Don't Stop Believin'

Look, I know.

I know.

It’s in every movie where someone needs to feel hopeful. It closed out The Sopranos. It’s been murdered at karaoke approximately forty-seven million times, mostly by people who think they can hit Steve Perry’s notes. (They cannot.)

And I don’t care. Because the second that piano starts, something happens in my chest, and I’m not strong enough to fight it.

You want to talk about craft? Fine. The chorus doesn’t show up until 3:20. Three minutes and twenty seconds of build. That’s insane. That’s confidence bordering on arrogance. Jonathan Cain, Steve Perry, and Neal Schon made you wait for the payoff because they knew—knew—you’d stick around.

But honestly? I don’t want to talk about craft.

I want to talk about the time I was twenty-three, driving a U-Haul across Nevada at 2 AM, everything I owned in the back, no job waiting on the other end, and this song came on the radio. I was terrified. I was broke. I was making the dumbest decision of my life.

And I sang along so loud my throat hurt.

“Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard.” Yeah. That was me. That’s everyone at some point. Waiting for something. Not sure what. Just… waiting.

The song doesn’t promise anything will work out. Read the lyrics. Small-town girl, city boy, smoky rooms, strangers in the night. Nobody arrives anywhere. Nobody wins. They just keep going. “On and on and on and on.”

That’s not optimism. That’s stubbornness. That’s refusing to quit even when quitting makes sense.

“Don’t stop believin’” isn’t advice. It’s a dare.

I took it. The U-Haul made it to California. The dumb decision turned into a life.

So yeah. Play it at every wedding. Scream it at closing time. Belt it badly at karaoke. I’ll be right there with you, not hitting the notes, not caring, believing anyway.