Several days ago someone described my demeanor as full of vim and vinegar. Of course I laughed, knowing that the “real” saying is “vim and vigo(u)r“, meaning full of enthusiasm and energy. As you will see by clicking the link above, vim and vinegar is a malapropism. “Malapropism is when a word or phrase is used by mistake in place of a similar sounding word or phrase.”
This I found while researching the difference between “vim and vinegar”, and “vim and vigor.” In fact, “vim and vinegar” is actually the blending of two different sayings, the other being “piss and vinegar“, or “spit and vinegar” if you prefer to be less crude in your language (having fun with words yet?). Of course, looking at the various definitions, it is clear that there is little distinction between all three iterations. Thus minimizing the validity of the malapropism attribute.
Whew! I sure am glad to have finally found some way to explain what was a laughable moment!
I’d like to expand upon the concept of “Fun With Words.” I have a lot of fun with words as I write this blog. Drafting a message, changing descriptive words to tweak the meaning to fit as closely as I can the thoughts and feelings I wish to convey. All enjoyable to me. I like word games. I also like number games. Let me expand on this.
My siblings and I have been Zoom meeting on Sundays for almost three years, beginning in the midst of COVID when travel was curtailed. It began as an alternative way to visit our aging Mother without the travel. It has become an amazing bonding experience during which we share our experiences and views on such topics as food, music, shows and movies, and politics. Our 99+ year old Mother still sits in to listen to our support and banter of each other.
As time passed, several sibs began discussing Wordle, a daily puzzle published by the New York Times in which one has to find a five-letter word in six guesses or less. I know some of you know and love it. I resisted for a long time but have now played nearly 200 days of the puzzle and enjoy trying to think like the authors. I use the same beginning word every day in hopes of finding which letters are included and which are in the right place in the secret word.
I downloaded the Wordle app, though I did not subscribe to the Times nor the games. What I found were several other enjoyable and challenging word, number, and matching games that I play on a nearly daily basis. Spelling Bee and Strands accompany Wordle as challenging word games. I’ve always enjoyed Sudokus. Times Games offers three challenge levels if you share my proclivity. I recently added “Tiles” to my daily games routine, challenging my visual matching skills. I recommend them all.
Having completed my move to central Iowa, I am left only with the arranging and rearranging of “stuff” in my apartment to work on over time. I think my vim and vigor stem from left over energy and the excitement of new experiences in a new place, meeting new people and connecting with family. I hope I can maintain my vitality for many years to come, and continue to enjoy, and have fun with words.
Yesterday I woke to the warm and wonderful surroundings of my new fourth-floor apartment. I just had to “pick up my guitar and play.” Anticipation welled up inside at the realization that this was the closing date for my house in eastern Iowa.
Less than ten weeks ago I met with my friend and Realtor(r), Terri, to determine if making a move closer to my son and his family was feasible. My life has since been a whirlwind of hard work and change as I transitioned from life at one pond to another. From one city to another. From one past life to a new life, meeting new and old friends and becoming an integral part in the life of my son and his family. I could not have imagined that my decision would positively impact my life in so many ways.
I was sad to leave my friends and neighbors Jason, China, and Adalynn who have adopted me as if an uncle. I have both supported and been supported by Steve and Kim through fire and flood, and shared joys and sorrows as we learned about each other’s pasts. Good neighbors are great gifts!
I heard the news that all had gone well with the closing as I was attending a luncheon in what has become a fairly busy social calendar. The evening was capped off with a visit from my son and his partner to celebrate with a glass of champagne. I reiterated, “I live here now.”
But I was also aware of latent emotion lingering beneath the joyful surface. It’s a sadness for the loss that necessitated change and new beginnings. A sadness for the loss of the one I loved so deeply and the loss of what we had together. Of course, it could not help but surface.
What contradictions we endure in our lives. Such conflicting thoughts and emotions. How do we reconcile the push and pull of happiness and sadness. And yet we all do. It is in deed an indicator that we are living, sentient beings.
Somehow, as I traversed this day of transition, a day of looking forward with hope and looking back with melancholy, I felt a peaceful contentment for where I am and where I have been. Looking out over the pond from my new abode, somehow marrying the past with the future.
Thank you all for making this journey with me so far. I truly look forward to what lies ahead. Knowing it will not always be cheerful. Understanding that there must be other challenges and sadness ahead. But this day I celebrate where I am – who I am – and what might be.
