Performance anxieties

Please don’t make me go first. Please don’t make me go first. Please don’t make me go first.” Then my daughter’s cello instructor says, first up on the hit parade of solo recitals will be my daughter. The venue will still be virtual, so her ability to read the room and tap into its energy was non-existent. Instead, she will be like millions of other children participating in Zoom activities over a laptop screen. She might not know who’s logged in, who’s looking, listening or paying attention. It’s her staring down a small little camera as the world looks in.

Her solo recital comprised of three pieces: the required piece, a favorite piece and a random pick, so she needed to know every piece in the book off by heart. I helped her set up the external microphone, queued up the piano accompaniment on a second computer and tested all the equipment. All she needed to do was to sit down on her stool and play as she had done every other day. Except this time, her stomach was in knots; I seriously thought she was experiencing ulcers. “You’ve played in front of people before, either in an orchestra or by yourself up on stage. In front of hundreds of parents. What’s different this time?” They were all in the room with me. Now I feel very much by myself. “I understand. But I bet every soloist is feeling the same—except you don’t have a chance to commiserate with them right now. I can’t take away your anxiety as they are very real. But I will tell you that there is huge benefit to going first, rather than going last like you wanted.” How?

 

You played beautifully, and it showed the amount of work you put into it. You should be proud of yourself. Now just imagine every soloist that comes after you. They have the same anxiety and you’ve set a bar that each performer wants to match or exceed. Imagine the mounting pressure? Imagine performing last?

 

“Well, for one thing, do you want to feel butterflies in your stomach for the next 2 hours or just the next two minutes?” The moment my daughter started her solo rendition, she was on autopilot. She knew the pieces and focused only on her instrument and her play. Everything else dimmed and shrunk to the size of that laptop camera and it too became irrelevant as she transfixed on her mandatory piece. This first piece ended with sounds of tinny claps coming through the speakers and she absorbed all of it like a parched seedling in raindrops. It was enough to fuel her favorite piece which was easier to play because, well, it was her favorite. This was also followed by more applause. The third and final random pick was done via a spin wheel that the instructor held up to her camera so everyone can see where the arrow landed. With bated breath, the suspense was greater than the original anxiety. It couldn’t have been harder than the mandatory piece which she played first. It can’t be greater than the pressure to play flawlessly her favorite piece as the instructor would expect. So from those two perspectives, it really didn’t matter where the arrow landed because her two required pieces are done. Even if she slipped on a note or two on this third piece, the forgiving audience of parents and grandparents would not judge given the effort to learn the whole book to prepare for a chance piece which understandably receives less practice times. In the end, she played her third piece and as it neared the final bar, she finally enjoyed the moment knowing that the anxieties passed and she gets to sit, relax and enjoy her fellow soloists’ performances.

She received a third and final round of tinny applause as she bowed in front of the camera and went on mute. I could see a literal ton of weight lift from her shoulders. Going first meant that she can now enjoy and support her friends for the balance of the performance.

As we both sat on the couch with the laptop enjoying the show, she did confirm to me that it did seem easier to go first and now she doesn’t need to think about it and can move on. Then I said, “You played beautifully, and it showed the amount of work you put into it. You should be proud of yourself. Now just imagine every soloist that comes after you. They have the same anxiety and you’ve set a bar that each performer wants to match or exceed. Imagine the mounting pressure? Imagine performing last?”

She thought about it and said, “I don’t want to be last.” I looked at her and smiled. I looked back at the computer and turned on the mic so the performer can hear our tinny claps of support!