Confident Yet Insecure

It was a Tom Waits song that clung to me. I heard it during college spring break when my younger sister Ivy played his album.

Ivy was my music muse. She brought to my attention a whole new world in music that changed the course of my choreography.

Prior, all I knew were musicals, classical orchestras and Barbara Streisand — that’s all our mom would let us listen to. A fact I didn’t know until I was in my 40’s and my mom was no longer with us.

The Tom Waits song that struck the inspiration seed living in my brain was, “The piano has been drinking”. His voice, raw, the words and music interwoven in a loopy looped thread, loosely hanging, an empty whisky bottle bobbing in the ocean’s waves. The song hung in my mind waiting for the right opportunity to connect with a dance piece.

A few months later, I finally saw it in an old building during a modern dance class. Dark hard wooden floors, sad paint, dimly lit hallways. On the side of the large room were big wide doors that led to the locker rooms in the basement where we changed. We gave performances in this mysterious space.

During class someone came in late and entered through these big wide doors and left it open. Perfect, there it was, my performance space for “The piano has been drinking”. I would perform my improvisational solo at the black steel bannister by the stairwell.

I wore an old black laced frilly dress I found at the thrift store, no shoes with my long thick frizzy hair loose and wild.

My anxious heart was beating hard as I got dressed in the locker room when Mr. Doubt snuck on my shoulder whispering to my ear, “I’m not sure if this is going to work. I think it’s too out-of-the-box for this audience.” Somehow I brushed Mr. Doubt off my shoulder because I was next on the Program. I had to focus and go upstairs.

The audience’s rumble settled down as I opened the large wide doors and took my place holding onto the bannister behind me.

The music began.

“The piano has been drinking….” The song and words rolling along a sleepless night.

I danced to the languished rhythm of the music, my character drunk and sleepy, barely holding onto the bannister. My anxious thoughts tried to seep in — somehow I kept them at bay.

The song ended.

The dance ended.

Silence

Applause.

Was it a polite applause? I didn’t really know. I barely stayed for a second until I bounded back to the locker room devastated.

Mortified, embarrassed, all I could think of was that I would be kicked out of the dance program. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone. I wanted to run away. This was all I knew, I had no other concept of who I could be in the world. I lose my life as a dancer, I lose everything.

Being alone I stayed in the locker room as long as I possibly could, waiting for the audience to leave. I walked back to my apartment with shame. A restless night sleeping with tense and worry.

The next day I dragged myself to dance class not sure how the day would play out.

Shocked — they loved it! One of my dance professors asked where I went after my performance, she wanted to let me know how inspired she was. “You liked it?” I remarked, “I thought it wasn’t very good and was too scared to come back upstairs to see anyone”.

Throughout the day I received more congratulations from other’s. Relieved my life as a dancer could continue.

The positive feedback was helpful, but how I wish I had the confidence to have a more in-depth conversation about my unorthodox choreographic visions. I did not know how to ask, I was young and insecure.

Yet, I persevered — my artistic visions were clear and confident in my mind. My only responsibility was to give my ideas justice, present it to the public with no apology, only an affirmative; here’s my vision, proud and hopeful it will inspire.

Creatives, why are we so complicated? Our brains are a pretzel; confidence twisting with doubt; writing with a frenzy, barely keeping up with the ideas sweeping our brain and simultaneously brushing Mr. Doubt off our shoulder trying to creep in our ears.

We learn to let go of moments in our history — but if I could have a do over…I would have bounded back up stairs after my performance, acknowledging my accomplishment to try something a little different with pride.