seventeen and playing at the local music festival — a panic attack leading to the most disastrous performance of my life. thirty-seven and playing a studio recital, same thing. up on stage, i can feel my legs already shaking. my arms quivering. a real problem when trying to draw a bow across the strings. and yet at poetry readings, it's not that bad. i still feel it, but my confidence and practice overwhelms the fear. but no amount of practice able to overwhelm it when i have an instrument in my hands.
last night on facebook i saw pictures from a friend's recent show a couple provinces away. the pictures themselves wonderful in their shittiness - poor lighting, mundane, broken buildings and dark hallways and one lone picture of a buzz box pedal surrounded by plugs. and i felt a real pang, not for missing out, but maybe that: missing not the show, but the idea, performing in a little centre in a small town, like i used to.
in high school and university band, we made trips through small towns like that, playing in schools and community centres. sometimes we played well, sometimes not; but there were memorable moments, like the time our marimba player broke her mallet on the last note of a piece, at the end of a long run, her half-mallet soaring away from her and landing in the crowd.
i miss that. i miss being able to perform, and while music is a big part of my life, it isn't in the same way it used to be. as an adult, i basically play for myself. i'm bad at fiddle, not good enough to play live; i'm good at guitar, but mostly play the classical guitar repertoire, which at its heart is a solo instrument, and, well, see: nerves, above.
i don't know. this internal thrashing feels a lot like a midlife crisis, and i'm defiintely the age for that. learning to play guitar has been one of the central joys of my life, but i wonder if to scratch the performance itch, i need to try something i haven't in a while. plug in my electric again, grab my slide. i don't know.