Zen the Art of Forgetting Your Lines - When I Grow Up

Zen the Art of Forgetting Your Lines - When I Grow Up Pic stolen from the Flickr feed of Nate Cooper I was alone, center stage in the cruise ships theater, about to open my mouth to start the song that marks the end of the cruise. I dont remember the song now, but I know there was a lot of schmaltz and step-touching. Right before I went on, a dancer asked me when she was supposed to enter. I went through the male singers verse, which comes after mine, to give her her cue line. I realized my mistake as soon as I hit my mark a minute or two later. His verse was stuck in my head, and I couldnt remember my own for the life of me. Instead of singing his verse, or moving my lips and pretending the mic went out, I just stood theresmiling. The male singer came out when he was supposed to, and he patted me on the back reassuringly. I was horrified, thisclose to running off the stage. That living nightmare has made me question my training and my skills as a performer, being so sure I couldnt retain lines and lyrics and dance moves, for the last 11 years. Its made me insecure as a speaker, enabling me to write my entire speech on index cards and clutching them while I gave my talk. Most speakers, if they have cue cards, only have phrases or ideas written down to help guide them from one point to the next. I didnt dare I had every line verbatim on those cards. Check out my Etsy Success Symposium talk as proof. I couldnt bring anything up with me at the World Domination Summit but I practiced my 2 minute song for probably close to 5 hours. When I decided to put on a one-woman show  a few weeks ago after a 4 year hiatus from performing, I immediately started being anxious about one thing: remembering the damn thing. It didnt help that it was the first time I was gonna be playing an instrument in front of an audience since the last piano recital I gave in 1994ish. (I played piano for about 8 years and could never manage to memorize a single piece.) I contacted a teacher 3 months before the show and scheduled 2-3 lessons a month, wanting help with learning my songs. Thankfully, I found Bryan Wade, who taught me how to memorize my music (by making cheat sheets), how to warm up (by breathing deeply and playing very slowly), and how to get back into my body if I feel Im about to go up on my lines. All of a sudden, instead of focusing on where I messed up in practice.instead of remembering that one time on stage where I just blanked out completelyinstead of obsessively going over every word, every chord, every step in every waking moment I decided to accept the fact that I did the work. I knew the show. My experience, talent, training and preparation would take me through the day of the show with joy and that scary/exciting feeling I love. It was time to breathe deep, stay focused primarily on being present, slow down, and offer up my bounty to the gods of the theater. Based on the title of the post, you can imagine what happened. In the middle of the 3rd song, I forgot my lines. I could describe how it happened, but I might as well just show it to you. Ive never felt so Zen about going up on my lines. Ive never refused to cover up mistakes but, instead, admit it out loud and ask for help. Ive never felt so supported on stage before like I was hanging out with the audience as opposed to performing for them. When the show was over, I didnt apologize for it. I didnt beat myself up over it. I was honest when I was asked whether it was staged, and took it as a compliment that some audience members thought it was supposed to happen. 10 days later, I spoke at Reboot. For the first time, I not only didnt use my script I gave up any sort of cue cards other than the PowerPoint I prepared. I told myself that the audience was on my side, that were all hanging out together, and it comforted me. I was thrown off, though, by the fact that the lights were on and I could see faces and reactions clearly. I looked at my fellow speakers in the front row really accomplished men and women who so impressed me as they listened intently to what I was sayingand I forgot where I was in my talk. I felt less comfortable up there, more panicked but it didnt take over. I had been here before, and it wasnt the end of the world. Instead, I freely admitted that I lost my place and told them why, something along the lines of, You guys are so nice and attentive that Im looking at you all too much and I totally forgot what I was about to say. I gave myself a moment, cheated by advancing the slide, and went on my way. Not a single person mentioned it after the talk. Instead, they told me what stuck, related my story to theirs, told me how cool it was that I played the uke during my talk. After 11 years, I’m not allowing that one incident to rule my beliefs. Im getting back into my body, slowing down and taking my time, owning my training and experience as a whole, remembering that everyone is my cheerleader, and giving myself permission for being imperfect everywhere I go. Did this long story resonate with you? What could you take a more zen approach with? Any negative experience you’ve had that you’re finally ready to let go of? I wanna hear about it in the comments! And did I mention I totally booked 3 more performance dates in NYC this winter? Cause I totally did.