Every once in a while an opportunity presents itself and you just can’t ignore it. Sometimes it’s the most natural thing in the world to jump in with both feet without a second thought and let the ride smoothly and effortlessly carry you along. Then there are those opportunities that make your head spin, your stomach churn and your legs turn to jelly, and you take weeks to come to the conclusion that yes, you’ll give it a go, and it’s purely because you want so badly to be part of the end result that you’ll put yourself through your own personal hell to get there. And finally, if you’re very lucky, you not only have people beside you to help you through the terror of stepping bungee jumping out of your comfort zone, but you discover that you can do more and go further than you thought possible in that terrifying moment, and the end result is the most wonderful word in existence… “Yes”!
I was sat there in the Wonderful Wednesday that is Stockton Town Choir a few weeks ago, and an announcement was made that had me denying myself all possible involvement because of one simple thing. Fear.
How wonderful would it be to be part of an 80-strong, one-off gospel choir forming a singing Christmas tree in the heart of Stockton for the Christmas lights switch-on? Well, of course it would be incredible!
How comfortable would you feel if you were mic’d up, singing so exposed with your peers? Oh, that’s fine. Not a problem at all. Bring it on!
How willing would you be to stand in a room with three people and sing on your own, to audition for this fabulous opportunity, knowing all the while that you could be turned down? Ah! Well now, that’s just… you see I just can’t… that’s inconceivable, no… no I can’t put myself through that, are you crazy? Singing on my own?!!!
So I sat there listening to all of the above and more, and just slowly shook my head. No. Not me. Not ever. I was unshakable. It was just never going to happen.
The deadline for putting ourselves forward for this insanity disappeared. When Friday 5pm passed me by I was relieved because I didn’t need to think about it anymore. It was over. Any possible involvement was gone entirely and it was my own decision. It wasn’t a failure to perform, it was only my decision. I could relax again. But why had I been thinking about it at all? I practically shouted a resounding no from the moment I heard about the planned event. I knew if I could have just walked in on rehearsal night, joined in and performed, nothing would have stopped me. But that didn’t matter now, because any chance to be involved had been and gone.
And then the deadline was extended. Oh f…..
The new post asking for people to audition had extra information to the previous ones, and two things stood out and screamed at me not to ignore them. First, it wasn’t just described as a one-off, but an extraordinary one-off. In that moment what crossed my mind and still hasn’t left me, is that the people who do extraordinary things are the ones who work on their anxieties and fears, kick themselves in the proverbials, and just get the hell on with it regardless of how they feel. The second was to know we’d be working with some incredible talent, from solo performers to the MD and the band.
It took me a few more days to get the courage to send the email asking to audition, and honestly, my finger was hovering over the send button on my phone for a very long time. It was the last day to put myself forward and I couldn’t miss the opportunity twice, and yet the only way I could send the email was to walk away from it, do something constructive for a while and focus on anything but that send button. When I sat back down and picked up my phone, the first thing I saw was the email I’d drafted and I instinctively and without hesitation pressed send. I knew in that moment that if I hesitated just once more I’d lose the nerve and the opportunity for good.
Then I panicked, and I didn’t stop for four days.
What I did do as well as panicking was I found ways to cope, discovered new ways to calm myself down. There was no point trying to get rid of anxiety and nerves because that would never happen, but it was possible to still them a little and learn how to gain some control. I’m incredibly lucky to have some top notch friends and partners in crime, so I talked to them. I found more ways to help my nerves and I (hopefully) was able to help someone else with his. And I practiced. And practiced. At every opportunity, even if just quietly to myself while sat at my desk at work, I practiced. The song was in my head as I went to sleep, when I awoke, and at times I woke up at 2 or 3am singing the bloody thing. Through all of this practicing I even discovered that depending on where I sing from, I can reach higher notes more easily than usual, which was a bonus especially considering I’d started to worry that I wouldn’t reach one particular note. And I couldn’t not reach that note, I wouldn’t forgive myself! Practice, practice, practice.
On the day of the audition I was so distracted I may as well have been sat at home as at work. I’d started to feel better, but now that the day had arrived the butterflies returned with a vengeance. Breathe… breathe… breathe…
More support from a fantastic friend while sat with my tea was invaluable. He was kind enough to stop my naughty chimp (my fear and anxiety given form) from strangling me. I shrank that chimp and he held onto its tail so it couldn’t follow me into the audition room. I kid you not. He gave me a ‘lucky’ clip to take in with me, too. No, I didn’t believe him either but I played along and made sure he took it in with him when he went for his audition!
