Thursday, July 4, 2013

The Most Horrifying Night of My Life....

I had no intention of documenting this...ever, anywhere, but I realized the only way I can get past it is to acknowledge that it happened. So here goes.

I have been taking piano for nine months. I will never be a concert pianist, but I've always wanted to learn. As my oldest daughter has the longest fingers ever (not super relevant, but worth mentioning), she has already been taking piano, so I figured why not?

I've got nothing else to do.

Anyway, this particular piano teacher is stellar, but she also has this nauseating practice called "recitals." I have known from the first day that a recital was in my future, but I refused to think about it. I mean, it was practically forever away, and why borrow tomorrows troubles today, you know what I mean?

Unfortunately, time passes as it is wont to do, and the recital fast approached until it was here, but I was ready! I knew my pieces, I knew my posture, I knew everyone in the cultural hall where the recital was being held, but I could not avoid the nervous twitch that suddenly overcame me.

Let me be clear. I do not get embarrassed. I can think of a handful of times wherein my cheeks grew warm at some foolishness I had committed, but for the most part I cannot afford to be embarrassed. I've fallen, tripped, word vomited, been in the wrong place at the wrong time, spilled and dropped too many things, too many times to entertain embarrassment. Or so I thought.

My piano teacher set each of us up with a plan should we mess up or get lost while playing our pieces. Plan A, in the event of a missed note, was to continue without pausing. Plan B, in the event that we lost our place, was to continue playing but go back to the beginning of the piece. The idea being that if we keep playing no one else will know that a note was missed or that we lost our place.

Armed with these tools I still was a nervous ball of worry, but even though I begged to be excused from the recital (and I did, I'm not ashamed) she wouldn't cut me loose. So I steeled myself for my task. I marched myself up to that piano like I knew what I was doing, and I sat down.

The rest is a blur. Though I can tell you that I lost my place halfway through my first piece so I went back to the beginning. Then I lost my place again!

Well at that point my three minute song was on it's way to eight minutes which I wasn't interested in because I was sure that I would lose my place a third time, at which point it would be the "D.P. Davidson's recital" because I'd been playing for so long, so I decided just to end it. Which I did. I just ended it. Right where I was. Just stopped. Right there.

Unfortunately I had another piece to play which, thankfully, I got through with the shred of dignity I had left. I smiled, curtsied, and then left the hall in a hurry.

I wanted to throw up. I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Please people, hear me. I wanted to hide in the trash can. I would have taken six faceplants on the concrete to that recital. The horror! But, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or succeeds the second time.

I get to do it again next year. Yay!

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