I have the most amazing piano teacher. She is enthusiastic about every one of her students, finding a way to meet them at exactly the place they are. And then she inspires them to go higher, further, deeper into their musical experience.
Yet I get so anxious on lesson days. I worry about disappointing her.
I’m taking these piano lessons for myself—because I’ve always wanted to play the piano and I love to play it.
Sure, I love to play it when I play it well. Give me the easy pieces, the ones I can learn quickly and play surely. Let me excel or I will hide my head in shame.
No matter what project I begin simply for my own enjoyment—piano lessons or a class in play writing—I manage to turn it into an opportunity for performance anxiety.
I’m not a natural musician, so everything I accomplish in piano class comes through sweat, practice, and determination.
As for play writing, I find ways to disparage my performance in that class, too. I am not finding good enough insights about other students’ plays—not contributing enough in our workshops. I know the teacher must be disappointed in me.
Reader, don’t start yelling at me about how stupid I’m being. I’m not looking for compliments here.
I am, rather, exploring the phenomena of deeply held beliefs—many of us have them—fears about not being good enough.
This kind of insecurity makes many of us perform better—we work harder and longer so that we won’t disappoint the judge when we stand before her naked.
Or we avoid any activity we might not excel at—simply so we don’t have to experience failure. We stick to the things we are very good at, or surround ourselves with people who are less good than we are so that we can be the shining light in a mass of gray.
If you never think about any of these things at all, consider yourself fortunate. For those of you who do know what I’m talking about, let’s try to lighten up and have more fun.
