I've been playing the guitar since the 8th grade and, actually, my first musical debut was finger picking The Beatles' "Yesterday" during a Young Women's Achievement Night. I stared at the music the whole time and didn't smile once. Later, I played "Brown Eyed Girl" at a Ward Talent Show. Didn't sing then either. I did con a couple friends into singing for me though, so it's not like I was just up there strumming awkwardly. Not like that at all...
I had a brief stint in a Christmas band but really, that's pretty much the bulk of my public performances until...well, there was karaoke at my friend's going away party a few years ago. I sang "Blue Christmas" in a key that was far too low for my voice. My friend, hiding in a corner behind me, responsible for the "Ooh ooh's" in the background, froze in the spotlight. Really, she just stood there. So I was left alone, cowering in the front while the DJ yelled at me to sing louder. It was a tribute to our friend and we failed miserably.
You can imagine, then, how flatly I declined when I was invited to play at an acoustic night earlier this month.
Flatly, flatly, flatly.
...on further consideration, however, I decided that 1) I should be able to accept what I can currently do without expecting it to be perfect and 2) I shouldn't be afraid to try to be more than I currently am.
So I resigned myself to fearfully facing fear.
There was actually a part of me that felt like once I got up to perform I would be all right. I would realize I knew what I was playing and decide that I didn't care what people thought anyway.
Wrong. I was very, very wrong.
I sat down under icicle lighting, arranged my instrument, and looked out into a vast army of menacing strangers. I made a joke about castanets that nobody understood and promptly broke into a feverish sweat. Then I started playing.
I now present to you my measly efforts: (Please by kind, you're actually watching trauma unfold.)
Next stop: posting videos of solo performances in my bedroom on YouTube.
