Through The Looking Glass: Embracing Vulnerability

Sometimes, the things that free us—writing, singing, painting–are the very things we’re afraid to tap into because when we do (and are actually brave enough to show someone) we lay ourselves on the line. When I write, I’m saying “these are my thoughts… this is who I am.” I run the risk of you thinking I’m ridiculous, or dumb, or not worthy of putting anything in print. I am vulnerable.

I can pinpoint the moment I vowed never to let myself be vulnerable again. I was in sixth grade, and my friend Jamie and I were performing the song “Day by Day” at a formal function for a club we belonged to. I was young, but I already had about 5 years of piano lessons under my belt and Jamie was a naturally gifted singer; We were two talented kids, ready to perform.

The event was packed, probably 100 people with all eyes on us. At the pre-determined time, we made our way over to the piano, which sat in front of the room, in the far left corner (the corner furthest from an exit, I’d figure out later). I took my place on the piano bench, arranged my sheet music, and positioned my fingers over the shiny black and white keys. With a nod from Jamie, I started.

My solo piano intro went perfect, and then Jamie started in singing. “Day by Day… Day by Day… Oh, Dear Lord, three things I pray…” It was beautiful. We were both “on.” And then it happened My fingers missed a key on the keyboard and lost my place.

“I can do this,” I told myself… “stay calm, don’t panic. It’s just a little glitch.” Jamie had enough experience to know she had to keep singing. Her voice belted out “… To see thee more clearly… love thee more dearly… follow thee more nearly… Day by Day…” My fingers scrambled across the ivories and my eyes darted across the sheet music. The music I’d seen a thousand times suddenly looked foreign. I got hot and panicky and I felt all 200 eyes staring at me, waiting for me to pick up where I left off. I tried to get the keys right, to catch up with her, but the more I tried, the worse it got. The keys I pressed were wrong. My timing was wrong. It was a mess and I wanted to crawl under a rock. I had never felt so alone.

Jamie sang over half of the song acapella (without music), as I sat there behind that piano wishing I could get up and run out. Instead, quiet tears streamed down my face and I kept my head bowed in shame. When she was done singing I made my way back to my regular seat and sat, looking at my feet until the rest of the event was over. I was mortified.

After the event, I remember my mom and countless others consoling me telling me how it was still beautiful, and that everyone has those moments and that this too, would pass. And while I appreciated the words, I still wanted to run home and crawl in bed and never get out. It had happened, and I couldn’t get that time back. I had let Jamie down. I had let myself down. Right then and there, I consciously and unconsciously decided to bury my creativity and in essence, bury my vulnerability.

In Daring Greatly, Brene Brown sums it up perfectly: “… regardless of our willingness to do vulnerability, it does us. When we pretend that we can avoid vulnerability we engage in behaviors that are often inconsistent with who we want to be. Experiencing vulnerability isn’t a choice—the only choice we have is how we’re going to respond when we are confronted with uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. “

I’m a little wiser now and, on a good day, not so afraid. I write because I love to write. I send it out to the universe not for fame and fortune but because it’s who I am.

Today is a beautiful Sunday in May, and there’s no time like right now.

Do me a favor and ask yourself, “what makes me feel vulnerable?” Listen to the answer; It just might be the one thing you’re meant to be doing. Now, go give it a shot… Day by Day.