Performance Anxiety

" I will make a battering-ram of my head and make my way through this rough and tumble world"- Louisa May Alcott

Indeed.

In general this is infact how I make my way through the world. The myriad of oft lamented awkward moments and poorly navigated interpersonal interactions are a direct result of my Quarter-back like approach to life.

But, on the rarest of occasions, the clumsy moments that befall me are in no way my fault. In fact, these rare occasions, over the course of the year, are becoming a lot less rare. 

All because I decided to join a band, 

I'm not picky about bands because I'm just trying to put myself out there. Rather than take the battering ram approach to music, I actually do practice. A lot. I have found this year that my practicing is in vain however, because inevitably some random occurance befalls me, and only me, making every performance a small adventure and rather than alleviate my stage fright, it has gifted me with a severe case of performance anxiety. 

I would like to relate these small adventures to you now.

MY FIRST PERFORMANCE

It was the first time I had ever played publicly on the guitar in an actual band. A friend of mine had been kind enough to allow me to play with her at a small start-up church. I spent hours building my callouses and practicing the simple songs over and over again. When we got up to play, though nervous, the hours I had spent practicing gave me small sense of confidence. 

Then the inevitable. The air unit came on and blew a cloud of dust into my eyes. At first I simply saw a dirty  film on my glasses so I cleaned while the pastor shared a few words. Then my eyes began to well up with enormous tears. I found that in order to see my music, I had to open one eye long enough to see the next chord then open the other for the one following that. At one point I stopped playing completely and wiped my eyes on my shirt. The people in the audience saw it as a sign that I was touched by the song. 

And so that's how it ended. My first performance summed up in a streak of mascara on the arm of my shirt. 

.........

From that time, I joined another band and tried another instrument and try what I might, practice as I may, the expected yet unexpected inevitable occurs. 

My ongoing shtick is to show up with the wrong chords and to sit at my keyboard looking both dejected and clueless at the same time. 

Another time my inner ear sounded like an alien was trying to channel me and so I had to take it out. (FYI an inner ear allows you to hear specific parts of the band while playing and a "click" that keeps you in tempo). Infact, my inner ear never works, inevitably I can't hear myself I am playing or anything at all. At those times I do indeed revert back to my battering ram approach.

With so many minor fails occurring most people would get discouraged, but not I. When it comes to music I am the little engine that could. 

This is THE time.....

I just knew this was going to be it. I had all the right chords, we were playing an acoustic set and I had adequate time to practice. I came in knowing that THIS was the time I would not make a fool of myself. Little did I know....

In the midst of practice the keyboard decided to revert to another setting. Suddenly my adequate practicing was for naught. Everything I played sounded completely off and for once, it was not the result of my inadequate musical knowledge.  Indeed, I should have determined then that when your own instrument turns against you, you should bow out gracefully and burn your music on the way out. 

Not I.

NO, THIS is  THE time, take 2!

So this was really it. Despite carrying out the monthly tradition of having no idea what I was doing at practice, I showed up tonight hopeful. I had all the right chords (I tripled checked)., I had adequately practiced and they were all easy songs. I should have taken the fact that someone had used the soft ear pieces to my inner ears and not returned them as a bad sign. 

A minor set back but I was not to be deterred.

I should have taken the fact that one of my two inner ears was broken as another bad sign.

But no, I accepted the fact that I would only be hearing out of one ear the rest of the evening. 

During the last minute practice my finger starting jamming into a straight position making playing very awkward. 

Heard of stretches? Did them.

Yes. this WAS the time!

Just when things were about to start, the shoe dropped, the hammer fell, the cookie did indeed crumble. The bass player casually mentioned he took my seat. My seat! Perfectly positioned to reach the foot peddle, not strain my wrists and keep my music on eye level. In exchange, he left me a stationary, low sitting stool.

I will not deny I was fighting bitter thoughts left and right. I manage to make it through the first song, a rap one mind you, with little difficulty though the finger thing returned and my leg  was aching from the awkward positioning of the chair. 

Then the other shoe dropped. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the notes I was playing, so I played harder. 

They came back. Then they were gone again.

Suddenly it dawned on me, the keyboard itself was malfunctioning  Every other chord I played was being muted by some invisible force. 

Thats when I lost heart. They finally broke me. That's two keyboards and an AC unit that have turned on me. 

