Episode 76: It's Harder Than You Think. Be Kind.

Sometimes It Takes Cruelty to Awaken Us

I had performed the National Anthem at baseball games a few times that summer as a duet with my close friend, and as a trio with that friend and my sister. Each time we performed together we heard rave reviews. As we walked away from home plate toward the fence and the bleachers, our home team would come up out of the dugout to high five us.

When I was asked to perform the anthem by myself in mid-summer, I decided to challenge myself and go for it, even though it was scary to me. I practiced and practiced in the shower, in the car, and as I made dinner. I had been a professional vocalist for a couple of years, getting paid to perform in a few bands at small to medium sized venues, so I didn’t think it would be too different from those experiences.

Sure I was nervous, but not too nervous. After all, I was a professional musician!

Heading to home plate…

That afternoon a wildfire had kicked up just north and west of our town, and the smoke was beginning to filter into the city and the valley east of the fire. By 6:45pm, when I arrived at the ballpark to sing at 7, with the first pitch scheduled for 7:05, the sky was an odd gray and yellowish color. I totally underestimated what that might do to my voice.

I walked confidently - all by myself - to home plate, as I had done with my friend and my sister a few times before, and adjusted the microphone to my mouth. I could feel my knees shaking, but took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.

The last time I had performed the anthem with my friend at that ballpark, we had agreed that there wasn’t a huge hurry to begin. She said: “We start when we’re ready.” And we did. We took just a moment to look at each other, breathe deeply, and establish our starting note.

I did the same thing that evening, taking a moment to breathe and prepare myself.

…And the rocket's red glare

The bombs bursting in air

Gave proof through the night

That our flag was still there

Oh say does that Star Spangled banner yet wave?

As I lifted my head, pressed up slightly onto my toes to hit that high note:

O’er the land of the free (this is the high note)

And the home of the brave

my voice faltered and cracked. The smoke had done its damage. I hit the note, yes, but not well.

And the home of the brave.

I nailed that ending, but no one heard that part. They were still focused on that damaged note - free.

Walking back past the dugout, not a single ball player came out to high five me. Not a single one.

I made my way through the gate toward the bleachers and my son, who was 8 at the time, said:

Mom, I thought you were great.

Thanks, Max, but I know that high note didn’t quite work.

He looked down, scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground, and said:

Yeah. I know.

He looked sheepishly up toward some women in the bleachers:

I heard them laugh and say stuff.

My face flushed. I was embarrassed for myself, but angry for him.

What did you think of that?

It made me angry. I know it’s hard to sing that song.

I answered:

That’s right, Max. And if you hear something like that again, no matter who is performing, I would encourage you to say something like: “That’s rude. Could you do that? Could you sing the National Anthem all by yourself into a microphone on home plate to a stadium full of people?”

He smiled and told me he would do that next time.

The ballpark manager came up to me a moment later and mentioned he didn’t have a singer for the next evening’s game, and asked if I’d come back tomorrow. Everything in me said NO WAY... But I said yes. Max was standing next to me, and I knew if I said no, he’d see me giving up. I asked the manager: “You did just hear me, right? You heard me not quite hit that note?”

Yes, but the rest of the version was lovely, and I know you’ll be fine tomorrow.

So I did. I went back the next evening to redeem myself - for me, and for Max. And I nailed it.

It took me a while to recover from that experience, and to fully process my feelings about it. But at some point, as I remember blushing after hearing what Max said, the feeling of embarrassment and anger, I was transported to a moment just about a year before that, when I might have made someone feel that way.

I wasn’t snickering, I didn’t actually say anything to my friend next to me, but I do remember making faces with her as another woman was singing in front of us. I told myself she didn’t see us; I told myself she didn’t know what those expressions were about, but as I thought about my experience at the ballpark, I knew I was that woman in my recent past and resolved never to be there again.

What an awful realization.

Now, quite a few years later, I had an opportunity to shift this dynamic.

We were sitting in the bleachers of a stadium, watching our younger son graduate from high school, and the valedictorians took the stage to speak.

The first one began to speak and I could hear her voice trembling. Her tongue was tied a few times, and a few words got mixed up and didn’t make a lot of sense. There were at least 1,000 people in the audience, plus the 360+ graduates, the high school band, and all faculty and administrators.

From behind me, I heard:

Ugh… this does NOT give me much hope for the class of 2019.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment for the young woman on the stage, all alone with that microphone and over a thousand people watching and listening to her. I turned around:

Excuse me - there are at least a thousand people here watching and listening to this young woman on the stage with a microphone. I’m a professional speaker and this would make ME nervous. Could you do that without being nervous?

I turned back around, expecting our older son to be completely embarrassed by his mother’s comment to a total stranger., but he wasn’t. He smiled at me with encouragement and pride.

I didn’t notice the reaction of the people behind me, I just continued to look forward and listen to the speeches, and shouted with the rest of my family as our son’s name was called and he walked across the stage, a fresh, new high school graduate.

Have you been the one making faces, snickering, or whispering with friends while another human was performing or speaking? Do you ever think about whether you could be the one with the microphone, and if you could do better?

Life is difficult enough without the peanut gallery taking us down when we put ourselves out there, taking a risk and demonstrating vulnerability.

