On Piano, Performance Anxiety, (Im)Perfection, and a Pattern...PLUS the big announcement! (Not Pregnancy) :)

I experienced my first performance anxiety (not counting the time I slammed my finger in the car door on the way to a piano recital in second grade!) when I was in junior high. I was playing “Theme From Mahogany” (yeah, I’m that old) on a piano recital at our church. I had perfected the piece, I thought. Then suddenly I sat on that stage and got halfway through the song and my mind went blank and the notes on the page turned to an indecipherable blur. In slow-motion agony that felt like reliving my worst nightmare, I fumbled, stopped, and started over. I got to the same point and couldn’t find my way out of the abyss and just jumped to the next section and finished the piece.

But this is why I remember the level of mortification to this day: Unable to face anyone in the audience, I slipped out the side exit, rushed down the hall and out the door and walked all the way home. (Okay, I lived in Utah, where there’s a church on every other corner. But still...) The house was locked, so I climbed through my bedroom window and hid in my room, possibly in a fetal position, for hours. I could not bear the thought of making so many mistakes. In public.

In the meantime my family had no idea where I’d gone and started to worry I’d been kidnapped.
We eventually reunited, and all was well. Ironically, because of that performance, my mother decided I had some real musicianship that needed to be fostered and had me audition with her teacher, a venerable old retired concert pianist from New York named Becky Almond.

Here begins the pattern, which I didn’t recognize until years later: I practice. I perfect. I perform. I panic. I make mistakes. I can’t recover. I am mortified. Some surprising and unbelievable good results from this painful process.

This marked the beginning of a longstanding pattern of piano performance anxiety that has been, at times, crippling for me. One of these fiascos I’m saving for a future post. And another I’ll share with you here, because it completely changed my perspective: In college I was asked to play for my cousin’s missionary farewell. We were close, and I approached the assignment prayerfully, selecting what I thought was the most beautiful music imaginable, a piano transcription of Faure’s Pavane. My mom wrote a flute obbligato for my younger sister, and we played in tandem. The addition of the flute made me slightly less nervous. A new-and-improved pattern emerged. I was well prepared. I prayed. I performed. It wasn’t perfect. But I played my heart out. Then something happened that still drops my jaw whenever I think about it.

There was a little reception after the meeting, and while we were all milling about, a man I’d never seen before approached me. He looked a little ragged, and I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t sure what to think of this stranger at first. But he spoke a sentence that taught me the power of music and changed my life. He said, and I swear these are his exact words, “I was contemplating suicide, and your music gave me the will to live.”

That was one of those moments where the world stops. Freeze-frame. And then everything adjusts to surround this new paradigm.

I realized that my perfectionism was getting in the way of my performance. That genuine expression can eclipse a few false notes. And that acknowledging my imperfections is not the same thing as embracing mediocrity. It’s humbling. And pushes me to try harder each time, hoping.

Today I had to accompany the church choir for our Thanksgiving program. The pieces were difficult...Rutter. (Say no more.) I practiced. Every day. For weeks. Starting slowly. Working out the difficult passages. Counting the ledger lines. Gradually speeding things up. With a metronome. Eventually had both pieces seamless and up to tempo.

But there’s that darn performancy anxiety again. Literally anything could happen. I pray. I’m prepared. I perform. It’s not perfect. It’s never perfect. I make mistakes. Every single time. But I recover. I play my heart out. And hope somebody who needs to hear it is listening. Then wait for some unexpected good.

I’ve decided this new-and-improved process is a lot like life: I’m not perfect. Not even close. I keep making mistakes, no matter how hard I try. I recover. I pray. I live my heart out. And hope I manage to reach someone who needs me. Then watch for some unexpected good.

I'm sure my mom had no idea what I'd ultimately learn when she first enrolled me in piano lessons. (Then again, maybe she did. She was a pianist too.)


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And now for the big announcement:
First...the winner of Luisa Perkins’ wonderful cookbook, Comfortably Yum, is The Mom, from Outnumbered. I just know you’ll love this—I could tell from your comment that it’s a perfect fit.

Now...I loved your gift lists, especially the ones who took the time to type out something extra thoughtful. Thank you. I really do wish I could give ten books to every single one of you. But Random.org chose only one. So finally, the winner of a copy of What Think Ye of Christmas for every person on your gift list goes to: Happy Mom, from Hunyville Happenings. When her smile first showed up on my list of followers it made my whole day. She has a wedding going on over there, and I’m guessing this gift will relieve some stress. Congratulations!

Winners: Don't forget to send me your mailing addresses. And acceptance speeches are always welcome.

Note to the rest of you: Be not dismayed. You can order the book on my website, and still get a killer deal! If you order ten or more, the quantity discount lets you steal these books at less than $8 apiece. On top of that, if you enter the discount code CHARRETTE you get an additional 5% off your entire order, reserved only for my blog friends. So go crazy!

Also, there's another giveaway going on right this very minute from Steph over at Diapers and Divinity. I always love her sense of mission, and am excited to see what she has to say today.