When it came down to it, yes of course I was still incredibly nervous. But I was breathing long, measured breaths, I wasn’t shaking (yet), and I just got on with it. I wasn’t perfect, and in fact I was decidedly dodgy hitting some of the notes in the first half (at the very least!) thanks to those pesky nerves, but the practice helped immensely. I knew what I needed to do to hit the high note, and I did it with more ‘oomph’ than I knew I had! I’m grateful for that high note, too, because it was only a few days later when I realised my preoccupation with it was what made the shaky-voice nerves go away (or that’s how I heard it in my head!), simply because it was all I could think about when I hit the second (final) verse. And regardless of the outcome I knew I’d done the very best that I could do, and what more could I ask of myself? Except to get up the stairs afterwards without my legs collapsing beneath me. I could ask that.
We would all find out the next day whether or not we were successful. Well, today is the next day and once again I can feel the butterflies building. Hurry the hell up already!
The longer I wait for an answer the more convinced I become that the answer is no.
It wasn’t a no and I can hardly believe it. I’m in! Well, bugger me!
What I’ve realised over the last week of having the music for the four songs we’re learning, is that some of the most wonderful things through this surprisingly private learning curve are the incredible piano solos. I can’t remember the last time I danced around the kitchen so much while both learning and cooking! They’re infectious, delicious tunes that make my feet tap, my shoulders move and my booty shake without warning. I won’t apologise for the image you now have in your head, just be thankful you’re not one of my neighbours!
I didn’t know this for a long time, but I’m a learner. It took me a lot of years to realise that learning keeps me going. It doesn’t matter how small or insignificant the subject seems, I love it; songs, crochet, cello, tatting, BSL, sewing, it’s all good. But sometimes it’s great, and although I’ve realised the same four songs are taking it in turns to plague my dreaming AND my waking hours, I love it, I love it, I love it….
It’s not long since I started to play the cello again, so to pick up the scores to go along with the audio files we were given was like a little gift from heaven, though I know I’m probably in the minority! It gave me something to get my teeth into, and it’s been a while since I had that. Being able to help others get their heads around it (at least a little) was wonderful, too, because alongside learning new things I’ve recently discovered how much I enjoy teaching others, too.
So here I am with our four songs looping in my head day and night, lyrics pinned to my noticeboard at work and scattered beside my chair at home. Audio files are pre-loaded on my phone, youtube videos are favourited and lined up, and during the whole of this fun little learning period my biggest worry isn’t the microphones or the big metal tree, it’s not the possibility of scratchy woollen hats and scarves or the thousands of people watching us on the night. No. My biggest worry is DON'T FORGET THE EFFIN WORDS!
I’m finding it difficult to begin this part of the post because I just don’t know where to start!
Today I’m exhausted. It’s a happy kind of exhausted though, the one where it doesn’t matter that you have slightly bigger bags under your eyes than usual and wish you were anywhere but at work. This is the exhaustion of post-performance adrenaline and countless days with little sleep. This is the day after the night before.
Before I come to the performance I need to say a few things about the rehearsal. It was a wonderful mix of singing, laughs, new friendships and incredible music! I said earlier how much I loved the piano solos while I was practicing, but that didn’t compare to those same piano solos with Danny McCormack’s fingers dancing over the keys just a few feet in front of me. I was, and still am, in awe of that talent, so my ears were ecstatic during our rehearsal! I have to say that the whole band was incredible, such amazing talent, but I do have a big soft spot for Danny’s style of playing. I was only sorry I forgot to say so in person in the busyness and fun of the pub on the night itself.
For a few days prior to it, I was starting to worry a little about the rehearsal night. What I expected was (minus the waiting around for the sound check) five hours of practice after practice after practice. Knowing that our fantastic organiser and visionary would be stressed beyond our comprehension, and no doubt worried about how we would all sound once we were all finally singing together instead of practicing apart, I was prepared for sections being scrutinised and parts being repeated until it sounded just as he wanted it to sound. I even expected a lot of his sense of humour and fun to have disappeared thanks to the stress he’d caused himself organising the whole thing in the first place. But the person stood in front of us was just Mike, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief because knowing that he could still approach it with good humour meant that we could, too. I’m under no illusions that he was more worried than anyone about how we would all sound together, and that despite appearances his stress levels were no doubt through the roof, but it’s all just further testament to the wonder that is Mike that he made us all feel so comfortable.
