Performing
“Performers try harder.” ― David Byrne
“When you play, never mind who listens to you.” ― Robert Schumann
I recently sang in a choir for the Northern Neck Orchestra’s (NNO) performance of Too Hot to Handel, a gospel, R&B rendition of Handel’s Messiah.
Our conductor, Grammy Award winner, Mike Repper, was highly skilled and attentive during our weekly rehearsals months before the performance, but he had a noticeable fire under his belt during our dress rehearsals the days before and of the concert. As for the concert itself, his contagious energy was even higher, which, in turn, made our performance (and the audience’s receptivity) that much better. He clearly loved to perform, and the high of our collective experience got me thinking about how all of us have a need to do so.
From childhood on, there are a zillion ways we’re called upon to perform:
Academically (class participation, assignments, grades)
Musically (recitals, concerts, gigs)
Athletically (games, competitions, Apple Watches, Fitbits and other digital means of tracking output)
Socially (how we look, converse, express ourselves on social media)
Professionally (performance reviews, rank)
Sexually (where, ideally, we let go of the need to perform)
I personally have a love/hate relationship with performing. I enjoy the limelight, but in small doses. I love teaching poses but am self-conscious about demonstrating them. I love to sing and enjoy doing so in public, but I prefer adding harmonies to singing solo. I HATE public speaking but will rally as needed.
David Byrne has a point: I’m guessing you, like I, love getting rewarded with good grades, applause, compliments, raises―all of which make you try harder.
But I think Robert Schumann makes a larger point: I’m guessing you, like I, love not having to perform, not having to rely on others for your self-worth. It’s why those special relationships where you can 100% be yourself are so life-altering.
When I write these monthly posts, I work hard to make them compelling and inspiring because I want you to benefit from what I write and because I want you to like me. But I find that when I’m able to let go of the performance I-want-you-to-like-me aspect, I’m more able to authentically express myself and to learn and grow with each post.
I often tell my students that yoga is not a performance, that I’m not there to judge how “well” they’re doing the poses, that I’m there to help. I can see their relief when I say so. But I also see them trying hard to do well, to improve, and I applaud their efforts and accomplishments.
Sometimes you need to perform, sometimes you don’t. The trick, as always, is in the balance.