Maybe next time my chair breaks, or I get electrocuted by the inner ear or  stage light falls on me. 

I no longer fear the people, it is the actual performance which haunts me. 

No neatly wrapped message at the end of this one. There are no lessons to be learned here. The adventures I alone get to have on the stage leave me with nothing more than questions and a mounting anxiety around musical equipment. 

Until I blind myself when one of my guitar strings snaps or I get impaled by a music stand (which, incidently almost happened to my best friend).

That is all. 

Where the HECK am I?

"What would it be like to be normal?" I ask myself this as I wonder through hall after hall lugging a ridiculously huge bag. "I wonder what it must be like to KNOW where I am going and WHEN to get there."

Magically, I make my way into the library. I stop to ask the security person at the door if she knows where classroom  2 is.

"Classroom 2?"

"Yes, oh wait, do I get there by going around that bookshelf?"

Blank stares.....

"Oh no, oh ok, well how do I get there?"

"I've never been there myself," she says, "but I think if you go up those stairs and across the floor you'll find it. I've always wanted to find it but never been able to."

(so let me get this straight: A: You've always wanted to find some random classroom because it what, has been immortalized in folklore? B: You're telling me how to get there but you yourself have never actually found it?)

"Ok, thanks........"

So I dig through my large bag and fish out my wallet to scan my ID. I believe at this point I am, in fact, sweating. I make my way over to the area pointed out to me by the security guard. I check the time. 15 minutes early. Excellent, time for a bathroom break. I leave the bathroom and arrive at room 2.

No one is there.

I look around for a minute, hoping to see a familiar face. No. I have done it again. I pull out the syllabus to find it is in fact the 10th of September and not the 17th as previously thought. I was at the right place, on the wrong week. I quickly race over to the correct building just in time to be on time.

Fast forward to the actual 17th of September. Arrive at the library and fumble through my bag for my ID. Same security lady. Easily make my way to room 2. I check the time. 15 minutes early. Excellent, time for a bathroom break. I leave the bathroom and arrive at room 2. What's this? Oh class is already in progress. I walk in and sink self-consciously into the back row. I pull out the syllabus to find in fact class starts at 7:15 and not 7:30 as previously thought.

And this is my life. Perpetually lost, perpetually early or late, perpetually putting my clothes on inside out only to realize it after Ive already left the house and been in public. Forever leaving my house with my gas tank on E only to find Ive left my wallet at home (this happened several times).


My lack of attention to detail has lead me into many buildings and lost me in many cities. And yet, even with my state of perpetual bumbling, I find an ounce of redemption. Had I not gotten the dates mixed up the previous week, I would not have known where to go. Had I been finding my way for the first time to classroom 2, I would have been exceptionally late. Last weeks bumbling made this weeks not quite so....bumbly.

In life in general, I hope I am finding this to be true as well. The clumsy moments of yesterday prepare me for the future. While today is not without its own clumsy moments, somehow yesterdays prepared me for today. I may be forever bumbling, but I am learning. For me, the small adventure may be finding my way out of a downtown library, but it is also navigating the complexities of human interaction.

I thought today about "keeping the plates harmoniously spinning" (See previous blog, "Tell you I'm sorry") and I laughed that someone as awkwardly clumsy as I am would use something so fragile to represent the complexities of friendships. I should have used bouncy balls, or stuffed animals.

Tomorrow, I may not know where the heck I am. In fact, the chances are fairly high that I will get lost somehow and yet, I am thankful for these moments for they often tell me where I want to be.

And so night comes nicely to a close, no longer part-time lodging in a small town, at home now, in the suburbs.

Clumsy Moments

After a long hiatus I felt it only fair to pick back up on recounting my small adventures as it is summer and I am spending significantly more time alone.

It is a known fact that I suffer from a condition known as clumsiness. Although this may not seem as serious as many other conditions, I fear it may one day progress to a terminal state. My moments of clumsiness have actually been called works of art. Contortions of the body, falling from unheard of heights, demolition of various household items  occur with ne'er a bone broken.

It has recently come to my attention that I am in fact suffering from co-morbid conditions: clumsiness and awkwardness. Yes, in fact, these are co-occurring disorders. My official diagnosis is Clumsiness with Awkward features, recurring type. The essential features of this condition involve recurring acts of clumsiness that victimize others.

