Hey Reader! When I received a job offer from a theater in Amsterdam 24 years ago, I packed one bag and a guitar. I played and sang every day; it was one of my favorite things to do. I never would have called myself a musician. I had lived with musicians. They made things very clear: They were the ones with the music. I was an artist, or actress or writer. Music was something I should let them have because it was “theirs.” I married a man who encouraged me to play bass. But I couldn’t manage...