The prep performance I'll never forget. And never shoud.

Under the advice of my good friend and the most gifted classical pianist I know, I performed several times last week for people that intimidate me to see what parts of my pieces would fall apart and discover weak parts that I was not aware of when practicing at home.

Although I performed for several pianists early in the week, I knew that I wouldn't get to perform for the people that really frightened me until Thursday when I could see several employees at church. After the main rehearsal that day for the weekend services, I planned to ask, at the very least, our church's instrumental director, Ben and our church's camera video director, Ken to listen to me perform my pieces on the grand piano (who I've affectionately named Tony) downstairs, where earlier the choir would have been rehearsing. I was hoping that some of the choir would still be milling around after their rehearsal to listen to me perform as well since many of them have studied music and knowing them personally would intimidate me greatly.

I went downstairs with my mom, Ben, Ken, that weekend's director, and that weekend's assistant director to find that the room was still filled with about 15-20 choir members that I knew. Perfect. Everyone was amused by the prospect of scaring me into mediocrity, and the tech-on-call that shares an office with my mom even dimmed the lights hoping to make it more difficult for me to play (I explained to her that it was more than difficult, but impossible and had her put the lights back). Everyone was jovial and curious to see how I would fare.

I sat down. I spent a brief moment to breathe and think about the story of my piece, to hear the introduction in my head....

And usually, if you're going to be nervous, the beginning of your pieces will be the worst. Not so. I started off well. Not ideal, but nothing exactly "wrong" either.

By about the second page of my piece, things started to go wrong. My hands started shaking and my legs were practically doing the Lindy Hop underneath the piano.

I realized what was happening and I reminded myself to breath and stay calm. I slowed down slightly and tried to be more deliberate in my touch even if it wasn't what the piece called for at that point. And I did keep going, but it was clear to anyone watching that I was struggling.

I got further into the piece, and my problems continued - the melody and the story were lost, and most importantly, my legs were still shaking. My hands had stopped shaking but they still had this limp quality I had never experienced before. And even though my legs have shaken in the past, it was usually brief. But on this occasion, I couldn't get my body to stop misbehaving. Even though I was calm and prepared to perform, my hands and legs were set on having a panic attack. And that's why this "performance" for approximately 25 people is worthy of note: It was the first time I had the experience of completely losing control of my performance under pressure.

And it's an incredibly unnerving experience.

But soon my discouragement and surprise led way to anger. It's not as if I didn't have performing experience. Not only have I been judged before where my audience consisted of two people so close to me they could hear my heart beat but also being completely exposed before thousands of people this December. I'm no stranger to the stage or stage fright. That's why I perform for people before important performances like I did last week, just to make sure I know how the piece feels under my hands when the adrenaline kicks in.

I had worked too hard to have this piece fall apart and to lose control over what began as my performance.

And the decision was made: I was taking back my piece.

I slowed the tempo way down. And instead of just being deliberate, I was down right plodding if I needed to just to feel like I was the one moving my fingers instead of muscle memory. Whatever I did from that point would be my doing, good or bad.

I made it through the piece and that's when I realized what everyone else had been able to see - my whole face had been burning up and turned bright cherry red. Trying to regain my composure, I made a joke that everyone had done a wonderful job scaring me, "since my foot wouldn't sit still." Everyone laughed and quickly agreed that they had seen my shaking.

I quickly played my secondary jazz piece and you could hear that I had mentally checked out and wasn't fully prepared to get back on the horse, which disappoints me greatly now.

After I finished, the choir members started to mill out of the room, but that weekend's director said that both he and the assistant director thought I should have performed my first piece with Tony's top up. I seized the chance to perform the piece again, even if it was only for the two of them, but Ken and Ben stayed too!

My feet and hands had calmed and I had full control this time. And I can I say that it was by far the most satisfying performance in my life. I was so determined that everyone listening would hear the story I had been trying to develop for so many months and it showed.

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Thursday night began silly but ended very serious. Now I know the worst thing that could possibly happen to me at my audition and I know not to assume that just because I'm feeling confident and calm that the piece will soar. That's not always the case and now I know what it really feels like to perform undeterred.