On Friday night someone dropped a stone in my guitar case.
I heard the unfamiliar thump and spotted it amongst the coins. I stared at it for a few seconds in confused disappointment. Why did someone put that there? Did they want to signify their distaste for my music? Did they throw it at me from a distance? What if it had hit me?
I looked up, hoping to identify the thrower. All I saw were smiling faces. Eagerly awaiting my next song. I looked down at the stone again, deflated by it’s unwanted presence in my guitar case. I started singing again but I kept looking around suspiciously for the culprit.
After a few more songs I realised this stone was weighing me down. It was making me doubt if I was good enough; if someone wanted to throw things at me or donate me pieces of coal like Santa, then why am I even doing this?
I decided to end my set, my mind was too clouded by the mean old stone. The crowd rushed forward to thank me with donations and smiles and words of encouragement. As one girl approached I saw her foot brush a stone on the ground, it flicked upwards and flew towards me. I watched it as it landed at my feet. I glanced down again at my stone and I laughed.
I laughed because, for all the energy I had wasted on this stone, I had just learnt something pretty important.
That one little negative stone had caused me to miss out on so many positive exchanges that came my way. It had probably landed in my case by total accident and yet, I’d spent nearly an hour thinking about it and all its malicious symbolism.
The pile of coins I had amassed from my set had been dropped in there out of kindness and gratitude and positivity. Every donation was someone wishing me well. Every coin was a smile. And I’d let each of them fall without a second thought. So distracted was I by the stone that, as it turns out, carried no meaning at all.
Next time you find a stone in your guitar case. Even if someone put it there on purpose. Don’t think about it. Just throw it away. Make room for the coins. And the smiles that come with them.
The End.
diaryofalondonbusker 
That’s actually a normal reaction from any artist in any field. A playwright will read reviews and nine with be wonderful and one will be negative. Guess which one stays on the playwright’s mind? All those positive reviews will be forgotten but in ten year’s time the playwright will still be asking, ‘why did they hate my play?’
Most artists are fragile, perhaps it’s that fragility which gives them their creativity. Perhaps it’s that which makes them determined to do better.
The truth is we want to be liked or even loved. At the first sign we are not we start to question our own ability. Of course Charlotte is loved, by all of us who know or have seen her. The trick she needs to learn is to remember the praise.
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