Yeah, I’m smiling in this picture, but on the inside, I am petrified.
Let me tell you what transpired before I took this picture at 11:11 p.m. last night.
It’s no secret that I’m afraid to sing in front of people. I know what you’re thinking. “Is she going to start flapping her lips about that subject again?” Why yes, yes I am. While I have conquered several of my other fears, this particular anxiety has been incapacitating. I don’t even know when or how it got so bad.
As a kid, I would pound out “Climb Every Mountain” from The Sound of Music on the piano and sing along as loud as I could like the nun who nailed it in that movie. I’m sure my mom thought, “What is wrong with my child?” Or, maybe she figured all that money she was forking out for piano lessons was being put to good use.
I’ve always been able to sing at church, because I’m just one of the crowd.
I can belt out an amazing duet with Marietta Waters (“Destination Unknown” on the Top Gun soundtrack) seven times in a row in my car because I know no one can hear me.
I digress. Or do I? The thing is, it’s never been about whether or not I love to sing.
Last night, after taking that selfie, I procrastinated for at least an hour: I put on some lucky bear socks, changed into my “Faith” shirt from my bestie for good measure (as I needed a bucketload of faith just to get my bahookie up to that scary microphone), read over a Bible passage the pastor had mentioned earlier in the day, and on and on it went.
Finally, I slapped myself upside the head, put the record button on, sang three notes into the microphone, and freaked. I wanted to throw up.
I made myself do it over and over—making a point to not listen to the playback because if I did that, I knew I would never get the guts up to do it again—for four hours.
It may not sound like much to you, but to me, it was a huge deal…one of the biggest hurdles I’ve ever faced. And I might be only one-tenth of the way up that mountain, but it’s better than being stuck at the very bottom.
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