There’s a new wind blowin’ like I’ve never known
I’m breathin’ deeper than I’ve ever done.
—KEITH URBAN, “Somebody Like You”
A few months after I’d come out to the world as gay, I saw Carrie Underwood at the Grand Ole Opry. She’d spoken up for me, adding hers to the chorus of industry voices that lent their support, and this was the first time I’d seen her since. She already knew that she’d been an inadvertent Cupid for Trea and me, so when I introduced her backstage to Trea and his entire family—his mom, dad, sister, and brother-in-law—each of whom are huge fans, she could not have been more gracious.
That night we also met her best friend, Ivy, for the first time. Ivy runs the popular cake business Ivy Cakes in Franklin, just outside of Nashville. As soon as she saw us, she gushed: “Oh my gosh, I am so excited to meet you two! Carrie loves you and loves your story after all that you’ve been through.”
It was yet another warm hug from the city I love.
There have been so many other moments of human connection with listeners, colleagues, stars, and regular folks in the crowd since I shared what was in my heart with the world. I had hidden a huge part of myself from these people for so long, it never even occurred to me that I would be wholly accepted as a beloved friend. Before I tuned into my authentic voice, I used to be something of a social recluse outside of work. It was exhausting to be “on” all the time and feel like I was playing a role.
But now I’m not only comfortable running into all kinds of kinds, it thrills me. Wherever I go in Nashville, or any venue in the world where there are country music fans, I walk tall. I don’t fear the recognition, I don’t shun the exposure, especially because it’s an opportunity to have conversations with young members of the LGBTQ+ community who feel safe speaking with me. For example, when I take our CMT’s shows, Hot 20, After MidNite, or CMT Radio, on the road through the USO and American Forces Network, visiting bases across the globe, I always have members of our military pull me aside to say thanks for coming out. I tell them it wasn’t easy, but it sure wasn’t as hard as I feared it would be, and now I can’t even imagine what it would be like to keep on pretending. Some say thanks because it gave them the courage to do the same. Some seek advice. Others just want to share a beer and a few laughs as we stand together and listen to the music.
There’s nothing better than that feeling of connection with other people from all walks of life when you are unguarded and ready to share. Fully listening, to God, to myself, and to others, has fundamentally changed my relationship to the world. I’ve been blessed to receive an outpouring of support from fans, artists, and members of my industry, as well as the tidal wave of messages from fans who are relieved to see someone they can identify with come out the other side of this feeling happy and free. I came out and the world didn’t come to an end. People heard me, loud and clear, and they accepted me. Maybe, just maybe, they can do the same when the time is right for them.
Of course, I am still adjusting to my new life as an openly gay man. It doesn’t totally define me. I am many other things, including a father, a son, a friend, and a media personality. My baggage is lighter, but I still carry vestiges of guilt for any hurt I’ve caused people I love for not telling the truth sooner, for not being fully present in the moment as I could have been. Coming out is not like flicking a switch. Interestingly, so many of the friends and family I came out to first said, “I wish you had told me sooner.” At least now I’ve got company. I know that I don’t need to go through any of this alone. Having my “tribe” completes the circle.
I am more comfortable in my skin, and more willing to take the leap in many areas of my life, even if that just means letting loose and having more fun. I don’t censor myself anymore. Being “out” allows me to interact with others without the constant filter for any signs I might reveal myself. And I can listen in full appreciation, with my guard all the way down, open and ready to receive. Above all, now that I am being completely open and real with my listeners, I’m in a position to help and inspire others who are going through their own struggles.
Being heard as my authentic self has given me the opportunity to connect with folks in a way I never could have imagined before I went on this journey. Now, when I listen, I can respond with my whole heart, and the communication moves freely, both ways. And it goes beyond my inner circle of friends and family. I am touching people who are hearing my story for the first time, and it’s emboldening them to let their own voices be heard. They realize that there’s more that unites us than divides us, and that if they can find the courage to be bold, they’ll find someone to hear them with compassion. Thanks to the art of listening, to myself and to others, I was able to build a support system that could catch me when I finally made that leap.
Then, well, COVID. No more bear hugs or sloppy kisses with the outside world for any of us, at least for a while. Stuck at home for months on end, I missed my peeps. But love found a way during the filming of the 2020 CMT Awards.
