Closing a Chapter: My Farewell to Bass Performance Hall

After 12–13 years of service, I find myself at a meaningful crossroads. One that is both emotional and deeply reflective. Today, I share that I am stepping away from my role at Bass Performance Hall.

What began as a simple decision to volunteer grew into one of the most significant chapters of my life. From those early days as a volunteer, I had no idea how profoundly this place would shape me. Over the years, I was given the opportunity to grow into roles as a Head Usher, Manager on Duty, Special Events Manager, and Trainer. Each step along the way brought new challenges, new lessons, and new purpose.

I have had the privilege of working alongside extraordinary staff and countless dedicated volunteers; people who gave their time, energy, and heart to something greater than themselves. Together, we created experiences that extended far beyond the walls of Bass Hall. We built a community. We created moments of joy, connection, and inspiration.

I have witnessed hundreds of performances through Performing Arts Fort Worth, the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra, the Fort Worth Opera, and the Cliburn. Each performance was a reminder of the power of the arts. To move people, to tell stories, and to bring us closer together. The arts are a constant reminder that we continue to connect and engage through the inscription and communication of expressing humanity.

One of the most rewarding aspects of my time has been supporting the Children’s Education Programs. Serving thousands of students from elementary through high school each year and contributing to initiatives like Vital Link with Fort Worth ISD has been incredibly meaningful. Being a small part of introducing young people to the arts and new possibilities is something I will always carry with me. Being a participant in these programs when I was a student, I understand and cherish the impact they have on young minds.

Throughout this journey, I have grown not only as a professional but as a person. I’ve developed my leadership skills, strengthened my connection to the community, and gained invaluable experience in customer service, organizational management, and human connection. This chapter has shaped how I show up in the world.

And yet, with all of that gratitude, I recognize that it is time for me to move forward.

This decision has not come easily. It comes with reflection, emotion, and a deep respect for everything I have experienced here. But it also comes with a sense of hope and belief in what lies ahead. I am choosing to bet on myself. To explore new adventures, embrace new lessons, and pursue opportunities where I can continue to grow, create impact, teach, and expand my influence.

To everyone I have worked with, learned from, and shared this journey with, I want to say thank you. Thank you for the memories, the support, the laughter, and the moments that will stay with me forever.

This is not just a goodbye. It is a continuation of the path. A path that was shaped in large part by this incredible chapter.

With gratitude,
Teacoa

Funny

How memories appear in times and places where you least expect it.

Finale

I remember being in elementary school, taking violin lessons before the sun came up.

I was the only student in the entire school learning an instrument, which made it feel like a very big deal. At the time, I was too young to understand what was really happening. I only knew that I woke up at five in the morning, got dressed, and walked to school in the dark so I could begin lessons in the auditorium at six.

It was just me on my journey into music.

Every morning, I walked from the familiarity of my home into the uncertainty of something I could not yet name. I would enter an empty auditorium and be greeted by a grand piano and my music teacher. There, I spent hours playing scales, etudes, and technical exercises, all in preparation for performances with orchestras I had never rehearsed with and audiences I had never met.

Looking back, those mornings were some of the first lessons I received in performance. not just musical performance, but performance as a way of being.

At the time, I thought I was simply learning how to play the violin. I was learning how to stand properly, how to hold my bow, how to listen for pitch, how to shape a beautiful tone, and how to blend with an ensemble. What never occurred to me was how deeply those lessons would extend beyond music.

I was learning how to present myself.

The discipline of performing became second nature. Every rehearsal, recital, and concert reinforced the idea that there was always something to perfect, something to prove, and someone watching. Excellence became a habit. Achievement became a language. Performance became an identity.

Those habits followed me into adulthood.

In my career, I became a high performer. I exceeded expectations, surpassed goals, and often became a reflection of the organizations I worked for. To others, I appeared exceptional. Reliable. Accomplished. Successful.

Yet somewhere along the way, I became disconnected from myself.

I began noticing how performance had seeped into every corner of my life. I wasn't only performing at work. I was performing in relationships. I was constantly trying to be the ideal person for everyone around me: the good son, the supportive brother, the dependable friend, the loving partner, the reliable colleague.

I wanted to be everything.

The problem was that I left very little room to simply be myself.

I wanted permission to be messy. To be uncertain. To be unfinished. But I had become so accustomed to proving my worth through excellence that every moment felt like another opportunity to get something right. Every interaction felt like another stage awaiting an evaluation.

