Vulnerability

Seems to be a recurring theme lately, though I suppose it's been at least lingering since the moment I left my mother's womb.

I have three clients who have been struggling with a fear of making a mistake while learning to read music. It becomes debilitating at times and I've had a client pull and zip his jacket over his head, another one run to the corner of the room with her face covered, and another crawl under the piano. All I asked them to do was play a short melody line on piano. Well, that is all I verbally asked. What they may have heard was me asking them to look at a music page, identify a note, figure out which key that is on the piano and which finger to play it with, decide how long and how loud to play it, and then to do that again and again while someone is sitting there listening and watching their every move. I suppose that is a bit much to ask of a four year old, or a child with autism. I remember being in my twenties, at least diagnostically normal, and feeling like if I messed up while playing the Entertainer during my piano lesson I would be failing myself, my teacher, she would think I didn't practice, and ever her cute elderly mother in the back room would hear me and think I sucked. So I honor the reactions of my clients and empathize with them. I encourage them to tell me when they are feeling scared or embarrassed, welcome them to make mistakes, acknowledge their courage, and remind them that making mistakes is necessary for learning. I suppose sitting here typing this is me trying to tell myself those same things.

When I first started playing guitar my DREAM was to play in a coffee shop. For years and years I had this vision of standing in front of a small audience of people sipping on warm beverages with an espresso machine sounding in the background. For a long time that vision seemed far fetched as I did not think I was good enough and the thought of playing music in public made me feel nauseous. I got better on guitar, and soon quite comfortable on it. Then I learned to sing. Eventually I was singing and playing at the same time and started writing my own songs. Then I became a music therapist and sang and played guitar at work everyday. I knew I could not ignore the dream, as it started to become a nagging thought in the back of my mind that would grow louder if I did not take some action.

So I did. On a Wednesday night I went to an open mic at C and D's Welcome cafe in Redondo. I was so terrified, I told nobody. I showed up with my Takamine and signed up to play. When it was my turn I plugged in my guitar and it didn't work. A guy named Matt who played before me let me borrow his guitar. We have been friends ever since. I opened with Bob Dylan's Don't Think Twice It's Alright and played a couple originals. I was somehow able to operate under sheer anxiety and fear that my hands, mouth, and brain would forget everything. But I did not. I did well. So for years after that I went back every Wednesday to play, and though it got better the anxiety never really went away. I eventually learned to to play with the fear, and learned tips to cope. During that time I got the opportunity to ask some of my favorite musicians how they deal with performance anxiety and this is what they told me:

Andrew W.K.: "I try not to think of anxiety as a negative emotion. If I think of it as being positive, then it's a feeling that makes me feel alive."

Tristan Prettyman: "If you screw up, so what? Whatever, life goes on, we aren't supposed to be perfect, that's what records are for. Don't apologize for making mistakes. Just have fun and feed off the energy of the audience. Everyone wants to see you succeed, so succeed."

Rachael Yamagata: "A shot of Jack Daniels never hurts! Remember, people want you to win. They are there to want you to succeed so don't doubt that. They also LOVE when you fuck up and get yourself out of it, even if it's embarrassing.... it breaks down walls and makes them pull for you. Trust your heart and your gut. Lessons are for learning so never fear. "

Jason Mraz: "When you play a song, play the shit out of it."

The experience of playing music is one with many simultaneous elements that all add up to an opportunity to bear your soul. On that level it is both terrifying and beautiful. Even if it's one melody line, or a song on guitar, or coordinating all four limbs to play something on a drum kit, it's a chance to make a sound that comes from you that exists in a moment of time where judgement is going be there, mistakes will be made, and emotions will rise. So it's not even about music anymore, and it doesn't have to be music. This can extended to all other creative outputs, or personal relationships, or really anything involving an effort being made. There is risk in putting effort into something I care about. The good thing is, I have something I care about and I care enough to try.