As a kid, I had this incredible fear of messing up in front of an audience. I remember one occasion where I sang a solo in a vacation Bible school musical and had the misfortune of forgetting the lyrics. I lost it in front of my family, friends, and frenemies (no kidding, they were there too). It truly was my worst nightmare. Regardless, I had to stay in character, and pretend like nothing bad happened.

 

          I could write for hours about how many times I’ve lost my place in the music, played out of tune, and dropped my music on stage, but you get the gist. No matter what happens, the only option is to jump back on the horse and pretend like nothing happened. I know, it's grueling. You still have to face the audience at the end of the performance. You know what happened, they (probably) know what happened; it's the awkward elephant in the room. 

       

        I think this one of the biggest challenges we face as musicians: how to keep going in the midst of failure.

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           The first thing to do is separate yourself from what happens on stage. Music is just a part of you, it's not all of you. Never forget that you are more than your failures, your triumphs, and your music. You are a whole person. Second, accept that failure is inevitable. Failure is okay because it means that you are taking risks, and what is life without those moments that make your stomach twist and turn?

    

    The Habit of Risk-Taking

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           How do we get in the habit of taking risks? You know the risks I'm talking about: holding that high note a millisecond longer than you want to, or performing a passage 10 bpm faster than you practiced. For some of us, maybe even performing in front of others is a risk. No matter what you consider hazardous, you understand how tricky it is to open up to the possibility of failure.

 

          So where do we begin? Well, before you pick up your instrument, prepare to be uncomfortable. Performing in front of people is uncomfortable enough, right? That being said, I'm convinced that with enough performances and plenty of ambition, this can become easier. How can I say this? Because it worked for me.

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         In middle school, I attended an intensive string academy. Every week, my mom and I would drive two hours round trip to attend lessons on Thursdays and group classes on Saturdays. In group classes, students were encouraged to play a solo in front of each other as often as possible. My teacher knew I wanted to get better at performing, so she pushed me to play every week. 

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        It was brutal. Panic would set in the moment I woke on Saturday morning, and walking into class was miserable. Sweat would collect in my palms, and my toes would clench the bottoms of my shoes like they were grasping for the ground. I would mentally review fingerings and bowings in the moments leading up to my performance in attempt of calming my nerves. It was like this for months.

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          Eventually, it became easier because I came to terms with a few things. First of all, I gained confidence in my ability. I knew I could play well, but I accepted that some people wouldn't like my playing, for whatever reason. Secondly, I realized that my nerves were there to help me. The adrenaline rushing through my system was necessary for my energy to pull through.

 

         

          Preparation: A Musician's Best Asset

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          Perhaps the most important advice I have received came through watching Hilary Hahn: A Portrait. I remember the day when the dvd arrived at our front door, and I grabbed the box, ripped it open, and fed it to the tv. I was so anxious to absorb every ounce of Hilary's wisdom.

 

          She began discussing her approach to performing, and what keeps her calm. I was surprised at how much Hilary iterated the importance of preparation. Pffftt, my young self thought upon first viewing the documentary. Well obviously I wouldn't stand up and perform if I wasn't ready! After watching the movie a couple dozen times, I still couldn't come to terms with the simplicity of her advice. 

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         Years later, Hilary's words came back to haunt me, but not in the way I had expected.

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        In college, I found it hard to find chunks of time to practice. Some days, there wasn't any time to practice. Call it bad planning, exhaustion from classes, or whatever, but the comfort of preparation was slipping out of my hands. It was painful to go up in front of my studio and perform without my "security blanket".

        

         After quite a bit of time, I realized what my problem was: I could not expect myself to "grow out" of needing ample time to prepare. I remembered how much I would practice in high school, and the confidence I would have going into performances.

         

 

         So. after years at school trying to balance out my schedule and my life, I finally saw how everything went hand-in-hand. My preparation built my confidence, and my confidence helped me take the risk of performing in front of people. It was really all connected.  

 

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