Thursday night I was driving down to the church when I realized my fingers were freezing, my heart was beating, and my mind kept thinking of all the ways I was going to embarrass myself.
I wasn’t headed to a solo performance with my clarinet. It was the rehearsal with the choir.
The music I was playing for Lent only had one short run. The key signature wasn’t difficult, but the time signatures changed from 4/4 to 3/4 to 6/4 to 2/2. They changed repeatedly from measure to measure, even during my rests in places where I didn’t have them marked in my transposed version. I had to rely on the director to see when to play my notes on the entrances.
For those who don’t read music, imagine a dance where the rhythm keeps changing and everyone will see your neon tap shoes stomp on your partner’s toes if you get the count wrong.
The whole thing nearly gave me hives.
And I didn’t feel any better after we practiced together.
The rehearsal ended with me totally flubbing the last notes and everyone thanking me for agreeing to play for the church in three days.
I felt like they thought I was a lost cause, but they weren’t going to worry too much. It was just a regular Sunday, not Easter, after all.
I tried several mental tricks to calm myself, many of them things that I tell others when they are stressed out.
- I took deep breaths.
- I thought of other times when I had been successful.
- I reminded myself that the people listening loved me and would still love me even if I played all the wrong notes and came in after the song was over. My family might even love me more out of sympathy.
These things helped a little. I looked for more ways to reassure myself.
- I reached out to the pianist and begged her to help me since I could not practice the timing alone. (Miki agreed. She is such a blessing.)
- I imagined feeling calm and successful after the piece was over.
- I asked my dear friend Ruth to pray for my peace of mind.
These things helped more but not enough. My fingers were still so cold I could hardly work the keys on my instrument. (Cold fingers are one of my stress reactions. They are not helpful.)
Finally, as I was sitting through the beginning of the service, waiting an eternity to stand in front of the crowd, I thought of a writing idea I use when the words get mired in fear.
I told the song that if she wanted to come out of me, she was going to have to do some of the work because I wasn’t sure I could do it myself. I even got a little snotty with her because I was feeling so stressed about my potential public humiliation. (Never mind that I had agreed to play and, on some level, deeply wanted to do it.)
I had often talked to my stories this way but I had never tried it before with a song.
I instantly felt calmer. It was almost like the song had just been waiting for me to ask.
Ten minutes later I walked in front of the pews and played. I made a few small mistakes but came in at all the right places in the right tempo. Or maybe Lenten Song moved through me and managed her own entrances.
Either way, I loved the peace I found by talking back to my art.
It’s a little woo-woo, I grant you. But the older I get, the more woo-woo the the best parts of life feel to me.
I didn’t make this up myself, by the way. I got the idea from Elizabeth Gilbert’s first Ted Talk and from her book Big Magic.
I’m beginning to think that this sort of sass might work for any great endeavor we try.
Want to finish a degree? Take the classes, study hard, and then tell the degree that if it wants you to earn it, it will have to step up.
Want to raise children? Change the diapers, set limits, hug them often and get serious with the universe, explaining that you are going to need help with that insanely impossible task.
Want more peace in the world? Volunteer, be kind to others especially when they cut you off in traffic, and then tell the world that this is way too big of a task. Insist that you are going to need help to see what to do and how to get it done. A lot of help.
Get snappy with the degree, the universe, or the world. This is key. Maybe talking back shows you are not kidding around. I don’t know. I just know it works for me.
And then relax. The song, the degree, the grown children and the world might surprise you with the impossible things you can do.
They might even surprise you like “Lenten Song” surprised me with the exact right timing so that the people in front of me could hear the song the way she wanted to be heard.
May you rest in the help you can find when you need it-
Here’s the “Lenten Song” written by Mark Hayes and the solo played by a flute.
And a few other wonders from my week:
A recycled bit on the wonder series:
I love the way writing and other art forms open my eyes to the surprises around me in my everyday life. Many of these wonders will also be in my Instagram account since I discovered the joy of that program during an advent photo project.
I collect these surprises like little rocks in a kid’s pocket. I may use them in a story. I may not. Either way, life gets a little brighter when I take the time to notice.