Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about something low-stress, like dropping your kid off at day care for the first time or saying farewell to your military spouse before s(he) deploys. This is SERIOUS. As my recital approaches, I am finding that I have had to spend more time away from the piano than I would like. I had planned for this, as this is not my first rodeo, but it is unsettling nonetheless.
Incidentally, today was also my rest day for my triathlon training. No playing. No biking. No swimming. No running. Um. What else is there? Aside from descend into self-sabotaging, paralyzing thoughts of what could go wrong. Hah! I didn’t do that either, actually. I suppose I must be maturing because I feel very matter-of-fact about my performance. I know I cannot cram any more details into my head. It is what it is.
So why is this pulling away so uncomfortable?
I think it is the waiting. I wish I could fast forward to 4 PM on Saturday when I should be having my first glass of champagne. Before that, I have to welcome family into town, ensure that I sleep and eat well, finish printing programs, get dat recital day pedi, and wait backstage without losing my mind and keeping my heart rate down for about 30 minutes until show time.
Moreover, the approach of any event is the time in which friends and family are in my face like so:
I know they mean well, and because people aren’t usually comfortable with anything less than a sunny disposition, I try to reply as such:
I don’t feel like I will know I’m ready until I sit at the piano on recital day and play E flat with my RH 2. Or maybe I’ll know when I play the final B octave with lefty.
What I do know is that this – the discomfort, the waiting – this is how real women are made.