It was also reassuring to know we weren’t to be over-rehearsed, and that the purpose was to retain a freshness in our performance (and I think we did). And let’s not forget that we needed to enjoy it because if we didn’t, neither would the audience!
So Thursday 27 November arrived and I’d taken the day off work. I’d had an awful cold the week before and at the beginning of the week my voice was noticeably struggling. So I decided a day of rest, relaxation and as little talking as possible was in order! What a strange day it was. I hardly slept the night before and I felt I was in a strange kind of limbo. I woke up excited for the evening, yet at a loss how to distract myself for the rest of the day. There was no point practicing anymore because I already knew it inside out and I was, after all, trying to save my voice! I managed it, though. I got through the day with Christmas shopping and a movie. Result!
The afternoon finally arrived, and after gathering in the church nearby and being donned in our matching hats and scarves, we filed off towards the tree. Chattering, excitement and anticipation were buzzing from one person to the next, but nothing could prepare us for what we were about to see.
It took a few moments for me to really see the crowd, to focus on them, because of the steep steps and the snug walkways on the big tree (well, snug to me thanks to my additional padding!). I was so focussed on reaching my spot without hurting myself or damaging my clothes that when I finally stopped and looked out to the crowd I had to forcibly stop myself from speaking what I thought.
“Oh f……!”
It’s one thing to see thousands of people while stood on the ground with everyone else because you can only see so far, but when you’re raised up on a platform and can see everyone, the extent of the audience, it turns into an entirely different animal. The mass of thousands upon thousands of people gathered as far as I could see took on a life of its own, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as I expected. I can’t say there weren’t nerves, of course there were, but they were just the natural nerves you’d get before any performance (audition aside!). I looked to my friends stood either side and could see the same kinds of thoughts running through their minds…
Whoa!
We’re really going to sing to all of those people?
We’re really going to sing to all of those people!!!
Holy crap!
Don’t forget the tune!
I can’t read my words, it’s too dark!
Don’t forget the words!!!
This is going to be fantastic!
Right, bring it the f… on!
And then we began.
We sang loud, proud and in tune. We sang with big smiles on our faces and we loved every last second.
And now I really get it; the addiction of performing. I said the same before having done Tell Someone Special a few months ago at Arc to a few dozen people (if that), but this… this was something else. This was big, loud, proud and one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It was a huge confidence boost just to be told I was good enough to be part of it at all, but the confidence boost of thousands of people applauding and cheering because you’ve given a good performance was immense. And I know I’m not just speaking for myself.
I think it’s fair to say that the crowd was up for it; they were clearly there for a great evening and they generously showed their enthusiasm. The audience was already enjoying itself and that made our job that little bit easier.
The first note was close. The core twelve were coming to the end of their beautiful, slow beginning of our first song, and the butterflies started. And then I, along with around 60 other singers, began. I relaxed within moments and I savoured every last second (there was no way I was going to let myself forget a moment of this!). It was commented on later in the evening in the pub that we sang louder than we had at the sound check and they’d had to turn up the band. Well, I’m not in the least bit surprised! Adrenaline and a big, happy audience clearly made us open up our mouths that little bit further to be heard at our best and proudest. Who wouldn’t sing that bit louder under those circumstances?
It was a truly wonderful evening. I loved being part of it and I loved the atmosphere and attitude of the crowd. The rest of the entertainment was fab, the Christmas tree is bloody huge and the lights are beautiful.
Last night I was the proudest I’ve ever been to have been adopted by Stockton, and I will never forget the experience, from start to finish. From the first tentative email, to the absolutely bloody terrifying audition, the countless hours of practice, the new friendships, the extra little practice sessions both organised and just a couple of friends getting together over wine and cider, the sleepless nights from anticipation and adrenaline overload, and finally the sheer joy of the performance. From the very first second to the last, it’s been an incredible experience and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
[I've edited this to add that I realise I've made this sound almost romanticised, but that yes of course there were some frustrations and some moments of irritation. I've chosen not to ignore them, but to focus on the positives because they SO heavily outweigh the rest for me that they become insignificant once the songs have finished, the tree has been removed and the friendships and community have been strengthened.]