For example, last week at a baby shower I managed to knock over three glasses of punch while kicking a table and elbowing a small child in the head, simultaneously. In my attempt to exit the room lest any other human or inanimate object be victimized, I managed to walk directly in front of no less than three photos being taken. As I said, my clumsy-awkward condition tends to draw others in magnifying the awkward nature of the condition. This condition makes me leary of small rooms, heights, slippery surfaces, environments where the weather has the potential to be discussed at length, small spaces where children or small dogs are present, refrain from touching breakable objects in stores (a very recent lesson) and prevents me from ever running, ever.

I have found, for many people, their clumsy moments occur interpersonally. They try to walk into a perfectly normal relationship and the next thing they know they are spilling the punch (emotional baggage) and elbowing small children in the head (making a big thing out of nothing). The clumsy moments become awkward as others are drawn into their awkward attempts at navigating something as simple as friendship. As a therapist, it is no difficulty to advise them on the conditions to avoid and provide them with an emotional hand rail to guide their way however, I find myself experiencing my own clumsy moments.

Sadly, these clumsy moments have ended with broken bones (metaphorically speaking) and worse. The co-occurring problems of clumsily and awkwardly navigating interpersonal relationships are not easily corrected. Clumsy moments in the physical sense are easily recovered from, laughed and cried over and easily forgotten. Clumsy moments in the emotional sense can leave lasting scars and are not so easily discarded.

I pray I will continue to gain wisdom so that my clumsy moments become less clumsy and less frequent. It is a small journey, navigating your emotions and relationships. No one may navigate them for you and no one but you may clean up the aftermath when the awkward nature of your clumsiness has left a puddle of green punch behind.

A few weeks ago I came home in the dark and the vaccum was right next to the basement steps. I rushed forward to race up the stairs only to find myself entangled in full-on brawl with the vacuum which ended with me  laying on top of the vacuum on top of the stairs. I was left laughing and crying for no less than 20 minutes. At the end, I felt stupid and somewhat violated and was suffering from a stubbed toe.

God, please protect the people in my life from becoming that vacuum in the dark.

I am thankful that vacuum wasn't the lawn mower. THAT would have been a true adventure!

Saying "When"

My husband and I had just returned from a week long stay in a third world country. Some friends of ours picked us up from the airport and suggested we stop for dinner on the way home. We chose olive garden as our diet had been pasta and cheese free for the past week. I love cheese. At any given time you can find a minimum of 5 types of cheese in my refrigerator. My mouth watered at the prospect of re-acquainting myself with such a friend. As we sat down to dinner and enjoyed the never ending pasta bowl and the freshly grated Parmesan, something unheard of happened. We were cut off. The waiter literally refused to serve us any more cheese. Never in the history of Olive Garden has an individual been denied the table-side grating of a fresh Parmesan. We were told that we could have no more cheese during our visit. It seems we had failed one too many times to say "When." 

Aside from the obvious shame and ridicule this story provokes, it also reminds me of the challenge of saying "when." As an adult, no one can say it for me, just me. No one else can say when my salad has been adequately cheesed or my food has been nicely pepper-milled. No one can estimate the perfect cream to my hot tea or the depth of my thirst when pouring water. Saying "when" is the tiniest of pleasures because it means I control my culinary fate. 

Unfortunately, in life, saying "when" does not end in a  garnish of lovely cheese on your plate. Saying "when" equals parting or ending or change.  When we say "when" we say "enough." That day I went to olive garden I never wanted to say "when" because  cheese held endless pleasures that had been denied to me for seven long days. Today I say "when" because I don't want to have high cholesterol or to face the shame of being cut off from the privilege of cheese again.  When I say "when" in life I say it because I realize I am not prepared to accept the inevitable consequences of allowing  something to continue.

Because "when" equals "no" I find myself resisting it.  While boundaries with others are difficult, boundaries for ourselves are painful. I can't know what will happen when I say "when." When I decide that I've had my fill of people or things that seem good but, in the end, hurt more than heal, I imagine I will find myself to be a much healthier and happier individual. Just like when I "when'd" the cheese. 

But no one can do that for me. No one can say that this habit or this friendship is too much for me but me. I have the adventure of personal responsibility before me. This week I find that saying "when"  is a solitary sail. 

The adventure, today, lies in what life will be without whatever we have "when'd." 

Life without cheese  would hardly be a life worth living. I comfort myself in that fact that despite the things I must "when", I will always have cheese to depend upon.