Never Nervous, Only Anticipatory

Sunday I will present my Senior Recital and I’m scared.

I have never been one to get nervous before a performance: shaking and breathing heavily as I struggle to get the nerve to walk out on stage. Or to panic the night before, jumping out of bed to check my score unsure of whether it was an eighth or a quarter note rest.

No, I have never had these concerns. Of course I’ve gotten the usual butterflies but I have always refused to acknowledge them as nerves. No, I never get nervous – only anticipatory.

Yesterday, nerves and that little voice in your head that says “I can’t” got the better of me and I struggled to get my head in “the right place”. I wasn’t able to function as a person, let alone as a singer, and for the first time in a long time I was scared: scared of the future, of jaw tension, and tuning, scared that I would forget the words to pieces memorized weeks and months before, and scared that I wouldn’t be enough. Enough of a singer, enough of a performer – simply that I wouldn’t be good enough to met the expectations of family that has financed my education, friends who have heard incessant chatter about Anna Netrebko for the past four years and my own lofty expectations.

For me, the difference between this recital and every other performance that I’ve done is simple and boils down to two main points: the sheer quantity of music and the fact that on Sunday it will be just me on stage. On Sunday there will be no costumes or sets to hide behind, no co-star to steal the lime light and no blocking to distract from the fact that it is Alexandria up on stage – not Phyllis or Brooke or Servillia. This vulnerability is what frightens me. If the audience doesn’t approve, there is no character or director to blame – just me.

I know that things will be fine on Sunday – better than fine. I am well prepared and love the music which I am presenting. Now all that remains is to turn the lingering butterflies into anticipation for what is sure to be an amazing day.