A month before the pandemic hit, I had the opportunity to teach a workshop at Steinway Hall in New York, on a topic close to my heart: Mindfulness for Pianists: Freeing Your Energy for Performance.

It was the first time I spoke publicly directly through the lens of mindfulness. And it was also the first time I’d created a workshop in which audience members could spontaneously demonstrate specific ideas at the piano. I had no idea what would happen.

The presentation went well, with generous participation from the audience. And in the Q&A afterwards, someone asked me a very personal question:

“Do you get nervous before performing? And if so, how do you handle it right before you go out?“

“Yes!” I said. “In fact, I was very nervous for weeks before tonight’s workshop.” I told them that immediately before walking onstage to address the group, I not only practiced mindfulness meditation, but I also focused intently on how much I wanted to help them connect more with their true potential.

However, I didn’t have time to talk about the emotions I went through during the weeks preceding the event. So I’d like to fill in the picture now by describing more of that experience.

It took a long time for the new material to gel. I’d outlined it several times, and each outline came out different. The material was always on my mind, and I sometimes scribbled notes for it in the middle of the night. I kept getting new insights, and I was worried it wouldn’t become clear enough in time for that Thursday evening.

In the last few days, I had moments where I felt immobilized by anxiety. I wanted to go outside and take a walk, but I just sat there feeling stunned by my own pent up nervous energy.

On one of those occasions, I was interrupted by a friendly message on my phone that snapped me out of it. Amazing what a few kind words can do! I was so relieved to feel appreciated by someone that I was finally able to relax and take a walk in the fresh air. I rehearsed the presentation during my walk, and getting outdoors reset my system.

Then two days before the event, I freaked out again. This time I actually went to my own book for help. I reread the entire last chapter for the first time in years. The chapter is called Generosity, and it’s about performance.

What an experience! There I was getting consoled by words I’d written 25 years ago. How amazing that this author (me) really understood what I was going through and made me feel better. I kept getting tears in my eyes. She said I was scared because I was about to be born as a new person. I knew she (I) was right. I could sense that a big part of me had been hiding out, and that in presenting this material that meant so much to me in this new way, I was going to be transformed.

I can’t describe how calming the chapter was. It normalized everything. I could relax and even look forward to the exciting new event.

That night I slept really well for the first time in quite a while. I woke up refreshed and spent a lot of time relaxing and making final preparations for the event the next day.

Going through so much anxiety was actually a blessing—a fortunate reminder for me of what performers go through. It brought me back to a deeper level of what I’ve always known about the challenge and meaning of performance. It was particularly helpful that in those last few days I practiced extending sympathy to myself. This helped me appreciate not only myself, but my audience better.

It wasn’t easy to experience so much anxiety before my big moment. But if we want to give something to our audience from the deepest place in ourselves, we have to go into the deep, dark corners inside us to get to the jewel at our core—the depth of our heart. Only from there can we speak— or make music—most compellingly.

I did feel transformed afterwards. What I’d really done was be more myself than ever in communicating to people to help them grow. I’d never felt so ordinary, just so real and simply myself. I saw who I am much more clearly.

And what a gift they gave me. They heard and saw me just as I was. They received what I wanted to give. I’m grateful to every one of them.

On May 19, I’ll be presenting this interactive workshop live online. I don’t know what will happen this time either!

I warmly invite you to join us and be part of the spontaneous unfolding of new ideas and on-the-spot group energy.

Here’s to your continued growth and success as an artist and performer!