So, have you ever had one of those dreams where it's like the first day of school and you're all of a sudden not wearing any pants? Or a dream where you are doing something that you're good at and then you're not, for some reason? Dreams certainly seem to work that way, anyway.
Real life does too, sometimes. I was asked to play with Southern's Symphony Orchestra at their next concert, based on the presupposition that since I play my bass clarinet in Wind Symphony, I can play my bass clarinet with the orchestra. I was given the piece of music a week ago, played around with it last Friday (while prepping for the wind symphony concert), agreed on Monday to play, started practicing it and going to orchestra rehearsal on Tuesday, practiced more yesterday, had class today, and practiced for an hour and a half on the piece. It's the only piece I'm playing with them, and it's certainly bordering on more than enough.
I come to rehearsal on Tuesday, never hearing the piece recently (I heard it performed in like fourth grade), having tried to practice it that morning but not knowing how fast it went, and was told where to sit. The director (who is sort of intimidating to me, but I don't know why) introduced me to everyone else and said that I'd be tackling this piece, which will stretch me. (By the end of the practice, I decided that I'll be stretched on a rack by the piece. No joke.) I've never played under her direction before, I've never played with strings before, I've never played with six sharps before (no joke, six sharps), everyone else has had the music for a week and a half, the concert is in three weeks, and I barely played on Tuesday. I felt like I was blushing the entire time, and it felt like every single one of my mistakes was hearable by every single person in the room.
Yesterday we didn't have wind symphony, so I took the opportunity to practice during the "free" time (no time is "free" in university). I was making progress with the part that's labeled "Solo" on the third movement, and I was doing pretty well speed-wise and everything (because it's a fast movement). This morning I practiced for an hour, and a good portion of that time was devoted to that section because I knew that I wanted to get that one down, even if I hadn't played it in class yet. I went and took my linguistics test, got done a little early, and snagged another half hour of practice (if you can't tell, I'm planning to tackle this until I've got it beat). In the practice room I could play this solo part, which is a bunch of descending eighth notes in 2/2 times, so it's more like triplets. It's staccato, there's those sharps to deal with (I play G-sharp, F-sharp, D-sharp, C-sharp, and A-sharp in the descending part), and it's fast. In the practice room, I played it well, without stumbling over the notes, screwing over the fingerings, or running out of breath.
Then I came to rehearsal this evening, and we played that movement.
I was excited because I knew that I had gotten the part in the practice room, but I'm not sure entirely what happened. I was nervous, true, but I've had other solos before and the palms of my hands weren't sweaty then. Nor have my hands EVER slipped all over my keys, squeaking and rasping my way to awkward pauses and fumblings. EVEN THOUGH I GOT IT IN THE PRACTICE ROOM. The director had me start at where I came in, and the same thing happened again. My heart was pounding super-fast (even though my resting heart rate has dropped with all the interval training I've been doing for Fitness for Life), and I was feeling really stupid. Also, I realized that the section is almost completely naked. It's mostly just me. My playing has almost never been that exposed, except in "Mary's Boy Child," and that was a piece of cake compared to "On The Trail."
The director just waved her hand, said, "We'll work on that," and we kept playing. The next place the sequence appeared, I screwed it up again. Then at the next spot, I did it again, although part of that one can be justified because the notes are slightly different than the other two times. But STILL, I screwed up again. Needless to state, but I'll do it anyway, I was very frustrated. Am still very frustrated.
I went and practiced for another half hour. A friend came by and ended up hugging me and encouraging me to keep doing because I could do it (especially because she'd heard me play that section as she came up to the practice room I was in). Also, I had partially burst into tears. I'm going to practice again tomorrow morning. And on Sunday. And like every day but Sabbath, even during Spring Break. I'm going to destroy that section, even if it means that I memorize it and play it while my eyes are closed and I don't even look at the director (or only looking at the director, whatever). I already practically have it memorized.
What frustrated me the most was myself. I learned a lot last year, and one of the things that I learned was that my worth comes from God, not from other people. I did not have to be afraid of what others think. But I realized that part of my problems tonight came from the fact that I was in a new environment and freaking out over being surrounded by musicians who (as I realized) I thought are much better than myself.
I kept worrying about the fact that here I am, surrounded by these people (a good number of which are my friends) and thinking, "Oh, crap. She asked me to play, and here I am, playing like I just started playing on this when I've been playing since sixth grade and what are they going to think oh why did I ever say yes I am so going to die from embarrassment and I know I got this in the practice room and why can't I get it now why are my hands slipping on the keys this is retarded and this sucks and I suck and I can't ever get this but I got it earlier everyone is watching they will all think I am a terrible bass clarinetist they will think why did mrs. minner ever ask her to play on this piece..." etc. etc. ad nauseum.
So, I'm also frustrated at this evil thoughts attack when I know that their opinion of me doesn't matter, not as much as my brain keeps telling me that it does. So, after I practiced more, and went back upstairs to discover everyone to be gone (much to my relief), I cleaned and put my instrument away, trying to keep tears from spilling.
There I was sitting there, and this little voice whispered, This is like scuba diving. That was hard, too, but now you're a certified diver to 130 feet. If you'd quit that when it got tough, would you have done that?
I felt argumentative with the little voice; diving had been something new, something that I'd never tried before, something that I was utterly incompetent in (even if I'd passed the book's tests). This was different because I already knew how to play the bass clarinet; I've been playing since I was twelve, and--
But you've had the music for a week, them for two. You've never played with this many sharps or with so many high notes before. There's lots of parallels between this and scuba--and what was the real reason you wanted to quit scuba?
Because I thought I'd fail, because I thought I'd look bad to everyone else taking the class, because I thought I'd look stupid to my fellows SMs.
Exactly. Now get over yourself and tackle that piece. You can do it. Now go do homework.
And I came back and I've done my homework and I wrote this post and I'm going to bed. Why? So I can get up, exercise at Hulsey, get ready for class and eat breakfast, go practice for at least a short while, and then go to class. I am determined that this piece will not defeat me, even if I feel as if I'm on a rack.
More later.
Yes, that's me in my scuba gear. It's now my background picture to remind me of what I wrote above.
<3
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