Without realizing it, I had layered myself beneath countless costumes. The very qualities that once helped me bloom had become masks I could no longer take off.

But every performance eventually ends.

The instrument is packed away. The audience goes home. The lights dim. The applause fades.

And then there is silence.

What remains is not the performer, but the person.

There comes a moment when you find yourself alone in an empty auditorium with no one left to impress, no one left to observe, and no one waiting for your next act. You stand there face-to-face with yourself and wonder who you are when there is no audience.

I find myself in that space now.

One of the many acts of my life has come to a close. The curtain has fallen, and for the first time in a long time, I no longer feel compelled to prove that I am enough.

What's strange is that I spent so many years hoping for this freedom. I longed for the day when I could stop striving, stop performing, and simply exist. I thought that when the moment finally arrived, I would know exactly what to do.

Instead, I find myself standing in the quiet.

No script. No score. No applause.

Just me.

And perhaps that is the real performance I have been preparing for all along. Not learning how to become someone worthy of being seen, but learning how to sit with myself when no one is watching.

The violin lessons taught me how to perform.

Life, it seems, is teaching me how to be.

And now, standing in the silence after the curtain call, I find myself asking the simplest and most difficult question of all:

What now?

Go Where You are Valued

That is the only option.

Haptesthai

Having enough awareness to reach out because you feel something between one form to another.

I can only hope that what I get in return is a sense of intimacy shared between two people who want to connect and be present together.

It is the simplest form of touch that bonds friendships, families, romantic relationships. It heals sickness, toiling and reach understanding that even words cannot often penetrate.

Disconnecting for Engagemen

A few days ago, I made the decision to step away from social media. I deactivated my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and deleted my Bluesky account.

For years, these platforms were extensions of my life. Spaces. where I promoted businesses, shared my art, voiced my thoughts, and offered pieces of myself to the world.

Time moved quickly in those spaces. Yet somehow, I found myself in the same place where I began, still searching for connection, for community, for something that felt real and grounded. Social media often felt like trying to anchor meaning in a vacuum, where thoughts and voices drift endlessly without ever truly landing.

So I chose to step away.

I wanted to return to myself—to remember what is truly mine. To reconnect with what feels meaningful, what feels whole, and what exists beyond the noise of constant sharing. There is a deeper, richer world waiting outside of curated spaces, and I want to meet it fully present.

This break is not about absence, but about intention. About creating space for what matters most—and learning, again, how to belong to my own life.

Laser Detachment Surgery

It has been two weeks since my surgery. I underwent retinal detachment surgery, which included a vitrectomy, the removal of the vitreous, the gel-like substance inside the eye, followed by the removal of scar tissue from the retina and laser treatment. This was the most invasive procedure I’ve had this year.

The surgery went well and lasted about an hour. It concluded with an air bubble being placed in my eye to help stabilize the retina while my eye naturally produces fluid to dissolve and replace the bubble. Recovery required me to remain face-down for 2–3 weeks so the bubble could stay in the correct position and do its job. At this time, I have very limited vision in my right eye. Everything remains extremely blurry, and I won’t regain clear vision in that eye for several months.

My follow-up appointments for both surgeries have been positive. My doctors are pleased with how my cataract surgery and retinal detachment repair are healing. I am currently on a series of eye drops and pain medications to support healing and manage discomfort.

More concerning news is that I am now experiencing bleeding in my left eye. While the vision loss is not as severe as what occurred in my right eye, it has still made daily navigation difficult. This happened recently, and I am waiting to hear from my ophthalmologist about next steps and whether surgery may be required for my left eye as well. I hope to have more clarity as time passes. For now, I am allowing myself the space to heal, listen to my body, and move forward without letting fear take control.

I want to sincerely thank everyone who has checked in on me and sent so much love, through messages, meals, and moments of connection. Healing has been an intense and isolating experience, but this is only the beginning. I remain hopeful and grounded in the belief that things will continue to move in the right direction. Your continued support means more to me than I can fully express during this time of healing.

With gratitude, -Teacoa R

Laser surgery

Yesterday, I took the first step toward saving my vision. I underwent laser eye surgery on my left eye, something I’d both anticipated and feared. I’ve never had surgery before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

My procedure took place at the Retina Center of Texas in Southlake with Dr. Jawad Qureshi. His staff was warm, efficient, and reassuring from the moment I checked in. After a short wait, I was called back for an eye exam. They dilated my left eye, numbed both eyes, and sent me to a second waiting area. About 20 minutes later, I was called again and given another round of numbing drops.

