I was outside a rock club with some friends, talking about the random things bands on tour talk about with random people, usually music, where are the clean bathrooms, or where to eat if the club doesn't feed us.

Two young guys walked up. Early twenties, wearing suits, and by the time I saw the Bibles tucked under their arms, they launched into a tag-team full-Baptist-preacher thing. The bounce, the breath work, the cadence. C.L. Franklin energy, except they weren't saying anything. It seemed they were just practicing the sounds, the energy, and the schtick. I felt like I was dropped into a training simulation where the lesson was, "It's not what you say, it's how you say it."

They started telling us we were sinners. They assumed I was drinking. I wobble, but I don't drink. They told me that using drugs is a sin. I haven't done a drug since I was 13. Then they really let me know that fornicating is bad, and I hate to break it to them, I may have some jokes and try to take care of myself, but I'm a broke musician that's just trying to get gas money, so at this point in life, premarital sex wasn't in my list of options.

They kept going. "FAITH-AH!" "The LOOORD-AH!" "JEESUS-AH!" The usual.

Finally, I just said, "Dude, you gotta stop." They stopped, and the look on their faces seemed similar to when a little kid asks you to stop what you're doing to watch them attempt a cartwheel that ends up just a flat-back landing on the living room floor. They know they didn't nail it, and why is it always a cartwheel?

"Look, man. You don't know who we are; you didn't even ask our names. And here's some advice — people might start listening to you if you learned to shut the hell up."

They said nothing, walked slightly away to the next clump of sinners that were about 3 feet away, and started right where they left off.

"Not here, y'all!"

They weren't interested in us. They were running a script. Like theater majors trying out a shtick. Temu preachers systematically formed into a personality. I find more variation in looking at a clump of penguins or K-Pop acts.

You can always tell the difference between someone channeling something and someone running a script. One has a person in it. The other doesn't. You are allowed to bring yourself. Like watching a great band perform their hit song, then watching a tribute to that band. However, Bob Dylan wrote, "All along the watchtower." Jimi Hendrix covered the song and taught us all that you can put yourself into the tribute and blow our minds. Bring yourself to enlightenment.

Years later, I was running a gym. Teachers would come to me wanting to teach classes or use the space for workshops. They'd tell me their vision, and my only rule was: Give what you own.

My line of work has many ways we can bypass what we own. You can dress up, perform, sound bath, and activate people all day long without ever having to "own it." However, you are still transmitting what you own.   t what you want to be. You are transmitting your being. So be it. Be a beginner and transmit your love of learning; be angry and transmit permission to have inconvenient emotions. Own it and give it.

Funny thing is, not one person ever did that. They'd usually back out because what they owned wasn't big enough or polished enough. I call that "Perfick."

I have been in the position many times and am not immune to classless sharing of my delusional gifts. When asked to stand in a room of teachers and transmit, we've all seen American Idol auditions. Practice closes the gap between what you want to happen and what is actually happening.

I'm okay with playing bigger and performing; we're all performers in some way. Finding your voice is huge in the path to artistry and performance.

Some people own huge performances better than an intimate one-on-one. Imagine sitting on a futon, listening to AC/DC live in your room first thing in the morning. Okay, that's awesome, but you get my point; it's out of context regardless of the honor, privilege, and bragging rights.

Being in a room of strangers shows us what we own. I spent years clearing out rooms by trying to be what I thought others expected of me. The heavy-handed feedback of "cringe" and "ick" is the energy that asks, "Are you sure you want to keep doing this?" Your internal wisdom will start screaming the answer at you like two rookie preachers on the street during those moments of bombing in front of people.

And now I'm standing here doing the same thing I'm saying not to do. Teaching without being asked. Trying to disguise it as telling you a story because I've been told to "add value" or "find the hook."

I own the love for sharing what I've lived, sitting around a campfire talking about how we got our scars, and I'm willing to stake myself on it. I'm not running a script or borrowing some authority and calling it wisdom. Sharing stories has connected me to people since I was a little kid, moving every 6-10 months, from school to school. Then, touring and working internationally, stories connect us.

Do you own what you're giving? What part of the thing you want to give do you own right now?

Did you actually live this thing you're trying to teach? Can you transmit it with your being, not just your performance?

Read the room, and seriously, if you don't know who you're actually talking to, ask.