I’ve never peed myself on stage. But my mother has – just a little. (Sorry, mom.) Well OK, I almost did once. (Just once!) (I’ve also been high on stage – quite innocently I might add, I accidentally smoked and had a coughing fit on stage, got stuck in what was supposed to be a very short lesbian make-out scene – which became a very long lesbian make-out scene whilst another actor fumbled on (and on and on) for his next line. I’ve almost thrown up on stage, I broke my foot just off-stage (during a preview performance, no less), and I’ve had to retrieve a small prop which was accidentally thrown off-stage into the audience and reach my arm between a man’s legs leaning my head as far left as possible, lest my face end up in his crotch. Yes, all those things happened – and more. They were all while I was acting on stage (except the almost-throwing-up story…we’ll get into that a little later). OK, so there I was 17 years old with the lead in our high school’s drama festival play – this was a really big deal for me. I could barely mumble my way through a sentence in ‘real life’, and here I was about to step out onto the University of Calgary’s main stage theatre in front of hundreds of drama students and teachers, as well as a panel of judges (there was an opportunity to win a small scholarship – which I did, but they forgot to give it to me – due to my off-stage invisibility factor: More on that in a future blog.)
Anyhow, I was nervous – really, really nervous…I stepped on stage and suddenly I could feel my bladder giving way…
You know what’s strange? Have you ever been in a situation where time slowed right down? Where you could almost see that very moment ever-so-slowly passing by? I’ve had it happen several times – usually during times of extreme emotion. Well, this was one of those times.
…suddenly I thought of my mom and her terrible experience and how much I could not let that happen to me. Not here. Not now. So in a Herculean effort that I’ve rarely been able to achieve in my life, I tightened-up my bladder. I stared it straight in the, um, eye(?) and proclaimed: “You shall not pass!”, er I mean “You shall not pee!” And I didn’t. And that was good. But when it came to acting on stage, that experience was definitely an anomoly. Auditioning for a role was always a wretched, gut-twisting experience, but being on stage wasn’t. Acting on stage felt like home to me right from my first performance at 15. Given how quiet I was offstage, this shocked my family and friends…which, was kinda cool. We’re not always (only) what other people think we are.
All this brings me to music. God I love music. If you knew how deep a passion I had for acting, and how music somehow managed to surpass that, you’d understand how much I love music. Do you ever just sit by yourself and truly listen to a song? You just close your eyes and give yourself over to the music. And for a few minutes, you and the music move through each other. And you get to fully, emotionally experience that song? We can dance to music, we can have music be pleasant background noise while we’re doing something else. But if we don’t take the time to feel music, then I think we’re robbing ourselves. Anyhow, I’ve always felt music more than listened to it. I think it started with Supertramps’ ‘Dreamer’.
So I truly love music. And as much as I love – and feel – other people’s music, I love writing my own music even more. I think music – like all creative endeavours – is passed thru us, like a gift from a higher realm. I believe that’s true as much as I believe that my physical body needs oxygen to survive. I never decide to sit down and write. The decision is made for me. If I fight it, I lose the song. If I help it, I can allow something wonderful to be created thru me. I’m not saying it’s always easy (sometimes it really is), I can wrestle with lyrics for a long time, but when the flow starts to happen I’d better be ready. Working on that song feels like life is moving through me. Working on that song helps me to process emotions I’ve been struggling with. Working on that song takes past pains and eases them. Working on that song gives me a deep sense of fulfillment and accompllishment that I cannot get with anything else. So you see, I truly love music.
And here’s where it all gets seriously effed up (‘scuse my French). I hate performing music. Oh God, how I hate performing music. I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT!!!!! - But I wish I loved it. I wish I could embrace it like a lover and just let go…but I can’t. And I don’t. And I probably never will.
Because here’s the thing I don’t get. I want to perform my music. Oh how I want to…you can’t even beging to understand. (Well, maybe you can.) I would love to just get on stage in front of a small, intimate group and play the guitar and sing my songs. (Preferably with someone else, so we could sing sweet harmonies and savor every note.) And I don’t care where – anywhere! But here’s the rub – I can’t let myself. I suffer from debilitating stage fright.
So…my question is: How can that be? How can God or Fate or the Universe (or whatever) gift me with such a passion for music and simultaneously curse me with a debilitating fear of performing it? And I’m not saying this from the point of a weenie (and I can definitely be a weenie at times) who has never attempted to play music on stage. I have sung on stage, dozens of times. And here’s the rub…have you ever heard people talk about how nervous they are on stage (singing, acting, giving a speech, etc.), but after a few minutes they start to relax a bit and perhaps enjoy themselves? The complete reverse is true for me. I start with a quenchless thirst, sweaty palms, bladder urgency and awful nausea. And from there it gets WORSE. By the time my third song comes along, my hands are sweating so badly that they slip on my guitar. My stomach aches so badly that I have to force myself to sit or stand upright. I hate every minute of what I should naturally love. Why? WHY??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry, that’s pretty whiny. But I really don’t understand how such a juxtaposition can exist within me. To live and breathe something so deeply, and yet not be able to share it face-to-face? I’ve never understood that. I’ve never been able to work through it (despite countless courses, classes, counselling, book after book, performance after performance.) One of my favorite movie quotes of all time is from George Clooney in “Three Kings”. He says “The way it works is, you do the thing you’re scared sh*tless of, and you get the courage AFTER you do it, not before you do it.” That’s worked for me in many situations in my life. I always come away feeling stronger, happier and more capable. But not with performing music.
I took an absolutely amazing four-month songwriting/performance course way back in the beginning of 2001. (Run by the lovely and supremely talent Julie Blue.) This was a course for us to sharpen our writing skills and improve our performance skills. I had already performed music dozens of times prior to this (always as a duo or trio), and during the run of the course, we performed for each other every single week. Several times Julie arranged for us to perform at a local café or restaurant. (Here’s where we get to the ‘almost thrown up’ part.)
For our first performance, fellow classmate Zeus Ghadban offered to play guitar for me for my song “The Alchemists”. (Side note: I didn’t know at the time that Zeus would become a beloved friend.) The night of the performance I decided not to perform. Forget it. A huge crowd had shown up. Our class consisted of about 20 musicians and each one had invited several people – and they’d all shown up – and brought friends. (Dang-it!) Zeus talked me into performing and the only reason I agreed was because I felt so guilty that he’d worked so hard on my song and I didn’t want to have wasted his time. Anyway, by the time my name was called, the crowd had grown – in both size and noise output. When I crept up on stage, no one noticed me. Everyone was talking and no one was paying me the least bit of attention. “YES!!!!” This worked for me. I could quietly sing my song and feel OK knowing that it was being ignored. So just before I start singing, Zeus whistles into a microphone. “Hey everyone, this is Deb’s first solo performance and I think it would be nice if we all listened to her.” It was such a sweet, loving thing to do – and of course, I was bitterly wishing he hadn’t. Everyone went quiet…like, church quiet. And they all stared. At me. Egad.
So Zeus starts strumming the opening of “The Alchemists” as my stomach decides to reject what’s left of my dinner. It’s coming up, quick. Oh gawd, I half push/half swallow it back down again. I start feebly singing “Come, take his hand…”. The crowd continues to kindly listen as I stare back at them with what must have looked like a “I just shat my pants in public.” facial expression. Break between versus. Zeus strums, I start to throw up again. Have to take a breath for the next verse. Can’t vomit and breath in at the same time! I forge all the determination I can muster and swallow/push it back down yet again. Oh gawd. So horrible…it burns…it hurts…it feels so bad. Twenty seconds down, and only another two minutes and forty-five seconds to go! Yay!
Anyhow, you get the picture. (Sorry, I guess it’s not really a picture that anyone wants to ‘get’.) I made it through the performance. Nothing came out (of either end.) (Sorry again.) The kind audience clapped. And, yeah, ultimately I was happy that I did it. But I sure as heck didn’t want to do it again. Ever. But I did. I just wish the nerves could have gotten better and not worse. I did have one occasion where I performed and it felt pretty darn good…but that’s a very long story for another post.
Maybe one day…I don’t know. I do know that it hurts to not to do it. But I don’t have any answers. And the clock keeps tickin’.
