A grown up piano recital.
I remember Grace's first piano recital. She was nervous. Like nervous to the point of tears.
And I remember thinking "What? You'll go up there, you'll play for less than 2 minutes, there will be 20 people in the room and it will be over. What's the big deal?"
And yet it was such a very big deal.
I've noticed a lot of things like that as a mom. Things they fret over which, in reality, are small things. But from that vantage point, from that time in your life they feel huge and scary and overwhelming.
Today I had the grown up version, the metaphorical equivalent of a piano recital.
I'm in Orlando and gave my first ever conference presentation. This presentation was the culminating event in months and months of worry. I mean I've been nervous. Ner.Vous.
I'm not exactly sure why. I talk in front of big rooms full of people all the time. I speak in church. I run meetings. Sometimes I run really big meetings. I teach. I run trainings. But I think because this was new, I thought for sure it was somehow different. And for me different is fear inducing.
I sat in the training room this morning, visualizing myself giving a killer presentation and being fairly consistently interrupted by the recurring thought that visualizing things is stupid. So there I am - visualizing - when I had the clear and distinct thought "today is like a piano recital."
huh?
"A piano recital," my brain whispered. "A big 'ole, grownup piano recital."
"How so?" I asked.
"Think about it," my brain responded, "what's the big deal? You get up, you talk for an hour, you hope some people like it, there's like 50 people in the room, and then it will be over."
"But what about impostor syndrome?" I asked my brain.
"Ugh, you and your big words."
"Impostor is not a big word, but seriously, I'm going to stand up and open my mouth and people are going to realize I'm really 12 years old and qualified to talk about absolutely nothing."
"Actually, that's probably the opposite of what will happen."
And suddenly I had a moment of clarity. I deserve to be here as much as anyone else walking around. I know some stuff and all I'm here to do is talk about the stuff I know.
"But what if they ask me things I can't answer?"
"Easy," my brain replied, "just say that's not the stuff I know. Or fancy it up with your big words if you have to..."
Today was just a big piano recital. All I had to do was play little piece. Kind of a marvelous revelation. The stakes are pretty low, all things considered.
And I remember thinking "What? You'll go up there, you'll play for less than 2 minutes, there will be 20 people in the room and it will be over. What's the big deal?"
And yet it was such a very big deal.
I've noticed a lot of things like that as a mom. Things they fret over which, in reality, are small things. But from that vantage point, from that time in your life they feel huge and scary and overwhelming.
Today I had the grown up version, the metaphorical equivalent of a piano recital.
I'm in Orlando and gave my first ever conference presentation. This presentation was the culminating event in months and months of worry. I mean I've been nervous. Ner.Vous.
I'm not exactly sure why. I talk in front of big rooms full of people all the time. I speak in church. I run meetings. Sometimes I run really big meetings. I teach. I run trainings. But I think because this was new, I thought for sure it was somehow different. And for me different is fear inducing.
I sat in the training room this morning, visualizing myself giving a killer presentation and being fairly consistently interrupted by the recurring thought that visualizing things is stupid. So there I am - visualizing - when I had the clear and distinct thought "today is like a piano recital."
huh?
"A piano recital," my brain whispered. "A big 'ole, grownup piano recital."
"How so?" I asked.
"Think about it," my brain responded, "what's the big deal? You get up, you talk for an hour, you hope some people like it, there's like 50 people in the room, and then it will be over."
"But what about impostor syndrome?" I asked my brain.
"Ugh, you and your big words."
"Impostor is not a big word, but seriously, I'm going to stand up and open my mouth and people are going to realize I'm really 12 years old and qualified to talk about absolutely nothing."
"Actually, that's probably the opposite of what will happen."
And suddenly I had a moment of clarity. I deserve to be here as much as anyone else walking around. I know some stuff and all I'm here to do is talk about the stuff I know.
"But what if they ask me things I can't answer?"
"Easy," my brain replied, "just say that's not the stuff I know. Or fancy it up with your big words if you have to..."
Today was just a big piano recital. All I had to do was play little piece. Kind of a marvelous revelation. The stakes are pretty low, all things considered.
It goes well? Great! One or two people might remember.
It goes bad? Eh, one or two people might remember.
The pressure is internal. The fear of failure is internal. The only person who thinks I'm an impostor is me.
So I gave my part. I did my best. I left it all on the field. And you know what? I felt good about it. Now I'm done thinking about it and I'm going to the movies. :)
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