A musician always remembers their very first show in front of an audience. The anticipation, the sweat on your head, and the steady beat of the music is part of the mystical experience where the magic happens. The fear dissolves as you get into the flow. Even if you make a mistake, the crowd won't mind as long as you keep going.
I had this first experience just tonight, at my high school's annual winter concert.
As we group of thirty streamed out the chords for The Beatles's Let It Be, there was a lack of rhythm, lack of dynamics, and a lack of volume. It wasn't bad, considering that some of us had just started playing the guitar for the very first time three months ago. We had only recently mastered reading what was on the actual sheet music. Compared to the rest of the concert acts, we were terrible. A bad memory of an otherwise perfect evening.
While the other pieces lasted a good five minutes, we could barely hold cohesion for the shortened version of House of the Rising Sun for less than forty-five seconds. Disaster after disaster.
Guess what? It didn't matter.
Life is always unfair, and it certainly won't be the last time I might think to embarrass myself in front of an audience. What you take from it are two simple things:
1) You're not doing this alone.
2) "Good" is relative.
Which all but tells me what a show life really is. You never stop performing for life, or some other silent third person protagonist that may be God.
It's always your stage. But there is no sad music that comes on if you cry, and a rainbow will not appear on the set if you're having a good day. Sometimes, you're the only one watching your own show, and you realize what your own life really means.
And when the final curtain comes down, you may be left unsatisfied, or be glad that the show is finally over.
And, just sometimes, if you're really lucky, you'll understand that it's not always about pleasing the audience.
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