Saturday night. Carmina Burana. Jack Singer.
I review my set up: snare drum, triangle, suspended cymbal, glockenspiel, tam tam, mallets. All is well. I smile at one of the pianists. I take a few deep breaths. I say my process cues: "Energy. Connect. Go for it." The conductor begins the piece; the timpanist and pianists unleash the electrifying opening. Breath is normal. My tam tam notes are fine.
Pick up the snare drum sticks. CRAP: already the fight or flight response kicks in. My heart rate increases, trembling increases. I get through the snare drum movement. Sub optimal performance--my first entrance dragged. I pick up the triangle. I'm still trembling. There's a ball of fire in my chest. I try to calm down. "Calm down!" I'm screaming at myself. I picture sandy beaches. My trembling relaxes a little. "Calm down." I command, more calmly. I get through the triangle movement.
Glockenspiel. Hands still trembling. I try to breathe deeply and relax. I get through it. Slightly better.
I sit. My hands are still trembling. My mind is racing. Despair hovers. "This is not fun. What's happened to me in the last month? Two orchestra shows with the shakes. They weren't good performances. Will I be hired again? Maybe I should've gotten those beta-blocker drugs for today. Can I even get through this show? Something's broken inside."
But I just got through those movements of Carmina. More sandy beaches. Waves. The Cayman Islands. "I can do it," I say to myself. I try the litany: "I've prepared, I've practiced, I've done this a thousand times before, I can do this."
I smile at one of the pianists, try to connect to his energy and sense of fun and play. Hands trembling less. More snare drum movements. Despite the jittery start I'm actually calm now. Confidence starts to build.
And somehow, fighting through the terror and despair, I finally find the zone. The elusive zone. I've been there before. Is it the "optimal performance" state people talk about? Perhaps. I'm calm. I'm confident. I look forward to playing the next notes. I can feel a certain energy, as if I'm part of a river. Everything is clear around me. I hear and see and connect. I go for it. I'm excited. There is no fear. My muscles execute and cooperate. Endorphins releasing? Feels so good. So good to perform in this space. I used to play "here" all the time.
The rest of the piece goes extremely well. Carmina Burana ends. The audience gives us a standing ovation. I'm elated. I couldn't believe I got through the terror. Did more. I found the elusive zone. The previous concert I couldn't release the fear.
A choir director congratulates me on my triangle and glock playing.
The terrifying and the sublime.
If only I could experience just the sublime. But then, maybe the terrifying intensifies the sublime?
I review my set up: snare drum, triangle, suspended cymbal, glockenspiel, tam tam, mallets. All is well. I smile at one of the pianists. I take a few deep breaths. I say my process cues: "Energy. Connect. Go for it." The conductor begins the piece; the timpanist and pianists unleash the electrifying opening. Breath is normal. My tam tam notes are fine.
Pick up the snare drum sticks. CRAP: already the fight or flight response kicks in. My heart rate increases, trembling increases. I get through the snare drum movement. Sub optimal performance--my first entrance dragged. I pick up the triangle. I'm still trembling. There's a ball of fire in my chest. I try to calm down. "Calm down!" I'm screaming at myself. I picture sandy beaches. My trembling relaxes a little. "Calm down." I command, more calmly. I get through the triangle movement.
Glockenspiel. Hands still trembling. I try to breathe deeply and relax. I get through it. Slightly better.
I sit. My hands are still trembling. My mind is racing. Despair hovers. "This is not fun. What's happened to me in the last month? Two orchestra shows with the shakes. They weren't good performances. Will I be hired again? Maybe I should've gotten those beta-blocker drugs for today. Can I even get through this show? Something's broken inside."
But I just got through those movements of Carmina. More sandy beaches. Waves. The Cayman Islands. "I can do it," I say to myself. I try the litany: "I've prepared, I've practiced, I've done this a thousand times before, I can do this."
I smile at one of the pianists, try to connect to his energy and sense of fun and play. Hands trembling less. More snare drum movements. Despite the jittery start I'm actually calm now. Confidence starts to build.
And somehow, fighting through the terror and despair, I finally find the zone. The elusive zone. I've been there before. Is it the "optimal performance" state people talk about? Perhaps. I'm calm. I'm confident. I look forward to playing the next notes. I can feel a certain energy, as if I'm part of a river. Everything is clear around me. I hear and see and connect. I go for it. I'm excited. There is no fear. My muscles execute and cooperate. Endorphins releasing? Feels so good. So good to perform in this space. I used to play "here" all the time.
The rest of the piece goes extremely well. Carmina Burana ends. The audience gives us a standing ovation. I'm elated. I couldn't believe I got through the terror. Did more. I found the elusive zone. The previous concert I couldn't release the fear.
A choir director congratulates me on my triangle and glock playing.
The terrifying and the sublime.
If only I could experience just the sublime. But then, maybe the terrifying intensifies the sublime?
A great story! I laughed at the visual of sreaming Calm Down! at yourself - very ironic.
ReplyDeleteI think it's really remarkable you pulled it together by connecting with one of the musicians that was in the fun of it, that once you got in the flow of the music everything was fine.
And I don't know if the terrifying intensifies the sublime, but that awful feeling of not being in 'the zone' sure makes you appreciate it when you are there. You need the shadows to reveal what's in the light kinda thing.
Very cool.