No need to expound. It’s been another week of international tensions, national political intrigue, and intense weather, especially here in Iowa. The Greenfield tornado is especially troubling to me because I was just there and had seen some of the destruction from the Harlan tornado just a couple weeks ago. Otherwise, I am not going to comment on any of the other.
No News
Because I have none. It’s been another week of trying to find my way in this new reality. I feel like it’s been one step forward and several steps back. Not that all is bad. I enjoy the people I interact with, the walks and hikes I take, grilling, and most of the weather. But internal struggles persist regarding Pam and my loss of her. I am told they may never abate. I am trying to learn to live with that.
Good News
I have a camping trip planned with family for this week that may provide fodder for another travel log. Hopefully, I can get it written by next Saturday. Until then, I sincerely hope you have a high-quality, healthy, and safe week. And don’t forget to acknowledge our fallen veterans as we celebrate Veterans Day on Monday.
My trip to Nebraska was both rewarding and painful. I hope to expound on the rewards, but can’t help mixing in some pain. My planned route included stops at two lunch spots that I had seen on Only In Iowa, and designed to avoid any major highways.
First, I must say that Friday was an interesting and ultimately difficult day. I was packed and ready to go by noon. and considered taking off early, but didn’t know where to to. I kept busy outside all day which was good. But the evening relaxation turned into a major letdown that further exhausted me mentally, adding to the physical tiredness.
A ray (or rays) of hope on Friday evening
Waking early Saturday I left before I’d planned. That was good because it was a five-hour drive to Malvern, Iowa and Classic Cafe. I found the downtown area to be bustling with quant businesses, pedestrians, bikes, and cars. I could have spent more time there if I hadn’t another place to be that afternoon.
Classic Cafe was excellent. With decor epitomizing small town downtown cafes, It was comfortable with “Please sit anywhere” and welcoming friendly staff. The main special this day was Hot Beef Open Faced Sandwich. Not my favorite fare. But I jumped when the server mentioned Made Rites. One of Pam’s favorites, we used to seek out places that had both Made Rites and good pork tenderloin sandwiches. Accompanied with sweet potato fries and iced tea, my hunger was soon satisfied. If you are ever in the area, I highly recommend it.
The lengthy morning trek, enjoying the wandering state and county roads (mostly IA 92) of southern Iowa, left me less than two hours of yet more pleasurable travel to Leid Lodge at Arbor Day Farm. I had not been there in over 30 years when I stayed while consulting at Cooper Nuclear Power Plant. There on business, I never got the opportunity to enjoy the many interesting features at Arbor Day Farm. Taking Pam there to share what I thought would be a fun and enjoyable venue was on my bucket list. But we never made it there. I thought it fitting that I return now as part of my journey to Pam’s bridge.
Leid Lodge and Arbor Day Farm did not disappoint. A Baltimore Oriole greeted me as I walked toward the entrance from my car. The lodge reminds me of some in and around the mountains out west. Its timber construction, vaulted ceilings and glass walls are augmented by the use of recycled materials that finish the room decor, such as carpet made of recycled plastics.
I walked about five miles along wooded pathways and apple and nut orchards around the perimeter of the grounds. There are interactive displays in hundred-year-old farm buildings, a Tree Adventure ideal for family excursion, and a really neat shop, Apple House Market, where I spent more than I probably should have on honey, popcorn, candy, and a sweatshirt that colorfully says “Plant Trees.” There are many other facilities and activities there to enjoy.
Having made reservations, as recommended, at Timbers in Leid Lodge, I chose to sit on the deck overlooking treed grounds. I enjoyed an excellent meal of Prime Rib, homestyle mashed potatoes, and asparagus, with a glass of Cabernet. This was actually the third point at which I really felt Pam’s absence, the first two being while strolling in the woods. The second, while shopping. She would have really loved this place. Her joy would only enhance my experience.
Views from my table
I played my guitar on the stone terrace behind the lodge where more than a few people, especially with children, stopped to listen and offer their thanks. Cool. Having a fourth floor room facing the orchards, I hoped for a glimpse of the Northern Lights anticipated that evening. But they did not manifest. I slept well.
On the road before eight on Sunday morning, headed for the bridge. It was appropriately gloomy and I could see rain shafts in the distance toward Creston NE from the open road. Sullen anticipation enveloped me. About a 2-1/2 hour drive, I arrived by 10:30.
