All About You FRIDAY – The Case for Doing Hard Things

Two days ago, I turned 59. I have to take pause every time I say that number. It’s hard to believe. But with every turn around the sun, I stop to think about my life. What big thing did I accomplish this year? Who am I today, different than I was a year ago.

This year, the answer was easy.

But the story starts when I was 12. Those of you who are regular followers of this blog may recall the story that launched my severe performance anxiety.

I was asked to play the harp during the candle lighting ceremony of a friends wedding. All eyes were on me as I took the platform, pulled the harp back onto my shoulder and began playing Jesu Joy of Mans Desiring. It all started out great, as it should have. I had spent hours practicing in the living room and I was a fairly seasoned performer at my church by this time. My only mistake was that I practiced barefoot.

On the harp, there are seven pedals at the bottom, one for each note. Each pedal has three positions and controls one specific note across all octaves of the harp. If you move the pedal up, it makes all of the notes of that name flat. If you move it down, it makes them all sharp. This is all done by feel as you don’t have a clear visual of your feet as you are playing.

I was struck with a moment of horror as the moment of my pedal change in the middle of the song was approaching and I realized I couldn’t really feel which pedal I was on as I was wearing my patent leather “church shoes”. An adult would have simply kicked off a shoe, but remember, I was a kid and way too self conscious to do that.

Long story short, just as the couple was lighting the candle, I hit the wrong pedal. It threw the song into a horrible key. I tried to recover and instead hit another wrong pedal. The romantic moment came to a screeching halt as I fumbled. I eventually had to put the harp down, look at my feet and fix my mistake. Then I calmly pulled the harp back onto my shoulder and finished the song.

That was an embellishment. I may have looked calm, but I was mortified. Couldn’t wait to get off the stage. The second I played the last note, I made a beeline to the nearest bathroom, sat on the floor and sobbed. My mother tried to console me outside the door. It didn’t work.

I never played the harp again.

This haunted me for years. Decades. I continued to play music (just other instruments), but never solo. Whenever I tried to play something solo in front of someone, I would mess it up. My hands would shake. I would forget what notes to play. It was a real thing.

Ten years ago, I joined the Detroit School of Rock and Pop (DSRP) and became a member of a band called Drawing Straws. It has changed my life.

I am a very solid rhythm guitar player, but if I ever got assigned a solo, my twelve year-old self rears its ugly head. For a good chunk of the past decade, I could master a solo and then when the moment of truth came during a live performance, I would inevitably mess it up. Childhood trauma comes in all forms and it follows you it you don’t deal with it.

Hours of practice. Hours of visualization. I’ve nailed a few solos over the recent years. And I love being a member of that band.

Earlier this year, another band found my profile on a site called BandMix. I had put the profile up there about the time I joined the DSRP and pretty much forgot about it. Maybe it gets hit on once a year and usually by a band that I’m not interested in joining.

This year, a drummer from a band called Vinyl Vara reached out. I had often wondered if the DSRP had taught me well enough to audition for a real, gigging band. The short answer is “yes”.

I auditioned by learning seven of their songs and we hit it off. I was then charged with learning 33 songs. Never in my life have I played more than 7 songs in a set. 33 felt insurmountable. The band covers music through the decades. Songs by Hall and Oates, Fleetwood Mac, Dua Lipa, Colbie Caillat, KC and the Sunshine Band and others.

Here’s the kicker: I’m the only guitar player.

This means, I have to play rhythm and every guitar solo. Every. Guitar. Solo.

I’m 59 years old and there are things I no longer feel I have to suffer through like half-marathons, exercise classes with really loud music and someone yelling at me and outdoor dining where I’m getting bitten by bugs and the wind is blowing my food away.

But for some reason, I have chosen this really hard thing. My twelve-year-old self has reared its ugly head over the past few months. I’ve practiced countless hours and visualized perfect performances. I’ve played until my fingers have cramped. I’ve listened to the setlist over and over.

Tomorrow, the rubber meets the road.

Vinyl Vara debuts at The Arboretum Music Venue in Saline. We decided to play two sets and my duo Thirty Year Divide has been asked to be the opening act. It will be the most music I have ever played in one stretch.

Will I crash and burn? My twelve-year-old self says maybe. But my 59-year-old-self says even if I do, just taking the stage and making it through the night will be the biggest accomplishment of my year. Bigger than speaking to audiences for hours. Bigger than writing tens of thousands of words in a blog.

People have asked why I took it on. I work a long, demanding work-week. I have a blog to write. I’m still (and will forever be) a member of Drawing Straws. Did I really need to take on another project?

The idea isn’t about suffering for suffering’s sake. It’s about choosing a challenge big enough that it requires a version of you that doesn’t quite exist yet. And then becoming that person. That’s the real gift of doing hard things. Not the medal. Not the Strava post. But rather the knowledge that you are more capable than you thought you were. –The Wellness Shift (Substack)

There is a case for doing hard things.

Say a prayer for me. Send good vibes to Saline. Maybe you might even want to come out and dance to distract people from the guitar solos. Or scream and cheer at the top of your lungs and make me feel famous.

I’m 59 years old and about to surmount one of the biggest hurdles of my life. And now you know why. There is a case for doing hard things. I’ll see you on the other side.

It’s been a long week. Don’t forget to celebrate.

Until next time…