I'm Still Scared

My five-year-old daughter is a natural performer. She sings at top volume. She dresses to impress. If there are people around, she’s mugging for a laugh.

And so it came as something of a shock to me, as I was delivering her backstage for her school’s Kindergarten concert, when she grabbed my hand and said: “Mommy, I’m scared.”

Most of parenting feels like being parachuted, unprepared, into a combination of the reality television shows “American Ninja Warrior” and “Naked and Afraid.” So it is absurdly gratifying when, for once, you are fully equipped to address some facet of your child’s rearing.

I had this one.

“It’s OK to be scared,” I told her. “I’m scared every time I perform. I do it anyway.”

At that point, she let go of my hand to shriek over the presence of a classmate whom she had last seen approximately 37 minutes previously. But I think I’d set the wheels turning. And if I’d done nothing else, I’d spoken the truth.

I really am nervous. Every. Single. Time. Even though I’ve performed, at this point in my career, more times than I can count. And, for me, the nerves exist completely out of proportion to the stakes of the concert– I am just as capable of getting nervous playing Christmas music with a local Community Chorus as I am soloing on a major series.

This used to bother me. As a professional musician, wasn’t I supposed to be beyond nerves? Wasn’t I supposed to feel supremely confident and comfortable on stage?

But after years of playing and teaching, I’ve come to accept fear as my companion. I will always be scared. My daughter (though she proceeded onstage to offer a full-throated, high-octane rendition of the ABC song, complete with extempore dance moves) may always be scared. You may always be scared. It’s OK. We do it anyway.