It was cool and breezy at Pam’s bridge, with intermittent light rain. Also appropriate. Avoiding too much detail about my time there, my lasting images are of dropping yellow daisy flowers over the guard rail while reconnecting with my sorrow, loneliness, guilt, and just trying to connect with Pam. And being on my knees, grasping the guard rail while screaming in agony as the pain overtook me. I spent quite a while there. I didn’t want to leave, but knew I would eventually have to.
Heading east again toward Ankeny, I had another lunch stop to make in Beebeetown Iowa, truly a “don’t sneeze or you’ll miss it town”, to a place called Twisted Tail Steakhouse and Saloon. Also recommended by Only In Iowa, it looked like a fun place to visit and enjoy another good meal along my route. Talking with a sister while on my way, I suggested that it might be the only restaurant in town and busy, being Mothers Day. No kidding. Look at the map on the link. Beebeetown is literally a on stop sign town. Twisted Tail was the only business I could see there. And it was packed!!! Cars parked up and down the street. People standing in line outside, decked in their Sunday best or Mothers Day finest – whatever. I moved on, grabbing a wrap sandwich in a convenience store and eating on the road. I’ll have to consider going back to Beebeetown another time.
of a sudden, in the hills about a mile west of Harlan, I crossed the path of the recent tornado. Mangled trees and missing roofs, silos, and damaged barns. There was a concrete slab on the side of the road. It was once covered by a house. All that remains is the slab and the entrance to a storm cellar, doors in tact. I hope the inhabitants of the house were in there!
On to Ankeny where I visited family and stayed over. It was a good plan. I was totally exhausted from two days on the road and emotionally spent from my experience. I did sleep well, though, and my leisurely trip back home Monday morning was pleasant and relaxing. Ah, the back roads!
This week has been filled with to do’s, and overarching feelings of sorrow and self pity. As of writing this yesterday (Friday), I am coming out of the funk and remembering that I must go on, remembering and honoring the past, while striving for a quality-of-life future. Remembering the rainbow.
(Shout out to K & K who should recognize the title)
It’s Thursday as I’m writing this. I don’t think I’ll be back in here until next week. I’ll be traveling to Nebraska as this post is published. Meanwhile, my week has become increasingly more difficult as the anniversary of Pam’s death looms. I can feel it in my entire being. Low energy, mood swings, painful memories that sprout up again from their dormant past.
Early last Sunday, having woken up in the middle of the night as is typical, I realized that the hour was close to that of Pam’s passing. One week to go – two years ago. Vivid imagery, as a painful video, played in my mind. I broke into tears.
On the phone with my sister during the week, while we were discussing the ravages of Parkinson’s Disease (her husband had PD also), I walked into the living room and saw in my mind’s eye, family sitting around the room, picture albums and scrapbooks removed from storage totes, evoking painfully good memories for Pam’s siblings and offspring. Always at least one person in the next room with Pam, just being, or praying, recounting memories, or feeding her ice cubes and popsicles. Anything to try to ease her pain. The vigil.
Once again the reminders of Pam’s impactful presence in my life as I go about my daily activities, remembering what we did together or how Pam’s way of doing things has become mine. All the while visions of her, early in our time together, until the end, like a digital auto-biography of her and our life together playing on the screen of my mind as if imaged there.
After all this time I realize that the place I least want to be is the bedroom and find it the most difficult room to be in. I dislike going to bed, giving up the day. Another day without my Pamie. I sleep fine once I get there. The challenge is just getting there. Not only do I miss Pam’s companionship, it is also the place where she breathed her last. The place from which she was taken away, never to return. I cry as I write this!
Last week’s post was a testament to how far I have come in my grief journey, following through on my promise to Pam that I would be okay. But now is a time of intense reflection filled with sorrow and loss. My trip to “Pam’s” bridge on Sunday will be equally, if not more, intense. Yet I know I must go. I’ve known it since I poured her ashes into the stream running through the Bachman family farm.
I don’t plan to make it an annual ritual, but as with many expectations in life, things don’t go as planned. If so, Pam would still be with me/us and we would be enjoying our retirement years traveling, maybe even to the family farm, together. And we would go so many other marvelous places, enjoying them together. But that is not reality. This is.
As the 2nd anniversary of Pam’s passing approaches, remembering and, in some cases, reliving what has transpired over the past five plus years, I recognize that I have, in deed, settled into a new normal. I realize that what goes on from day to day in my life centers around “normal” chores, tasks, challenges.
This does not change my love for Pam nor feeling of loss. It does not stop the memories and their associated feelings of love, pain, and anguish. They are now, however, intertwined with my “normal” life.
