December 8, 1964
I botched up my first lines! Rats! I was to say “What. Urge ye your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol!” And I said, “What? Urge you your partitions in the Capitol? Come to the Capitol!”. It was the only line I muffed, though. Mr. W thought I was good.
I didn’t go to Wykeham Rise this afternoon. I wish I had. I hate that thing I have to play Thursday - “Peasant Dance” by Bela Bartok. I get the rhythm right and play the notes all wrong. I like slow, serene things better. Besides, I get stage fright.
December 8, 2022
Stage fright? Moi? Forever and always. Just last month I had a very small part in a reader’s theater performance of The Skin of Our Teeth, and I lost my place and messed up my lines. It is both sad and amazing that my teenage fantasies about possible careers were all in the performing arts. I longed to be an actress or a singer, or some other kind of musician. Back in fifth grade, I was the understudy for the lead in the annual holiday musical, and ended up on stage when the lead, who was even shyer than me, backed out. It was a triumph. Filled with adrenaline, I acted and sang my heart out. Some random parent came up afterwards and told me “We’ll be hearing more from you in the future”. For years I replayed that moment, imagining that he was a talent scout who would call out the blue and offer me the role that would make me famous.
I don’t know what magic was behind my burst of confidence in 1959, but that was the last time I ever felt that way in front of an audience. “Impossible!”, you cry. Yes, I was a professor for over forty years. Yes, I have given public lectures. Yes, I played fiddle in an Irish band. Yes, I even soloed on “Higher Ground” with my church choir. And every time, every second of it, I was dissolving into jelly inside.
But it’s fine. I am at peace with my internally quivering self. Soloing is something I seldom attempt, but when I do, I know how to gather myself for the effort. Afterwards, I also know how long I will need to nap.
Dear Reader:
Putting my teenaged past and my writing here on Substack has also been an act of courage. I will never ask you for a paid subscription, but would love your comments, reactions, and questions.
Jo
Act of courage indeed! You inspire me, as ever. XO