Confess!!

Most people have some anxiety about doing something in front of others. For many this adds an "edge" to the situation, which improves the outcome. For others, that edge is virtually a cliff from which they fall time and again.

Most performers have stories about times on stage where they didn't feel that tingle of anxiety, and that night's performance was flat and lifeless. The edginess signifies that one is at the boundary of creativity - that something new is going to happen. Even though the performance has been executed countless times in the past, something new can happen each time. Without the edge, the performer and the audience experience a lifeless recreation of the past. With that creative edge, however, comes the possibility of failure, which is also part of the excitement.

A percussionist friend, we'll call him Stu for the purposes of this story, once told me about how much he admired another drummer's expertise and control. Stu talked about how the other drummer never seemed made a mistake in addition to doing things so well. Stu said that he, personally, always felt a little out of control when he played, and worried that at any moment he would lose it during performances. That would be very embarrassing for him.

Some weeks after that conversation, I happened to run into the drummer about whom my friend Stu had spoken so highly. I related Stu's compliments to him, which brought a funny smile to his face.

He said, "You know, I do know what I can play, AND what I can't play. I practice my chops so that I can exhibit that high level of control on stage. I don't like to mess up." I had seen him play and could attest to his abilities; he was tight and I had no doubt that he would play without mistake.

The drummer then went on to say, "Stu amazes me. He is such an edgy player. He takes chances on stage that I could never take. He is out there on the edge where he could lose it at any moment. I can't go there; I could never take the risk. Time and again I think 'this is the moment where he won't make it work,' and then he does it. I really admire him for that and wish that I could do it. But, my need for control is so great that I can't let myself get that close to potential failure."

Years later, a student once came to me for advice. He said that when he had to perform the skills that he had learned, that he would get all hot and sweaty. That would embarrass him and just make things worse. He was afraid to perform at all. He said that he thought others could tell that he was nervous and, consequently, would lose confidence in him, which only made matters worse. I told him to confess his anxiety to them. I told him how he could frame his story to them such that he didn't look like a cluck, but merely someone who wants to do a good job. He tried it, and the anxiety was instantly reduced to a very manageable level. He did a good job. Confession set him free.

At the Woodstock Rock Festival back in the late 1960s, Crosby, Stills and Nash were on stage to perform their new hit song "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes." It was already a massive hit in the U.S.. But there they were on stage before half a million people to play it live. At the end of his introductory remarks, Stephen Stills said to the audience something to the effect, "We've never played before a group this large; and we're scared shitless." Confession sets you free.

A year or so later, I was on stage before a group of 3000 people. I had never played or sung in front of so many people. As I stood there making my introductory remarks the words of Stephen Stills came to me. So, I said, "I haven't really done anything like this before, and I am pretty scared." I left out the "shitless" part. Everyone laughed; I was free.

After reflecting on this experience over the the years, I finally realized something: I stepped onto the stage to perform "in front of" those people. I was there for me. I wanted to make myself feel good by performing at a certain level. Confessing that I was scared changed that. I was telling them that what they thought was important to me. I was now performing "for them." I was bringing a gift with humility. The outcome was entertainment for them and a great level of satisfaction for me. Since I was not trying to hide my nervousness, I was free to direct that mental energy to performing.

I am amazed at how much hiding we do in our daily lives. I'm not saying that we need to walk around telling everyone we meet that we are scared about life. I'm suggesting that we tell those people who need to know that they are important to us. We can tell them that we are a little anxious about failing them. That simple process changes the focus from "me going through my life for me" to "me going through life in service of others."