I was onstage in the middle of Cumberland Park, along the riverfront that runs through the heart of Nashville. As I looked up past the lights, cameras, and monitors, I saw them: a crowd of fans, some practically hanging off the Korean Veterans Boulevard bridge, whooping, hollering, and clapping as if they were at an old-fashioned music festival. It was as if the whole town had come to a stop, craning to see what was going on. The first awards show that year to have a live audience, I was with my CMT cohost, Katie Cook, along with a few in-person celebrities like Kane Brown, Ashley McBryde, Sarah Hyland, as well as Brooks & Dunn, Noah Cyrus, Jimmie Allen, and Luke Combs, who shotgunned a beer during his opening song, “1, 2 Many.”
Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t breaking the COVID rules. Our venue had been CDC sanitized and approved, with comfy CMT blue and red branded blankets and coolers marking the spot where our two hundred invited guests could sit, stand, or lie down on the grass safely socially distanced, like kindergartners at nap time. My cohosts and I lived in a COVID-free semi-bubble a few days prior, and COVID tested at least twice before the cameras rolled.
It wasn’t exactly the party atmosphere, with bar service and snacks, that the CMT Awards show is known for. No friends, family, girlfriends, boyfriends, or spouses were allowed on set, and the crew was one-tenth the size of a regular awards show: a couple of producers, a camera guy, and a sound guy. Backstage, our chairs were six feet or more apart, and we had to wear our masks until the cameras rolled, which wasn’t exactly pleasant after having our makeup done, at least for this dude. Normally the event would have taken place in June at the Bridgestone Arena but, like all other award shows in 2020, we had to make a few adjustments.
Many of the performances took place at remote locations throughout the Greater Nashville area, like Ruskin Cave in Dickson County, a soundstage of carved rock and trickling springs with incredible acoustics made by nature. Little Big Town performed “Wine, Beer, Whiskey,” with twenty-foot liquor bottles projected onto the cave walls, and images of heavenly trumpet players looking down on the real trumpet players on the stage (maybe that’s what Mom was describing in the rapture). Maren Morris performed an acoustic version of her song “To Hell & Back” from an attic in Ashland. Ashley McBryde sang “Martha Divine” from the Barn at Sycamore Farms, with farm tools as stage props, while Luke Bryan sang “What She Wants Tonight” from his own socially distanced location on an island in the middle of the pond outside the barn.
Not every CMT act and award acceptance speech was streaming in from within the state of Tennessee. Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani toasted their industry honors from their home in Los Angeles. Kelsea Ballerini and Halsey slinked all over some deserted bar in Hollywood for their duet, “The Other Girl.” But for me the highlight of the evening was beamed in all the way from Switzerland by Shania Twain. She sang “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of her album The Woman in Me, and you could see and hear how much fun she was having camping it up inside the Chaplin’s World Museum, saucily playing off the Charlie Chaplin statues. After struggling so long with vocal issues, she was back.
The show was a perfect hybrid of in person and digital; live and pre-taped. It had the kind of energy that was lacking in most of the other awards show across industries and genres. I put that down to our live audience in Nashville, which was the sticky glue that held the whole thing together. We were the first to figure out how to incorporate live audience reactions, and there’s just nothing like seeing the faces of fans, or I should say the half faces behind those masks, as they danced, cheered, and clapped in reaction to killer performances on those giant monitors. We coached them beforehand to demonstrate their love, because the success of the show depended on them, and they were happy to oblige, as were the fans hanging from the bridge. We amplified their two hundred voices for radio and television, and the end result of their real-time reactions was seamless. You couldn’t even tell that some of the performances had been pre-taped.
The weather could not have been better. Late October brought us an Indian summer. The temperature was in the seventies, with no humidity and a light breeze. We prepped onstage just as the late afternoon sun was hitting the buildings of downtown Nashville with its golden light. We kicked off the show, flooding our grassy makeshift arena with spotlights just as the sun disappeared below the horizon and the skyline lit up in the background.
It felt especially good to be the guy on the scene with the audience. Live television is a pressure cooker, with millions watching and multiple moving parts. Anything can go wrong. Katie and I had to be quick on our feet. I was anxious beforehand, but in the moment, I felt amazingly self-assured. My presentation was crisp, precise, and on point. The performances crackled with extra exuberance. After months of lockdown, it reminded me that this was why I do what I do.
From the fans beyond the park fence to the country stars I have worked with for decades, to the new generation of artists whose time it was to shine, this moment was the culmination of everything I love about this business, what I show up for every day. Although I knew we could be facing several more challenging months ahead, there was a sense that we were finally turning a corner, and I was coming back to the place where I belong. Home.