In a crowded little bar off Sunset Blvd that we call Hotel Cafe, I heard the voice of the talented Brooke Fraser.

For those of you who don't know her ... you should. She's incredible.

I waited weeks for this moment to see her perform and be in a room full of people who needed to hear her words of hope just as much as I did.

As she stepped onto the little stage, I realized I would be spending the rest of the evening in an increasingly unidealistic situation. Everyone in front of me was no less than six feet tall. There was no way I would get to see her facial expressions or gestures to the band ... nothing. Oh and it was ridiculously hot ... so I was sweating which never makes for a happy time.

Anyway, as I was trying to take in as much of her music as I could, my friend taps me on the shoulder and points to the wall. A line of decorative mirrors adorned the wall close to the ceiling.

I could see everything.

I've spent so much of my time trying to look over the heads of people who are much taller than I and when I couldn't push through them to be a part of the moment, I settled for the backs of their heads and a lukewarm bottle of water.

That's the obvious route. The obvious solution is to suck it up in moments where it's simply inappropriate to push your way to the front. I mean, everyone else had waited just as long, paid the same amount of money and were sweating just as much.

But everyone in that room deserved to be a part of the moment. Everyone needed to hear what she had to say. Everyone needed to see the sincerity on her face and the passion in her eyes.

But only one was desperate enough to make sure those of us without a view could be a part of what was happening. She refused to believe that there was only one way to experience this moment.

Last night was full of reflective moments ... ha. Some, however, more blatant than others.