21082013
A few days ago I was a judge in a
children's singing contest. It was a semifinal and we had to select a
few children who would not be continuing to the final round which is
held this weekend. After the contest a father approached me and
another judge, telling us that his daughter had been dropped from the
final and asking for specific feedback on what his daughter could
improve; why exactly did she not make it?
I went through my notes and remembered
this girl having been the least developed singer of the bunch, mainly
because her singing was really forced and violent. I explained to the
father the technical issues and basically told him that the girl
needs to relax, and that she has to be given time to develop, because
the voice of a child goes through a huge maturing process simply
through the growth of the physical body. The judge I was with also
gave her point of view which followed along the same lines as my
feedback.
As I observed the father I noticed a
huge tension in him. He told us how disappointed the girl is, because
she has been in many contests never succeeding. I could see him
anxious for his child's happiness and success, and the way he was
doing it out of fear was pulling him, straining him; the feedback we
gave was difficult for him to take because there was no comfort
there; there was no quick fix to the child's “issue”, the boulder
keeping her from happiness – what she believes she needs to be
happy. I don't know how he broke it down to the child, but I hope he
got my point about relaxing about it.
This got me thinking about my own
childhood. I was taken to numerous singing contests ever since the
age 6. I won the very first contest I attended, and ever since then I
went to more and more contests in search of more success. I enjoyed
the contests because it usually meant I could learn new songs and
perform in front of people, and we usually also took a trip somewhere
special so that I could attend the contest. It was a good way to
motivate me to practice singing and performing and I learned a lot
through it.
But there was also a negative side to
it. My mother really wanted me to go to these contests because
otherwise my “talent” would “go to waste”. She perceived and
believed success in music to be measured by exposure, fame, awards
and recordings, and I don't blame her because that's the limited way
our culture defines music. She wanted me to have all the chances to
express and explore myself that she didn't have growing up in a
really poor family. Her enthusiasm topped mine, and eventually the
contests became a strain to me, I felt like I was forced to do
things, I felt disappointed when I didn't win (I rarely did), I felt
like I was being forced into a mold that I didn't want to fit in. So
in my teens I told my mother I didn't want to do it anymore and so
she stopped pushing me, although expressing her great regret about
it.
When I return to thinking about that
very first contest I attended and won, I realize it has been a
turning point, a defining moment. I was a very small girl and I have
very vague memories of that situation. I can't remember the moment I
got up on the stage and sang, but I do remember the moment the
results were announced, I was declared winner and my family told me
to get up and get my trophy. What I remember of this moment is
noticing my family's agitation. All of my family, my parents and my
three siblings, were with me (a rare occasion), and I remember my
sister, my idol and anchor, was sitting next to me. I didn't really
understand what the announcers were saying, but I remember they
announced the results so that my family could guess that I was the
winner before anyone said it because I was the only one left without
a reward. I remember this wave of excitement coming from my family
sitting on my left side, them being all “oh my god did she?” “can
it be?” “oh wow you won!”, surprised and overjoyed and excited
for me. I didn't understand what “winning” meant, but from my
family's reaction I gathered that I had done something positive, I
had succeeded. I walked down to the stage to be awarded, and the
judges handed me a huge, heavy trophy, making a joke that I might not
be able to lift it (I was tiny) and everyone in the audience laughing
in approval of my adorable victory.
I see that the reaction of my family
defined the moment for me, because their emotional response was
overflowing, it was really “big” for me. Their joy represented
acceptance, ultimate acceptance, and topped with the huge trophy the
moment was somehow “crowned”. In order to get that ultimate
acceptance I would have to succeed in the same way. This is where I
started to define myself according to my singing: it was my strength,
my asset, and I would have to be the best to remain accepted in the
eyes of others. The fact that the victory is the only thing I
remember of the contest is revealing, because my memory has selected
not to remember the singing - the moment of expression - at all. All
my memory selected is the moment of positive reinforcement.
So most of my life (ever since the age
6) I have been in search of that ultimate acceptance, which I
believed to be found in other people, in my success, and not from
within myself. This is probably one of the reasons why I react to
disapproval / rejection / failure so strongly. I am afraid that when
I express myself I will not be accepted – that I will be rejected
as I was so many times in all those singing contests. Of course my
history in being bullied in school also has a part to play, but I see
that the bullying and the search for approval in contests are
interlinked: they are my childhood, who I was back then. Through
writing I am slowly piecing together my past so that my
childhood/adolescence would make sense to me – that I would see the
big picture – and every time I actually go through a specific
memory like I did above I see the big picture getting a little bit
clearer. I have been postponing going through a lot of things in my
past but now I see I can no longer do that. I want to understand who
I am now and why I keep messing shit up (there is one major
underlying issue I haven't gotten hold of yet), and the way there
goes through my past. Thus:
I commit myself to write about a memory
from my past every day from now on until I am done with my past.
- I may write about the memory in my blog
- I may write about the memory separately from my blog posts
- I choose whichever memory seems to be “on the surface”
- I will have a specific notebook with me so that I will be able to do this anywhere
I commit myself to this challenge and
project within and as the realization that the key to who I am now
lies in my past in all the moments that have led up to this moment as
everything I am now has accumulated over time.
I forgive myself that I have accepted
and allowed myself to fear committing to this project because it
appears long, time-consuming and, as my thoughts put it, “daunting”
- not realizing that my past is not infinite and that eventually I
will have gone through all of it, as long as I do it consistently: a
little at a time at regular intervals.
I forgive myself that I have accepted
and allowed myself to fear this commitment because I believe and
perceive it is “too much” for me in addition to writing a blog,
attending the DIP Lite course AND studying and working and living a
life – not realizing that I have already committed to the Journey To Life project, where I will write a blog for seven fucking years,
and that an additional project of opening a memory each day is not
much compared to or in addition to that – and they might actually
contribute to each other!
I commit myself to embrace this new
challenge within and as the realization that it is what is best for
me and thus also what is best for all.
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