What is the biggest fear human beings consistently wrestle with? Not WWIII, earthquakes, or other mayhem that we might run up against in our lives. Getting up in front of a crowd and performing - speaking, singing, acting, playing an instrument trumps every other calamity known to humanity in terms of how we feel about it. Our angst about being judged unworthy and thrown out of the tribe speaks to our deepest and darkest terror.
When I was becoming a performing and working violinist, I was pretty gutsy and never had doubts about my playing. It was fun to me - I loved showing people what I could do, and enjoyed the ego boost I got from the recognition of playing well. I was a big fish in a little pond.
But then things took a radical turn as I climbed the ladder and ran into world class players. I began to doubt my abilities, and a couple of really awful performances made me realize I was no longer in control of how things were going in my career. And that just made everything worse, as fear became my constant companion, and I began to dread playing for people.
This is a problem in the music world, because to get gigs, you need to show other musicians what you’ve got. And they need to know that, in the heat of the battle (aka a concert), you’re steady as a rock, and won’t throw the performance. To do anything less than that will get you sidelined quickly, without much hope of reinstatement. Word travels fast.
In my experience, most musicians go through a period in their careers where fear and doubt become issues. It doesn’t matter how accomplished they are, this is a common affliction that nobody talked about earlier in my career. Highly paid musicians (such as those in elite orchestras) can’t afford to lose their jobs over missed notes, so some of them choose to take drugs to head off the surge of adrenaline. I was one of those people, but I always questioned this solution. If doing what I loved meant taking drugs, perhaps I should reconsider my career path, or look for other solutions.
Things are changing somewhat, with highly respected musicians coming out of the closet and giving master classes on this hidden problem. And many auditions and/or performances today are preceded by a “mock” situation, where colleagues join forces to intentionally put pressure on the performer.
I happened to be talking to a colleague several years ago, someone who was in the middle of taking auditions. In the music world, the only way to get into an orchestra is to audition, which means playing in front of a bunch of your peers. Nothing is more agonizing in the music business than being scrutinized by people who actually know what they’re listening to. They will have no sympathy for missed notes or shaky sound. Even if they’ve had their own issues with performing, to admit that fact is risky business and really beside the point. Musicians can’t afford nerve disruption, period.
Anyway, she told me she had found a book that had helped her to overcome her fear of performing, and that she had begun to feel good about her auditioning experience.
At this point, I had also read several books about the problem, and none of them had helped me. One author, who offered to give online advice, even advised me to quit playing. My friend’s book, however, was not by a musician. It was by James E. Loehr, a sports trainer, and it was called “Mental Toughness Training for Sports”.
I found and ordered it on Ebay and began to read. In the book, I realized that no one had ever (in my experience as a music student) addressed what was going on in my brain when I played and performed. But that was all this book talked about - how to prepare yourself mentally to achieve peak performance. And not only that, it emphasized finding ways to enjoy the process. After all, why would anyone do something that caused them constant worry, embarrassment and pain?
What gets Olympic athletes to perform at their best? Actually, it’s the opposite of what most of us think. To perform at your peak, there needs to be a sense of serenity and assurance, not being pumped and nervous. Athletes who perform in this state of serenity report that they feel no pressure, no hurry, and that they feel they have all the time in the world to do their best. In other words, time slows down, and everything seems to fall into place. You are the calm in the eye of the storm.
But to get there, it doesn’t take thousands of hours of mindless practice. It takes deciding that you will become mentally tough. And to do that takes a lot of inner work, experiencing failure, and a mega dose of mental rehearsal. It’s within everyone’s grasp to perform at their peak, with the right mental toughness training and the desire to find out how high you can climb. Find a way to do that, and you will always perform at your best.
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