I would say to anyone who’s scared to jump in and chase what they want for fear of failure, or just for fear itself, just get on with it. Do it. I never thought in my lifetime that I would ever put myself through the hell of singing in an audition regardless of what it was for, but I did. This is one regret that I will never have to live with, instead it’s a triumph that I will savour to my last day.
You can view Stockton Council's video of the Stockton Sparkles event, complete with the UK's first ever Singing Christmas Tree, right here:
A note for my nieces
Why did I do this? What motivated me to put myself through the hell of pre- and mid-audition terror, and post-audition What If’s?
Many people already know that in the last few years I’ve gradually beaten down the doubting, scared voice in my head that tells me I can’t do something. I still have some work to do on that, but from tentative baby steps grow huge, long strides full of confidence, and they’re worth working towards. The more I do, the more I want to do, and I never know what the next thing will be. I do know that if I get butterflies of both fear and excitement at the same time, I’m probably going for it regardless of what anyone else thinks. And as it turns out, the scariest things are usually the ones I keep quiet about; if they’re THAT scary I might fail, and I’d rather tell as few people as possible about my failures!
But there’s something else that pushes me forward. Actually, there are four things that push me forward. No… scratch that… four people! My weird, wonderful intelligent, beautiful, funny, unique nieces. Forgive me if I get all girly and emotional now, but you know what? I’m a girl and that’s what I do. Deal with it.
So, my nieces…
I told my sister a few years ago that her girls were my surrogates. Regardless of anything else that happens in my life, they’re what’s important. Regardless of how far away they live, I’ve always wanted them to grow up knowing me; what makes me laugh, how tight I like my hugs, where they can tickle me to get the biggest belly laugh, and everything in between. I’ve always wanted to be the auntie they want to run to when they run away from home, or stay over for girlie nights with funny movies, nail varnish and specially baked cakes. I’ve always wanted to be the auntie they want to talk to about boys (or girls), about their favourite books, the one they know they can come to and snuggle into without saying a word, just because. I want that for all four of those wonderful girls, and for any more that might come along.
Lately I’ve come to realise that they may indeed be ‘it’. For as long as I can remember I wanted my own family, and the reality of hitting 40 this year brought home just how unlikely that is to happen. Divorced, single, one income, rented home. None of these scream ‘family’. And the more I think about it, as much as itsmarts when I let myself think about it, I know that although I may very well leave no biological trace of myself behind, I can do the next best thing. I can be the best version of myself that I can be right now, and in doing so I can show my nieces that anything is possible. Absolutely bloody anything! And I can have a fabulous time along the way, too!
What I’d like when they see me is not to think of a wallflower who’s scared to live, doesn’t have many friends and stays at home a lot watching TV (the old version of me). I want them to look at me and see someone who loves life, will help people smile, will teach them the small number of things I know. Someone who when she wants something, despite it terrifying the living crap out of her, will stand up and try even if it means she might fail. Someone who does the things she loves just because she loves them, and spends time with the people she loves for the very same reason.
I want to be important to the people close to me and to make a difference to their lives. If I can sit here and know that I’m setting a positive example of how my nieces can live their lives, not without fear because that’s impossible, but without fear controlling their decisions, that will make me happy.
So yes, I faced my fears and I auditioned for something I desperately wanted to be a part of, and I don’t regret one terrifying second of it. But I also know it’s one more win not just for me, but for the girls I want to influence in their years to come. They all have wonderful parents who will support them whatever decisions they make in life, but it can’t hurt to also have an auntie to show them what can be achieved despite that nagging voice in your head that says, “Don’t do it!”.
So here’s to Natasha, Abigail, Hannah and Emma, to all the things they’ll learn, the people they are now and the people they’ll become. Here’s to their achievements despite the odds and their achievements because of them. Here’s to their failures, the ones that make them grow and learn who they are and the paths they want, and need, to take. Here’s to experiences past and the ones just around the corner. To the opportunities to come, the ones missed and the ones grabbed so tightly they may never be able to let go. Here’s to their futures full of happiness and adventure, love and families. Here’s to their wondrous, exciting lives and the endless possibilities that await them.
Girls, when there’s something you want to do, something you want to experience and it scares the bejeesus out of you, just stop for a moment. Breathe. Then jump in with both feet and enjoy the ride. I know what it is to regret missing out on the things and the people you want in your life, and even just the possibility of them, but not anymore.
So… are you ready?
3…
2…
1…
GERONIMO!
