Story Time: The Carnegie Comeback Kid

One of the first performance experiences I can remember is a piano recital taking at Carnegie Hall when I was eight years old. This was a big deal but I didn't realize it until my parents told me this was going to be huge. I bragged about this for months. "I'm gonna play piano at Carnegie Hall," I boasted with an annoyingly prideful tone. I'm pretty sure that because I have this awful, competitive nature and a truckload of pride, I wanted to make myself seem more special to everyone around me. I'd expect that, as you're reading this, you're secretly hoping for the eight-year-old version of me to fall flat on her face while walking to the piano or something worse. Don't you worry, you get your wish.

During those months, I wasn't practicing. I couldn't sacrifice at least 10-20 minutes a day to hunker down and play. I was just a normal kid, wanting to play outside with my friends and watch cartoons. My parents would get home from work and asked if I practiced and I would either lie about it (SORRY MOM AND DAD) or begrudgingly go to the piano and plunk at it for five minutes. I figured that my weekly piano lessons would suffice.

I was wrong. Recital day arrived and I was freaking out. I sat at that huge piano with my little hands sweaty and sticky from the anxiety of having to perform songs that I hadn't memorized. I fumbled through all of my pieces, except for the song my sister sang while I accompanied her because I actually did practice that one with her. When I finished I knew that the applause was for my sister, not for the mess of wrong notes I displayed before her song. I got off the bench, curtsied, and hurried off the stage with my classic ugly-cry ready to burst from my little body.

Needless to say, I and my whole family were disappointed. I come from an Asian household, so you can imagine how much guilt I was feeling that I embarrassed my entire family. What made it even worse was that my GRANDMOTHER came all the way from the Philippines to see me play. My parents scolded me for not practicing while I cried the whole way from New York City back to our sleepy neighborhood in New Jersey.

Fast forward to 2001 and my piano teacher announced that our annual recital was at Carnegie Hall again. This was going to be it. I was going to be the comeback kid. I was not about to let what happened three years ago define who I was as a musician. I remember practicing every night with my dad, tired from a hard day at work, falling asleep on the couch behind me and the sound of my mom making dinner in the kitchen. My sister was also supposed to sing while I accompanied her, so I practiced with her as much as I could. Another huge difference this time around was that I didn't tell anyone. I knew that if I started to brag at all, my pride would rear it's ugly head again to inflate mine. I think maybe I told a couple of teachers because I might've had to miss school but I don't remember telling any of my friends. I was going to do everything differently this time. I even purposed to get a dress that was completely different from the one I wore at the first recital because I wasn't going to have a repeat of my epic failure.

On recital night, I shut everyone and everything out and made it my mission to sit down, play well, and restore the family honor (I was heavily influenced by watching Disney's Mulan at this time). I walked onto the stage, turned to the audience, executed the most awkward curtsy ever, sat down at the piano and played with dry hands and confidence. My sister was sick that night so she couldn't sing, but I played her song while singing along under my breath to make sure everything was correct. I may have made a few mistakes but I finished my set without shame or tears. I didn't care about the applause that night. I think my dad was the only person that could make it to the recital this time, but that was okay because I always want to make him proud most of all.

There are a few things you should take from this story. One important aspect is to practice your instrument. While I told you about my awful piano recital experience, I could share about awful singing experiences that only happened because I didn't practice enough or at all. Regardless of what you're doing, you must put in the time to study your music and execute it. Your lessons are not practice time. The most impact your teacher can have as you get closer and closer to the performance is their coaching you through your pieces or songs. If you're considering your lesson as a rehearsal time then you'll definitely feel unprepared for the performance.

Another considerable aspect of this story is to put your blinders on. My pride got in the way of everything mainly because I wanted other people to like me or think I was special. I cared so much about what other people thought of me that I ended up embarrassing myself and my loved ones. The time to impress is on stage. So when you're practicing or in your lessons, give yourself permission to make ugly or awkward sounds and jump over those hurdles. Push forward even if you don't hear the cheers of adoring fans along the way.

Finally, don't let one bad experience keep you from growing. Students: Don't let one event deter you from doing what you love. Parents: don't let your kids quit when they're down; they might regret giving up even more than the one bad experience. One bad performance, audition, or lesson can make you doubt whether struggles are worth it. Instead of considering them as failures, see them with with hopeful eyes as opportunities for growth. Don't stuff your feelings down if you're feeling disappointed. Don't stay down when you're capable of standing up, dusting yourself off, and trying again.