As I sat in the room, I couldn’t help but notice a laser device in front of me — the tool that would soon be saving my sight. My anxiety started to rise, but I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself why I was there: to protect my vision and my future.

Understanding My treatment

Dr. Qureshi explained that I would be receiving a Panretinal Photocoagulation treatment. This procedure is used for advanced cases of proliferative diabetic retinopathy, which is what I have.

In my case, abnormal blood vessels had begun to grow on the surface of my retinas. These fragile vessels are prone to bleeding and can lead to scar tissue and even retinal detachment if left untreated.

The laser treatment targets the peripheral areas of the retina, applying hundreds of tiny laser spots to destroy sections with poor blood flow. This reduces the retina’s oxygen demand and causes those abnormal blood vessels to shrink and stop growing.

The Procedure

Before beginning, Dr. Qureshi administered two numbing shots. one for the top portion of my eye and one for the bottom. I’ve had shots in my eyes before, but two at once tested even my tolerance. Afterward, I had to keep my eyes closed for a while as the numbing took effect. That was harder than it sounds, but once my eyes were shut, I didn’t want to open them again.

When it was time, the technician led me back to the laser room. She applied more numbing drops, and Dr. Qureshi fitted a contact lens on my eye to prevent blinking during the procedure.

“Keep your eyes straight,” he said, counting down from three.

Then, I saw it! A red beam flashing across my vision. For about six to eight minutes, it was like watching a light show from the inside out. There were brief moments of discomfort, but nothing unbearable. I could feel cool gel running down my face from the contact as the laser worked across different areas of my retina.

And then, just like that, it was over.

Dr. Qureshi removed the contact, flushed my eye, and my first surgery was complete.

Recovery and Reflection

I was told to expect some pain, swelling, and redness over the next few days. My instructions were simple: use my prescribed eye drops four times daily and avoid any activities that could strain my eyes.

Aside from the waiting, the entire surgery was surprisingly quick and efficient. One down, two to go.

As I rest and recover, I’m still working and planning for the next steps in my journey. I’m raising funds to cover the cost of my upcoming surgeries through GoFundMe, and I’m deeply grateful for every bit of support — whether through donations or simply sharing my story.

This is just the beginning, but it’s a powerful one. I’m taking back my health, my vision, and my life one eye at a time.

To See

I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes in 2018. That was a day I’ll never forget. I was working for Delta Airlines when I started feeling an intense pain that made it nearly impossible to sit or stand. Imagine trying to calm an angry passenger while feeling like you’re literally sitting on fire. Eventually, I had to hang up the phone, leave work, and go to the hospital. Moments later, I received my diagnosis: I was diabetic.

Since then, living with diabetes has been one of the greatest challenges of my life. Even with medication and diet changes, my body has always been unpredictable. Some days I wake up nauseated, weak, or covered in random wounds. Other days, I feel almost normal, until I don’t. Diabetes teaches you to expect the unexpected.

Recently, my journey has taken a frightening turn. I was diagnosed with diabetic retinopathy, a complication of diabetes that damages the blood vessels in the retina, the part of the eye that senses light. Over time, high blood sugar weakens these vessels, leading to leakage or abnormal growth. The result can be blurred vision, dark spots, cloudy sight, and even blindness if left untreated.

One morning, I woke up and realized that about 85% of my vision was impaired. All I could see were dark red and black spots. My eyes were bleeding from the inside. Though the bleeding has since slowed, my vision remains clouded by a yellowish, milky haze. Reading, writing, driving, and even walking is difficult. Every simple task now feels dangerous and uncertain.

The thought of losing my vision completely terrifies me. Many of my relatives have gone blind due to diabetes, and I’ve seen how devastating that loss can be. I’ve already had to give up my jewelry business because I can no longer see the fine details of my work. I drive less, rely more on touch to identify things, and struggle to see the faces of people I love through the fog that clouds my eyes.

Thankfully, there is hope. My ophthalmologist has recommended laser surgery on my left eye to reduce bleeding and prevent further vessel damage, along with retinal detachment surgery and cataract treatment on my right eye. These surgeries, along with ongoing injections and careful blood sugar management, could help preserve my sight. But the costs are overwhelming, and time is critical. I’ve never had surgery before, and I’ll admit that I’m scared. Yet the thought of never seeing again is even scarier. The idea of losing the ability to create, to drive, to see my loved ones, that’s a grief I carry every day. Still, I try to find gratitude for the vision I have left, and I’m determined to fight for it.