In these times, one is almost expected to question what “normal” is. In this context, normal is what most people live with and feel as part of their every day living. Normal includes a wide range of activities and feelings, thoughts and actions. People normally deal with aging and loss. We normally have health issues and interpersonal challenges. We laugh, we cry, we enjoy good times, and rue the bad. Feelings of doubt and craziness are part of being normal.
My aging aches and pains are normal for someone my age. My self-reflection and perception are normal. My feelings of love, gratitude, frustration, self-doubt, sadness, and loneliness – are normal.
It is normal to go to bed tired and often reflective of the day’s events, sometimes satisfied, sometimes with anxiety. It is normal to wake up pondering what will transpire, both planned and unplanned, psyching up for whatever the day might bring.
Feelings of happiness, sadness, frustration, contentment, and want are normal. Taking care of home, car, body, all normal. Sharing with friends and family, neighbors, and passers by are typical daily events.
And yet, for me, it’s still a “new normal.” Normal used to be experiencing all of the above with someone so close that you can know, without speaking, what the other is going through. Normal used to be buffered with the love and understanding of the one who loves you more than anyone, and with whom you love. Normal used to be softened by feelings of love and compassion for your partner, your soul mate, if you will.
Now, for me, normal is living alone, accepting this fact and being okay with it and myself – warts and all. Many daily tasks and experiences are the same as they used to be, in the “old normal”, but now I experience them alone. The old normal is captured in a poem our daughter framed for us for our wedding. It is attributed to Apache/Indian folklore, but is actually fake lore (fakelore).
Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter to the other
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other
Now there is no more loneliness
Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you
Go now and enter into the days of your life together
Poetic verse, prose, or lyrics describing what is MY new normal are still being written. After all, I am still grasping the scope of it. As the anniversary approaches, I suspect that I will contemplate its meaning with renewed intensity. For better or for worse, this, too, is part of my “new normal.”
Another from the vault of future topics on which to write. This one, not a quote that I know of, conjures up many potential meanings, none of which I can directly attribute because I did not flesh them out when I added it to the list. I am, however, confident that it had something to do with my grieving process. The need to be strong. The potential that the need may have a finite time frame.
Back from two weeks and 2,400 miles away from home, I begin the process of mentally preparing for the upcoming second anniversary of Pam’s passing, two short/long years ago. I am putting possibly too much weight behind the date. As with my many backpacking trips during which I hope or expect some sort of epiphany about life, I feel the need to attribute some rite of passage to visiting the site in Nebraska where Pam’s ashes were scattered.
Could it actually be a milestone in my grief journey? Have I been strong for this season to culminate in a literal and figurative step forward in my new life without Pam? Based on past experience, I’d say no. Yet somehow I feel like it should. Like it will.
There have been plenty of milestones since May 12, 2022. First it was days, then weeks. Counting months seems to have subsided several months ago. But two years! Is this one particularly significant? In a way, I think so. Not because of a date. But because of how I feel and the way I view life at this juncture.
Being strong through the pain and sadness, clutching almost without hope to the need to play music in Pam’s honor and absence. With the incredible help of family and friends I have come far – much further than I thought possible – through my grief journey. I recognize once more who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And though the two of us were another amazing being together, Pam never lost who she was, nor did I.
We are no longer the same being, nor will we ever be again. Pam is gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Evidenced now only by a bridge to visit on the back country roads in rural Nebraska. I live on with her memory. She lives on through the memories of so many family and friends who knew and love(d) her. I/we cannot change this reality.
Is this the season of transition? Is it the season of change? Of course. There are many impactful changes taking place here and around the world. They are constant – change. I certainly feel that my life’s journey is in transition and that I am ready for change.
I suffer no delusions that transition and change are linear. My emotional ups and downs confirm that change and seasons are cyclical or, as some say about the grief process, a spiral, moving up and around through time. We all live with them. I choose to accept them.
So on I go, embracing each day, remembering yet not living in the past, not afraid of what the future holds. I am thankful for this outlook and hope to continue being strong for good reasons, strong for any season.
May you all find strength and peace amidst life’s changes and seasons.
I was still assessing and evaluating last week’s performances while driving between routine medical appointments Wednesday morning, the latter being in Hiawatha IA on the north end of Cedar Rapids. As expected, I had the initial letdown through last weekend. But the funk lingered into this week.
