Monday, May 16, 2005
performance anxiety
It’s been a long time since my last incident of “stage fright.” It happens to every man from time to time, but I thought I had grown out of it. My first Over the Rhine concert at a bar in Atlanta was certainly not the ideal time to have to deal with it again.
After the opening act finished playing, I was second in line for the bathroom, and, well...there was only one urinal, out in the open right by the sink, and the line of guys went out the open door impatiently, all of them in a hurry to get to the bar for another beer before the music started, and I just couldn’t get it to flow. So I zipped up and left, ashamed.
I knew I couldn’t hold it through the whole show, so I waited for the line to die down before giving it another go. Linford was standing with his arm across the door, and he told me with a twinkle in his eye that the bathroom was occupied. I stood there several minutes, pretending like I didn’t know it was him instead of telling him what I wanted to: Thank you for coming. Ohio saved my relationship, and possibly my life.
Side by side, all nonchalant, we looked up at the ceiling and down at the floor, whistling and tapping our fingers on the wall. Just as I had summoned the courage to show some sign of recognition, Karin bounded out of the men’s bathroom with some clever one-liner, and they were gone. I groaned at my own asinine excitement as I peed in the same toilet as Karin Bergquist!!!
It hadn’t been twenty four hours since she who knows me best had assaulted my desperately habitual deference. When you have to work so hard to establish a connection with someone, the relationship loses most of its sincerity. You go to such an extreme trying to make sure everyone likes you, accommodating everyone, and it doesn’t seem very authentic.
She's got a point. Why am I so afraid to be myself, to say what I mean, to take a piss?
I made it back to my seat right as they were climbing on stage. They looked out at us as they played like it was the most natural thing in the world. Confident of the worth of their music and the validity of their existence, they didn’t seem to waste any time contemplating our possible reactions to their presence. From where I was sitting I could see Linford as he smiled at Karin, which he did often, with a look of pride and adoration. They seemed to be playing for one another, songs born in their relationships with one another and with God, songs of desperation and love. The first song they played that I knew was Born. We scooted close and dreamt of the day.....
Perfect love casts out fear.
After the opening act finished playing, I was second in line for the bathroom, and, well...there was only one urinal, out in the open right by the sink, and the line of guys went out the open door impatiently, all of them in a hurry to get to the bar for another beer before the music started, and I just couldn’t get it to flow. So I zipped up and left, ashamed.
I knew I couldn’t hold it through the whole show, so I waited for the line to die down before giving it another go. Linford was standing with his arm across the door, and he told me with a twinkle in his eye that the bathroom was occupied. I stood there several minutes, pretending like I didn’t know it was him instead of telling him what I wanted to: Thank you for coming. Ohio saved my relationship, and possibly my life.
Side by side, all nonchalant, we looked up at the ceiling and down at the floor, whistling and tapping our fingers on the wall. Just as I had summoned the courage to show some sign of recognition, Karin bounded out of the men’s bathroom with some clever one-liner, and they were gone. I groaned at my own asinine excitement as I peed in the same toilet as Karin Bergquist!!!
It hadn’t been twenty four hours since she who knows me best had assaulted my desperately habitual deference. When you have to work so hard to establish a connection with someone, the relationship loses most of its sincerity. You go to such an extreme trying to make sure everyone likes you, accommodating everyone, and it doesn’t seem very authentic.
She's got a point. Why am I so afraid to be myself, to say what I mean, to take a piss?
I made it back to my seat right as they were climbing on stage. They looked out at us as they played like it was the most natural thing in the world. Confident of the worth of their music and the validity of their existence, they didn’t seem to waste any time contemplating our possible reactions to their presence. From where I was sitting I could see Linford as he smiled at Karin, which he did often, with a look of pride and adoration. They seemed to be playing for one another, songs born in their relationships with one another and with God, songs of desperation and love. The first song they played that I knew was Born. We scooted close and dreamt of the day.....
I was born to laughIt hurts when the same spot’s hit over and over.
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I’m gonna learn to love without fear
Perfect love casts out fear.