Friends and coworkers check in on me, but it’s still hard to explain what I’m going through. Why I move differently, why I squint or take so long to focus, or why I sometimes need an iPad to read at work. Even my mental health has taken a hit, and I’ve had to increase my antidepressant dosage to cope. Yet through it all, I’m grateful for those who remind me I’m not alone.

Diabetic retinopathy is one of the leading causes of blindness, but with timely treatment, vision loss can often be slowed or even prevented. Tomorrow, I’ll undergo laser treatment on my left eye, the first step toward saving my sight. My goal is simple yet urgent: to preserve my vision so I can continue to live, work, and create.

This is my only vision right now. To keep my eyesight and my hope alive.

I have started a Go Fund Me campaign where you can support by sharing anf donating. Every dollar counts and is greatly appreciated.

GOFUNDME

Art is For

The sinners

The ones who miss the mark

Who dares to reveal their most authentic and vulnerable self

The broken ones

The survivors who share humanity

The imperfect

The lost who has yet to be found

The unspoken

And the ones who are willing to die to dream

Love Is Never Any Better Than The Lover

““Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover’s inward eye””

— Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eyes

It Is There

Today, my heart feels distant. Right now, I am deeply experiencing grief.

But I must offer myself kindness and remember that my sorrow comes from the love I had for what I lost. That love will always remain with me, shaping who I become.

OUT

I’ve realized that I never truly “came out.” Instead, I came in—into myself—to understand, accept, and love who I am without needing to make my identity a performance for anyone else’s comfort. If anything, my journey has been about expanding my own space so that others can step into it if they choose to. To know me and be part of my life is not a right—it’s a privilege, and it requires an invitation. I am my own home. My doors don’t open for just anyone. To be here, to stay, you must be welcomed.

Precious

Every life is precious and every life holds it own battles. From mental health to physical sickness. Everyone is trying to find a way in uncertain and dark times. We have the capacity to hold space to care for people. From gentle reminders, being a healthy distraction, listening to them, and taking action to be of service. It is great to remind people that they are loved but lets not forget to love them.

Another Beginning

Fall has arrived.

In the ebb and flow of life,

It places a call to judgment,

Casting the season to change.

The air becomes crisp as the night sky.

The leaves greet their autumnal colors,

The reminence of spring is regaled with rain,

And the great slumber of winter approaches.

"You can only take what is necessary to survive winter.”

"You will meet death before the frost."

My dear, my dear... you must let go.

Memory

When your hand met mine,
A universe bloomed in that single touch.

I remember every mark you left on me.
The gentle press of a hug,
The fire of a kiss,
The symphony of our laughter,
The stories are captured in every photo.

When you held me,
My senses woven together.
I heard your fragrance,
I witnessed the melody of your voice.

Each moment with you is a brushstroke,
Gracing my skin with vibrant hues,
Painting our story on the canvas of my soul.

Your presence is an art, carefully crafted.
Alive with vivid colors, bold textures,
A masterpiece I will never forget.

Life is...

Life is strange and indeed magical. The impermanence of life makes every moment impactful yet greatly insignificant on the timeline of human existence. I am grateful yet aware of that constantly.

& Sometimes

Sometimes we look at ourselves as if we are the worst person to exist. As if we became the devil or evil monster that we fear.

Even in the ugly, we need help and the opportunity to practice loving-kindness.

We do not have to be hard on ourselves all the time. We can work, want better and still be gentle.

It is never too late.

Pluma

Light as the air

Soaring through the spaces between

An ethereal device that sets emergence to oneself

You are airborne

Light as the air

Yet heavy when combined

Strong enough to send a man blazing to the

Sun while gliding through gravity.

You are strong.

Light as the air

To hold in one's hand

Scribing humanity with many strokes

Causing a movement that creates. life, death and beauty

You are beautiful.

Ignis

Could the tension between two beings:

Create enough of a spark,

To cast smoke and create a flame?

Can the heat of one's touch?

Generate enough energy to bring life.

As our lips fall into obscurity?

Can the clearing of the smoke ignite a new revelation?

Gazing through the eyes of one's belonging

And through one's loins?

Could love hold enough of this flame,

Keeping us going for another tomorrow?

Only the ashes can tell.