I was pleased with my performance on Friday of last week. I played as well as I hoped. Not completely error-free, but with only minor hand coordination mistakes that I doubt were noticed by the audience. I did, in fact, remember all the words. Everyone stayed for the entire performance, allaying my second deepest fear that people would just get up and walk out. “And the first?”, you ask, was that I would get lost mid-song and freeze up. How embarrassing!
But I was less than satisfied with people’s response to the songs. One person’s comment was that old people don’t want to hear sad songs. I thought I had left those out of the playlist! Another clearly disliked what is probably my most popular song, Bad Habit Creatures. But I suspect it was a political dislike. Most who attended liked it over the other songs.
Returning home that afternoon, I felt numb. Part of it was having worked so hard in preparation, just to have it over in less than one hour. But it also felt empty. Of course, I had achieved what I set out to do, play in public, having an opportunity to share my stories through song.
What I realized over the next few days was that I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy having to pare down my playlist and manipulate it to fit what I thought was the audience I was playing to. I didn’t enjoy practicing only specific songs in hopes of playing ‘well enough’ for that particular crowd. I didn’t enjoy worrying about whether my music would be accepted or appreciated.
By Wednesday, the conclusion I came to was that, though I accomplished this project that I set out to do, I was not being true to my original goal and commitment of just playing what I want, when I want, where I want. What I want is to be able to just play. Play the songs I want as my mood dictates. Like it or don’t. That I can handle.
Still, I was unsettled as I sat in the parking lot in Hiawatha trying to figure out what to do next on this Wednesday afternoon. I had no reason to rush home. I decided to make the trek to The Amana Colonies about 20 miles SW of where I sat. I had read an article in Only In Iowa just that morning about a hotel in Homestead, the only Amana Colony without the word Amana in its name. I thought it might make for a little get-away sometime where I could stay as a base for branching out to tour all of the colonies. I’d been through them, but only briefly in most.
My second motive for going was to pick up some wonderful smoked salami’s at the Amana Meat Shop and Smokehouse. That place is so much fun for a guy like me. So many meat, cheese, and kitchen gadget choices. Plenty of other tasty morsels as well. As usual, I came out with more than I went in for.
Having increased my groceries and decreased my bank account, I sat in the car again, planning to head for Homestead, just a few miles away. But it’s almost past lunch time. Surely there are places to eat in Amana. Then I remembered that Millstream Brewing Company, the first craft beer establishment in Iowa, had added a brew pub, “Millstream Brau Hous.” Since I’d never been there, I decided to go.
Somewhat typical in style, but with the cultural design on the exterior as well as the interior, I was greeted and ushered to a window-side table. Sitting down, my eyes immediately fixed on a blonde Ibanez guitar hanging on the wall on the other side of the room near the bar. There were few people in the room. I asked if someone played it. It belongs to the owner and is there for anyone to play.
That was all it took. I quickly ordered my burger, fries, and Widow Maker hazy IPA, and headed for the guitar. Nice tone. New strings. Sounds good. I planted myself on a bar stool facing the bar, and began to play. It came easy. It sounded good. I was having fun. I barely noticed that my food had arrived across the room.
However, the beer was not at the table. I finally went to the bar to ask for it. The server apologized, saying he was distracted, enjoying the music, and forgot. I took that as a compliment.
After enjoying the food and quaff, I went straight back to the Ibanez. I noticed the bar tender tapping his hand on his thigh as I played an instrumental riff that I enjoy. Turns out he is also a musician.
Returning to the table to pay the tab, the two ladies at the table next to me expressed their appreciation of my playing. That’s the effect I am going for.
My assessment complete. My analysis spot on. I never wanted to be a performer, though I like to play for people, hoping they enjoy and get something out of the listening. I just want to play my songs whenever and wherever I can. Be it in the garage, in parks, in brew pubs or coffee houses. I’m not in it for the gigs. Now I remember the vision and the commitment. I hope to be true to it.
On to Homestead Iowa. Home town to Ashton Kutcher. Homestead is literally a one street town with its homes and businesses lining it. Stop signs only at the two ends of the half-mile long road. I found the hotel about 3/4 of the way through town. It had a for sale sign on it. So much for that cozy getaway.
Just drive on home. Play my guitar. It’s a good day. I’m back on track.
Hi all. It’s 11 a.m. this Saturday morning and I am still processing this week’s performances and want to wait on the report. Please stay tuned for next week’s post. No need to “Read More.” It isn’t there.
