When people find out I’m the Executive Director of Nebraska Crossroads, I often hear some version of the same response: “Nebraska Crossroads? I’ve heard of it. I’ve thought about coming… I’m just not sure it’s for me.” That response has always made me curious. Not because I want to convince anyone they’re wrong. I’m genuinely interested in where that feeling comes from. How do we decide that something isn’t for us before we’ve experienced it?
The more I’ve thought about it, the less I believe people are really talking about Nebraska Crossroads. They’re talking about something much more familiar: certainty.
The Comfort of Certainty
In an uncertain world, there’s something comforting about knowing what you’re going to get. When we finally have a free evening, we don’t want to gamble with it. We choose what feels familiar because familiar rarely disappoints. There’s nothing wrong with that. But I sometimes wonder what we miss when we leave so little room for surprise.
Nebraska Crossroads has quietly challenged that certainty in me. I think I know which performances people will be talking about on the drive home. I’m wrong every summer. I’ve spent months working on this festival, and somehow I’m still among the first to be surprised by it. So I’ve accepted that I’m a terrible predictor.
Full of Surprises
The concert someone circled weeks in advance is rarely the one they bring up afterward. Instead, they tell me about the artist they almost skipped, the instrument they’d never heard before, or the moment they realized they’d been smiling through an entire performance without quite knowing why. Those conversations have become my favorite part of the festival.
I usually linger near the exits for a while. People don’t know I’m listening; I’m simply on my way out, just like everyone else. That’s when I hear the conversations no survey could ever capture. Someone turns to a friend and says, almost with surprise, “I didn’t think I’d like that.” Every time I hear it, I smile. I can’t imagine a better compliment.
Not really about the Concerts
Our festival isn’t really about concerts. It’s about discovering a part of yourself you hadn’t met yet. Fair warning: this festival has a habit of softening certainty. People arrive convinced they know exactly what they’ll love. They rarely leave that way.
Your week might begin on a blanket beneath the trees, with children dancing in front of the stage while friends share a glass of wine nearby. A day later, you’re sitting in a cathedral where Vivaldi unexpectedly meets the Armenian Highlands. Along the way you might discover Indigenous hip-hop, Indian tabla, Cuban jazz, a conversation with a composer, or realize you never really knew Moon River until you heard it on the Ukrainian bandura. By then, you’ll probably stop trying to predict what’s coming next—and that’s exactly the point.
Don't Try to Optimize the Experience
Perhaps that’s why I care so deeply about Nebraska Crossroads. Not because I believe everyone will love every performance. In fact, I hope they won’t. If everyone leaves loving exactly the same concert, we’ve probably played it too safely. What excites me most is watching different people fall in love with completely different moments. That’s how I know we’re doing something right.
One question I hear all the time is where to begin. I usually tell people to stop trying to optimize the experience. Start with one concert. Come with someone you love talking to. See what happens.
Don’t be surprised if the conversation on the drive home lasts longer than the concert itself. If the evening unfolds exactly as you expected, I’ll be a little disappointed. The best Nebraska Crossroads stories almost always begin with the sentence, “I wasn’t planning to…”
Just Bring your Curiosity
Maybe that’s what art does at its best. It doesn’t simply show us something new. Every now and then, it quietly expands our sense of what’s possible—not only in music, but in ourselves.
If you’ve been wondering whether Nebraska Crossroads is for you, I don’t think anyone—not even me—can answer that from a distance.
The only way to find out is to come. Bring nothing but your curiosity.
The rest has a way of taking care of itself.