Maybe it’s time for all of us to grow up a little and choose to be supporting and encouraging instead.

Don’t you like yourself more when you encourage and support people?

Who would YOU rather spend time with, the person who snickers and makes fun of people, or the one who claps, smiles, and encourages people?

Even in Dreams, Stories Offer Opportunity for Self Reflection

Exposed? Vulnerable? That's good, because that's how we connect.

I had to go to the bathroom so badly. I might have a very embarrassing situation in the next few moments. As I moved through the restaurant to find the women's restroom, I could feel my face warming, blushing.

I couldn't find the bathroom and started walking much faster, a feeling of desperation washing over me. The building was huge, with twists and hallways and lots of tables and guests. Finally, there it was, the entrance was hidden in a dark corner. I walked through - none of the stalls had doors.

It was weird. People (men and women) just walking by these open stalls like there was nothing awkward about it. I went into a stall to find a big mess on the floor and around the toilet. It was filthy. I couldn't even think about going to the bathroom there. I tried to find another stall, looking for some semblance of privacy. I felt totally exposed. But no one seemed to notice; not one person looked at me or acknowledged the odd situation. I didn't know what to do.

And then I woke up, perspiring and shaking.

It took me all day to get my tremors to calm down.

It was the night before a gig. I would be performing on stage that evening; singing songs I knew well, with musicians I knew would competently back me up. And yet, clearly my subconscious mind was telling me I was nervous.

I’m a big believer that our dreams can help us identify issues that are buried in our subconscious minds. When we can interpret a recurring dream, we can start to address the concerns we have that aren’t as straightforward or obvious as we might hope.

I have this exposure dream or something similar to it, pretty consistently before gigs, presentations, and other events where I know I’ll be putting myself out there – working outside my comfort zone.

Sometimes the dream involves me looking for a shower, or taking a shower and realizing there are no curtains and people can see me. Sometimes I care and get embarrassed, trying to cover up. Once in a while in my dream, I decide it doesn't matter if people can see me naked in the shower, I feel proud and free and not at all embarrassed. That doesn't happen often.

My dreams have always been vivid and generally easy to translate and interpret. The two described above are the easiest to figure out. It's simply a matter of feeling naked, vulnerable, and exposed. The fact that I have these dreams before a gig or presentation isn't surprising; after all, singing & performing for an audience is like being naked in public - if you're doing it right.

Being authentic is easier for some people than it is for others. It's probably the most important aspect of public speaking and performance. Read any book on public speaking, including one of my favorites, Talk Like TED, and you'll read the same concept:

Be authentic because any audience can tell when you aren't, and they will simply dismiss you and your message.

There’s another important side of the discussion of dreams: The ones you have in your waking hours. You know - the dream of owning your own business, being your own boss, being a rock star, having a successful career, writing a book, and on and on. The question about those dreams is whether you have to monetize them to make them relevant, valid, and successful. I don’t think so.

It started with Craig’s list. My husband responded to someone looking for a musician to play with, just for kicks. Ryan came over one night while I was out with friends and when I arrived home, he was putting his guitar back into his car. I introduced myself and asked him about his music, about his family. That’s when he told me about his wife, Twila. She used to sing with a couple of gospel choirs. Instinct kicked in and I invited him to bring his wife and daughter for dinner the following week.

We had a lovely meal, and while our boys and their daughter watched anime movies in the other room; I pulled Twila into our music room and picked a song for us to try together. Neither of us had been singing for a while, for me it had been about 20 years since I had done anything more than sing to our children. It was magical. Our voices blended and wrapped around one another in an extraordinary resonance. We had chills up our spines, the hairs on our necks rose as we sang together. There were moments when our voices were so well balanced, so completely joined, it sounded like there was an organ behind us.

One music night turned into a music night each week, which turned into two music nights some weeks. More musicians were invited to join us, friends came by for dinner and to listen to us practice. Our house developed an incredible reputation for good food and great music. Ryan and Bob learned each other’s strengths and weaknesses and challenged each other to practice and improve their guitar playing. Twila and I were so inspired; we would begin a song and could feel our voices taking it to a different dimension. We experimented with songs that we had never heard performed with harmonies, magical is an understatement. We eventually realized that we had about a dozen songs down well enough to perform them and took the first step to creating a band – open mic night at a local coffee shop. We had such positive feedback, we needed a band name. The Perfect Jones was born.

I had no idea that performing – singing – was my dream.

I never dreamed I would be a professional musician. I never dreamed that people would pay to hear me sing. Now that it’s happening I realize it is a wonderful dream and one I am not willing to give up any time soon. When I talk about our band and performing, my grin shows all of my teeth.

Singing is my part-time job, and it doesn’t pay well.

But it’s my dream.

Do I have to monetize it to make it real or valid?
Does my dream have to get bigger; do I have to want more from it? No.

I just have to keep wanting it, despite my sleep-time dreams of vulnerability and exposure.

If your dreams are trying to tell you that you're stressed, anxious, and feeling exposed, listen to them.

Acknowledge the fear and find tools to work through it. When I wake up from one of these dreams, I take time to assess my fears in a clear, strategic way.

What am I really afraid of?

What's the worst thing that could happen?

How likely is it that the audience will be as critical of me as I am of myself?

What steps will you take to realize your dream, even if it scares you?