Confidence Confidential
My musical theater class, like my original singing class, has an end-of-term cabaret night, but the bar is considerably higher in this class. Martha, my previous teacher, took care to make the occasion as low-key and stress-free as possible. She referred to the evening as the “final class,” and insisted that it really was just a class; the difference was that we invited our friends and family and brought food.
This is different. It’s held on a different night from our regular class, in one of the school’s theaters, and wine and hors d’oeuvres are served. The entire school community is invited. I’m terrified.
This week was our last chance to bring in new songs; for the next two weeks we will each work to perfect 2 songs that we’ve sung in class before and that Lorraine, our teacher, feels are performance-ready. I had already gotten the nod for “All of Me,” but both she and I were a little uneasy about Jimmy Roberts and June Siegel’s “What Did I Do Right?” because I have a hard time getting through it without tearing up. I decided to work on “Summertime,” because I love the song, and also because it’s emotionally challenging—the melancholy melody runs counter to the optimistic lyrics, and it’s necessary to weave hope and despair together without going over the top in either direction.
I worked on it using Uta Hagen’s six questions, talking it through like a monologue, and then singing it, to a baby doll. I sang it (sans baby doll) at a party last week, and it was well received. So I brought it in this week.
When I was done, Lorraine said, “That’s fine. It will work. I have only one note—you move your head sometimes for emphasis, and it distracts from the emotion of the song.”
I sat down, crushed. She had been spending a great deal of time with other singers, blocking their every step, having them repeat a line over and over until she was satisfied. I felt I must have screwed up in a way I didn’t understand, to be passed over like that.
Afterward, I went out with Florrie and Beth, two close friends from Martha’s class who moved up with me. “So,” I demanded, “what isn’t she saying?”
They had no idea what I meant. “How bad was it,” I said, “that she couldn’t think of anything to say? Really, I can take it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Beth responded. “You sounded good. The song was terrific. She liked it; you’re in the lineup. What more do you want?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Lorraine had said it was fine because it was, well, fine. Not even for a second.
This led to a long discussion about how the default assumption, for all three of us, is that our work is inadequate. I can see how talented Beth and Florrie are, and their hesitations surprise me—as does the fact that they feel the same way about me. We talked about childhood experiences that sapped our early confidence; about punitive parents and teachers; about our own inner judges. We were all in tears at certain points.
We agreed to remind each other regularly of our gifts, our promise, and our courage. I feel blessed to have such friends. I know their support has already made a great difference in the way I view my work, and I plan to make sure they know how great I think they are, on a daily basis.
Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.
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