"Nerves and butterflies are fine - they're a physical sign that you're mentally ready and eager. You have to get the butterflies to fly in formation, that's the trick."
-Steve Bull
Sabrina performed in what I counted to be her 13th Suzuki violin recital two nights ago. I remember her first recital. She played a duet with her teacher. Pop Goes the Weasel. The teacher did all of the playing until it was time for the weasel to go "Pop". At this point, it was Sabrina's job to pluck her tiny A string with her tiny finger. That was her first performed piece.
I think her next piece was the "E String Concerto". Once again, her teacher did most of the playing while Sabrina played the same note through the whole piece. Open E in a "Tuga-Tuga-Stop-Stop" rhythm. Each piece brought its own challenges for an eight year old with limited coordination.
She has come a long way, from Pop Goes the Weasel to Boccherini's Minuet, performed Monday, with it's tricky rhythms and fancy trills.
I sat in the audience and listened to the twelve performers that preceded Sabrina. I found myself nervously fingering along with the performers. There was a tightness in my chest as challenging sections approached. I asked myself, why was I so anxious when these were not even my children performing?
And then it occurred to me. Sabrina had performed everyone of these pieces at some point in the last six years. The anxiety I had experienced for her during the performance of each piece came rushing back to me. As each little performer concluded, I couldn't help but give a sigh of relief and a hearty applause for her and her agonizing mother, who I knew sat in the audience with bated breath.
Violin recitals have never been an easy thing for Sabrina. She is a sensitive child and has always been keenly aware of her circumstances. This can be a challenge when dealing with performance nerves. Her nerves have tended to get the best of her in past years.
I have sat in rehearsals, just hours before recitals, and listened to her make mistakes that she had never made before in her life. She has had many a "Bathroom Rehearsal", minutes before performances, to try to work out those rogue mistakes.
I have uttered prayers, pleadings really, with the Lord that he would calm her nerves and bless her to play like she did in the bathroom minutes earlier. I've sat in the audience and fingered every note with her, willing her fingers to play the correct notes.
I have held my breath as a challenging section approached. I've felt my heart sink as she's choked during such a section. Then my heart has stopped and time has stood still as I've listened to her fumble through the next four measures, dragging her accompanist behind her.
I have begun to breathe again as she finds her place, only to realize that the section must be repeated three more times.
At the conclusion of such concerts, I would meet Sabrina with a big hug and praise for a job well done. She would always respond with, "But Mom, I messed up again!" I would quickly remind her that none of that mattered, that no one even noticed, and that her intonation was impeccable. But kids know. They know when they've butchered a phrase. They know when their performance was less than par. Her disappointment would break my heart.
But recent performances have been different, and Monday's performance was a sheer delight. She walked to the center of the stage with confidence, poised herself, announced her piece, perched her violin beneath her chin, took a deep breath, and brought in her accompanist with the first vigorous notes of Boccherini's Minuet.
She played with beautiful tone and musicality. Her eyebrows raised and body swayed with the fluctuating notes. I was recording the performance, and I'm afraid it was a very shaky recording indeed. I was a nervous wreck. There were a few tiny slips that she glided over with the grace of a seasoned performer. She played her final note, then froze, and finally lifted her bow off the string, welcoming her warm applause with a gracious bow. Her body language said everything. She knew she had nailed it.
Now, when Sabrina witnesses another performer struggle on the stage,
she says, "I know what that's like. That used to be me."
I reply, "I know. Performing is hard. But it will come for that sweet girl, just like it came for you. It just takes maturity and experience, doesn't it?" Sabrina nods. It's true of just about everything in life. Most worthwhile pursuits take lots and lots of practice and work, and on top of that, they take the maturity and experience that only time can bestow.
It is after nights like Monday, that I can honestly say, it has all been worth it. Worth all of the miles put on our mini van. Worth the hours I've spent sitting on Cathy's couch taking notes as Sabrina struggles through each new piece. Worth the hundreds and hundreds of hours of practice, mostly with me by her side. Worth the treacherous drives on snow packed roads to her teacher's various houses that have always been perched at the bottom or top of a massive hill. Worth the thousands and thousands of dollars spent on instruments, strings, bows, sheet music, and lesson fees. It is all worth it, when your daughter walks off the stage, and into your arms, and says, "Mom, I did good!" Yes you did, Sabrina. Yes you did.
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