This Saturday I was given the impossible task of choosing between seeing my brother play, and seeing the band of a friend I hadn't seen in 12 years. The choice was made slightly easier by the fact that I forgot my brother was playing until after I had already bought the tickets for the other show.

So I went. With a torn heart. And I watched.

If you can claim to be proud for the talents of someone else, then am I ever proud. There's nothing like seeing people you know and respect hypnotize crowds. Watching them go from idea, to idea, to idea — even from a distance — until they hit on the one that the world can love. The creative process in slow motion: from person to album to poster on the bedroom wall.

"I'm so proud of you!", though, is such an odd expression. It implies some sort of involvement, as if your existence or input somehow contributed to a person's success. When really, you have nothing more invested than a bit of your time, maybe some encouraging words. If that.

But I'll say it, because I can't help it: I am proud. I am proud.

And I am proud, even when I can't be there.