Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the
Continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by
The sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory
Were.
As well as if a manor of they
Friend’s
Or of thine own were.
Any man’s death diminishes
Me,
Because I am involved in
Mankind;
And therefore never send to
Know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.”
~John Donne, excerpt from “Meditation 17”
In last week’s post, I talked about embarrassment and humiliation. For most of my life, whenever I had made a mistake, my mind automatically treated it as an humiliating event. From that mental glitch arose my social anxiety. That struggle undermined my actions, reinforced my inaction, and sabotaged a lot of of my relationships. How this all developed is a discussion for another day. Instead, I want to focus on something positive: a series of decisions I made that inspired me to transition from a life of always feeling humiliated whenever I had made a mistake, to one of feeling embarrassed first.
(Then doing the mature thing and negotiating with the other person on where to go from there.)
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(This is the 6th installment of a series introducing my blog.
In order to build a new habit successfully, it needs to be developed through a series of small steps. Each step requires positive affirmation as reinforcement. As social animals, we want it to come from other people. Also, having people respond positively to your efforts is a demonstration in it of itself that you are succeeding. Finally, the process builds on itself, becoming stronger, and encompassing more of your life.
As I moved from wanting to be an island, to wanting to be part of a group, I took risks that put me in a position where I would have to make mistakes. But I was fortunate enough to land in a community of people who showed kindness and forgiveness. Therefore, my failures resulted in experiences that were less humiliating, and instead, were merely embarrassing. And that allowed me to grow emotionally, which in turn led me to give more of myself.
Becoming a part of my daughters’ dance world was a huge step in that direction, not only because of the opportunities it presented, but also the people who were already a part of it.
While I was always willing to throw myself wholeheartedly into a task, my social anxiety usually led me to behave awkwardly. Asking for help was too scary; I was too shy to engage people. I would end up becoming frustrated, which caused me to shut down. But five years ago, when I was given the chance to assist in my daughter’s Nutcracker performance, I jumped at it. Or rather sat behind it. Over the course of eight performances and two dress rehearsals, I sat in a metal chair, crouched over, keeping as still as possible, for the first twenty minutes of the first act. Then I raised it up on cue, and held it in place, for another ten minutes. Finally, when the curtain closed, I would release it, put it away, and help the rest of the crew quickly change the scenery. Actually it was seven performances, because I missed one of them. I threw out my back before the show. However, no one complained, not even the director. And I got the chance to see my daughter perform in the Nutcracker—the only time so far (she has participated every year since then, as have I).
At an earlier time, having to sit out and miss participating, even under those circumstances, would have had me give up and quit. Even if no on had made a big deal about it. But not this time. Instead, I had opened myself to change, and accepted the consequences.
Holding up that prop and being part of the stage crew was, for me, a huge risk. And it paid off. The next year, they offered me the the position of stage manager. I accepted it without a single thought to what it entailed.
That fist of stage managing gave me plenty of opportunities to want to quit. I was in way over my head. I cried on the night before the first performance. The dress rehearsal had gone two hours over its scheduled time. The sound was not set. My cues were not in the proper place. The theater was still a mess, falling a part, even after three days of preparation. By the end of the night, I was given a long list of things that needed to be completed before the actual show.
What kept me committed, again, was kindness and forgiveness. And a strong desire not to let down those who had helped me the year before. The next morning, the director took me aside, and lifted some of the weight off my shoulders. The stage crew arrived, and told me various tales of things going wrong in past performances. Then they went to work on tying up loose ends. The head chaperone, who had all her stuff together, never got in my way, even though I kept getting in hers. The other parent volunteers, smiled and nodded, and reassured me everything was going to be okay. Finally, the children went out on stage and put on a beautiful performance despite any mishaps behind the curtains. What greater inspiration did I need?
And boy was I inspired: ever since then, I have been been paying it forward, stage managing the dance studio’s Nutcracker and recital performances. So why not add something new to the list?
Having such positive experiences and a lot of free time on my hands—I still had not returned to the world of teaching--I expanded my opportunities to make mistakes, embarrass myself, and arise above it all. When my daughters joined the studio’s competition team, I volunteered to make props. Like the stage managing, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, the tasks that I would be expected to do. And just like those first rounds of Nutcracker performances, I made a lot of mistakes. Not only was I in charge of making the props, but I was responsible for getting them to and from the competitions, dragging them on and off stage, and making sure they were secured. That all required asking strangers what to do, and requesting help from my friends.
Each competition venue had its own rules, layouts, and crew. I had to navigate through them, and that meant engaging the stage managers and directors. To this day, I still have issues calling people on the phone, especially if I have never met them before. So going up to someone right before an event, introducing myself, then asking them a bunch of questions, (I have these props, where can I put them? I have to assemble some, where may I do that? How soon before our dance time do I have to remind you about the props? How much time do I have to take them on and off? Can I have a towel to clean up the fake blood?) was a huge step for me.
Well, it turns out that the venues we visited preferred to hire kind and forgiving (and humorous) stage managers and directors. They were all patient, helpful, and supportive. I learned the value of being polite, but also visible (which is a little bit different than assertive). Stage managing the Nutcracker before joining the competition team provided me knowledge of stage layouts, and the movement and storage of props. It also gave me something to talk about while waiting for our dances to go on. I made mistakes (brought a prop on stage at the wrong time, and put a large prop in the wrong place), encountered mishaps (had a complicated prop break right before a dance), and said the wrong thing to the wrong person (I’ll just keep that one to myself), but being surrounded by supportive strangers and having had success in other anxious moments, made the whole process easier and enjoyable.
Being surrounded by kind, compassionate, helpful adults went a long way, too, in turning a nerve-wracking moment into a fun, enjoyable event. Having parents willing to be there to move props on and off stage, or assembly them before the show. Or helping to transport them to certain locations because of conflicts with your personal schedule. Someone willing to sit and talk to you while you wait an hour between dances. Another running to your car and grab the backup for a broken prop, while you try and salvage something from the mess that is in front of you. Others offering to get you something to eat or drink. Finally, letting you know which hotel everyone is staying at for the night (and making sure you know when plans change last minute).
Or, at the last minute, help you order and pick up ten pizza pies, because, despite all the progress you had made, calling someone up on the phone still gives you pause.
There were so many times when making, transporting, and putting those props into place drove me crazy with anxiety and frustration. There was still a voice from the past that would remind me I could just quit. But I resisted, knowing full well that I did not want to disappoint people who cared about what I contributed. Or the children who depended on those props for their dances. Also, my mind was realizing and accepting that whatever embarrassments might arise (from broken or misplaced props, going on stage at the wrong time, waiting in the wrong place, parking where I didn’t belong, requesting help at the last minute, and asking the wrong person the right question) could not compare to the humiliation of just giving up.
In a previous post, I mentioned that certain lighthouses, maps, and dreams helped me, over the past five years, build better habits. Today, I shared with you how joining my daughters’ dance studio as a member of the stage crew, stage manager, and, finally, as competition prop master put me on a path of positive change. Not only by embracing opportunities to face embarrassment, but also by placing me with kind, forgiving people, in an environment that allowed me to be creative, and provided me with new skills. I expanded my comfort zone, which allowed me to replace old, unhealthy habits, with better ones.
In my next post, I would like to share how a few singular events at the dance studio became epiphanies that I could latch onto in order to make this new habit permanent.
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