I used to do this in the classroom. There were so many abbreviations. In my jargon, a TLA is a three-letter acronym – and also a two-letter acronym. But I know that actually, PPA is not a three-letter acronym. It’s a three-letter initialism.
“Okay”, you might say, “Wut’s this all really about?” Well, I thought I might be coining a new acronym/initialism, but once again, Google search saved me from embarrassment.
PPA is an initialism for Pre-Performance Anxiety. According to WebMD, pre-performance anxiety is stress and anxiety about performing in front of people and causes performance anxiety. PA can be considered either an initialism or an acronym since its letters also form a colloquialism for father. Performance Anxiety is also known as stage fright.
Now do you see where I’m headed with this? I now have two performances scheduled for next week. On Thursday I will participate in an open mic at Sidekick Coffee & Books in Iowa City. I recently added this venue after previously committing to the 55+ Connections Lunch at the North Liberty Recreation Center.
I’ve known about the 55+ gig for some time and have been practicing a set of songs that I hope will engage and somehow positively affect the lives of those who attend. Now that the time is near at hand, I find myself second guessing. Are my music and lyrics really “good” enough for public consumption? Is my presentation polished enough to expose myself to scrutiny? Will my aging, stiff fingers work!!!? On the up side, I do think I’ll remember the words.
I am not self-absorbed enough to think I am the only person who experiences performance anxiety (stage fright). I immediately think of my 13-year-old granddaughter who landed a major part in a community theater musical that opens next Friday, the same day as my 55+ performance. Break a leg, E! And there are others in my immediate sphere who have upcoming meetings and interviews who may deal with similar anxieties.
Individuals often feel anxious in anticipation of tasks such as speaking in public or meeting with a boss. I find that an overwhelming majority of people believe trying to calm down is the best way to cope with pre-performance anxiety. However, across several studies involving karaoke singing, public speaking, and math performance, I investigate an alternative strategy: reappraising anxiety as excitement. Compared with those who attempt to calm down, individuals who reappraise their anxious arousal as excitement feel more excited and perform better. Individuals can reappraise anxiety as excitement using minimal strategies such as self-talk (e.g., saying “I am excited” out loud) or simple messages (e.g., “get excited”), which lead them to feel more excited, adopt an opportunity mind-set (as opposed to a threat mind-set), and improve their subsequent performance. These findings suggest the importance of arousal congruency during the emotional reappraisal process.
Alison Wood Brooks PsycINFO Database Record (c) 2014 APA, all rights reserved
Next week will be a culmination of an extensive period of hoping, dreaming, and preparing that began even before my retirement and Pam’s illness and death. I’ve conveyed many times my desire to “take it on the road” with Pam during our retirement years, using venues as a tour guide for going places and seeing things together. Something we so enjoyed together.
These two gigs also mark the beginning of a new phase of reaching for the dream. Though I have performed at very limited open mic sessions and in front of a friendly audience of family and friends at a church, these are the first true public appearances in front of people whom I don’t know. No one will have heard the songs. No one will know what to expect. At the 55+, I’m not even sure they know that the program is a musician. They only know that there is a program every last Friday of the month.
Success will look like people not walking out during the first song or shortly thereafter. It will look like people looking at me, perhaps nodding with some sort of mutual understanding. Maybe even clapping? Success will catapult me forward in my journey, give me confidence to book other performances, find other ways to get my music out there. Obviously, failure will look and feel quite different.
Therein lies the fear with pre-performance anticipation. I am excited that I have followed through with the commitment to pursue my music. I believe that I have a message of humanness, one that not everyone is willing to share. It happens to be through music. I am fearful that my musical message will not be received, even though those who have listened have encouraged me.
Performance anxiety, stage fright, is another matter. My mouth gets dry, my heart rate goes up (even more than when I just play the songs), and I have trouble staying focused. My eyes and ears seem to work overtime to ferret out any peculiar distracting input, of which there are ample, when one is on stage. Practice, even trying to imagine myself at the venue, helps. Just thinking about looking out over the audience during practice is enough to distract me. Thus, the more I do it, the better I will be able to focus – I hope.
Again, none of this is unique to me. I am sure that many of you can relate at some level. And again, I am just egocentric enough to think it’s worth writing about. That you might enjoy the reading, and maybe get something worthwhile out of it.
By this time next week, all of the anticipation, anxiety, excitement, and of course, the performances will be over. I will have an emotional let down, as I always do. I will review and evaluate the outcome. Then I will pick myself up and figure out the next plan. Yet I have made a greater commitment – to Pam:
