The Dream

After years of shame and embarrassment . . .

Image by Daria Kraplak on Unsplash

I’ve had a recurring dream for a long time, one of those frustration/anxiety dreams that you awake from feeling badly about yourself, like a failure. Yet again.

Most of my life I’ve been a pianist. I taught for 36 years, but performed infrequently because of an almost-crippling performance anxiety. I was very judgmental about my shortcoming, but was able to cut myself some slack when I learned that I certainly wasn’t alone. Vladimir Horowitz, one of the greatest pianists, took leave of performing because of his anxiety, the longest being 12 years from 1953 to 1965. Artur Rubenstein, whom I considered the foremost pianist when I was growing up, was known to throw up before every concert.

When I would perform, I noticed the anxiety starting around midday the day before the performance. Thoughts like “why did I agree to do this?” and “why am I putting myself through this?” would repeat incessantly in my head while my appetite disappeared and I’d have fantasies of escape and vanishing, maybe becoming a waitress at a truck stop in Cheyenne.

The anxiety comes from fear of being judged and found inadequate. With classical music, many audiences are very familiar with the music if it’s been around for awhile. Some even come to concerts with the score and follow along reading the music. Many people are very much aware of what the standards are, and comparisons are often made. Jazz pianists don’t have it nearly as bad since a lot of what they do is improvisation and most people won’t know if it’s “right” or “wrong” because there’s no score to follow and improvised jazz is made up on the spot and so there’s no precedence to compare the performance to. The listener can decide if they like it or don’t like it.

For several years I taught piano at a private school on the Monterey Peninsula. One of my colleagues was Katie Clare, head of the humanities department and an excellent pianist and harpsichordist. Her husband had been principal clarinetist and later personnel manager for the Boston Symphony Orchestra before he retired and they moved to Carmel. We were good friends, and I admired her musicianship and generosity of spirit.

In my recurring dream, Katie Clare had organized a “salon” in her home, invited a group of notables from the community to come and hear me play. I had agreed to perform some Chopin, and in the dream I get to her home, and with many apologies back out at the last minute. Sometimes I’d back out even before getting to her home and call her to cancel, imagining leaving her hanging with her guests . I’d always feel terrible shame afterward—I’d let her down, embarrassed her in front of her friends. I’d remember, in the dream, that I’d done this before, and was appalled that here I was! Doing it all over again. (Being a recurring dream, in the dream I remembered that I’d backed out numerous times—which actually occurred in previous dreams).

Last year, Katie Clare died. I had been planning to visit her in Carmel the week she died, so I never made it. She was 10 years older than I.

Several nights ago I had a dream that I performed for an audience. It went well. I felt confident, and was well received. A young girl came up to me to compliment me and gave me a long-stemmed rose. I remembered all the times I’d let Katie Clare down, and I thought now I am ready to do a program at her home.

Then, in the dream, I remember that she’d died, and it’s too late.

I wondered about the dream. It was surely about accomplishment, but also about irretrievable loss. What could it be telling me?

A friend of mind interpreted the dream as my having “arrived,” that even my younger self gives me a rose to acknowledge my accomplishment. And that I don’t need Katie Clare’s salon to prove it. “You are at long last a fully formed, mature adult who is confident in all aspects of her life. You no longer have to worry about failure or fear. You are working at a higher level now than you have in the past - no longer playing at a private home. Your friends all see this in you and compliment you about these achievements. Even your inner child acknowledges your success - she gives you a rose. It is indeed sad that those whom you have loved who have now departed are unable to witness these accomplishments.”

I have to admit, I like my friend’s interpretation.

One of the reasons I was plagued by performance anxiety and crippling stage fright I’ve come to believe was because of this fear of being judged and found wanting. There’s an element of self-consciousness about approaching performing in this way however. I’ve come to think that to perform well it is necessary to get out of one’s own way. Stop having it be about “me.” “Me” doing the performing, me wanting the acknowledgment, me making it or not making it.

Part of what I’ve come to believe is that creativity, whether performing or writing or painting or whatever one does creatively is essentially “getting out of one’s own way” and allowing Source to come through. Source being where all creativity comes from, some might call it Flow. Or God.

I had this suspicion for some time, but it hit me with certainty while I was listening to the pianist Yuja Wang on a CD of Rachmaninoff concerti as I was driving to my daughter’s in Healdsburg a couple of Christmasses ago. I know that Yuja herself mentions being aware of a power “greater than ourselves” and appears to toss off accolades with humility and humor. She appears to know it’s not about “her” except insofar as she’s done the preparation, the footwork, the 10,000 hours (I’m sure a lot more) that Malcolm Gladwell talks about. And then she gets out of her own way, and lets the music come through her.

A transcendental experience, I’m sure for her, the conductor and orchestra. And fortunately, for us.

Here’s a little gift for you: Chopin, Etude, F Maj. Op.10 #8 - played by me.