The promise was never, “Make something perfect every week.”
Thank God.
The promise was, “Show up every week.”
Some weeks that might look polished. Actually, I’m not sure I’ve achieved that yet.
Some weeks it might look thoughtful.
Some weeks it might be a live performance, a song story, or something from behind the scenes.
And some weeks, apparently, it looks like a binder and a cat.
Still making videos
I’m learning in public.
I don’t always love that.
There is a part of me that would prefer to disappear for six months, return with perfect lighting, flawless editing, a tidy content calendar, and the calm presence of a woman who has never once lost a file.
But that woman does not live here.
This one is making videos anyway.
So this week, I showed up with a music binder.
Not fancy.
Not planned weeks in advance.
Not exactly a cinematic triumph.
But the video exists.
And honestly, so does the binder.
Millie sat on the music at the end, which felt about right.
If you like these small notes from the life of a working artist, you can join my email list. I send stories, music updates, and the occasional behind-the-scenes moment that did not go according to plan.
