Tour

No lights. No stage. No sound system. No mic. Just an iPhone propped up on a stack of books and a “Go Live” button.

That’s how this all started.

I’ve been playing music since I was 12 years old—actually younger. Songwriting has always been where I go to figure out how I’m feeling. I write, then listen back, and it’s like putting headphones on my heart. I moved to Nashville for the first time when I was 16, chasing the only version of the dream I thought existed. But the deeper I got into the industry, the more I realized—it wasn’t built for artists like me. It was built to mold people, not truly see them.

So I ended up doing what everyone said I should do: playing for tips on Broadway, covering songs in downtown bars, pouring my soul into music that wasn’t always mine. It was exhausting. I felt lost in so many ways. I was hiding the shape of my heart, waiting for something to happen that I didn’t even want.

Then one night, I came home, picked up my guitar, propped up my phone, and hit “Go Live.”

That button changed everything.

It gave me a way to pave my own road—one that looked nothing like the one I thought I was supposed to take. I started singing my songs, telling my stories, and somehow, people started showing up to listen. First one, then a few more, then thousands. That moment opened a door to a life I didn’t even know I could dream of—a life where I get to do music for a living, without compromise, with nothing but heart.

Now I host my own Music Weekend Events, where I get to sit just a few feet from the people who’ve supported me, singing them the songs that got me through—and maybe even some that got them through, too. I created my fan club, Beyer’s Backstage Bar, so those that had been following my music journey could step behind the curtain and be part of something really special. I’ve played all over the U.S., Canada, and even got to visit Europe. I’ve sold homemade CDs, hand-written lyrics, and t-shirts made with a trip to Hobby Lobby and a Sharpie.

And I’d do it all again. Because this—right here, right now—is what “making it” looks like to me.

I’m still paving my own way. Still singing my own songs. Still showing up—guitar in hand, stories to tell, and heart wide open.

Let’s keep going.