Strength of Mind

He looked at his phone. Eighteen minutes. “You’ll be fine. You were fantastic at the rehearsal.” he flashed a nervous smile, “Thanks, Joe”. He’s an idiot, you know that. He’s been around forever and says that to everyone before showtime. Look at yourself, you know you’re not ready. You’re a total stiff. The crowd will see right through you. You’re almost drowning in your own sweat right now. Pathetic. Enough. There’s a reason I’m here. 

He started to pace around the little dressing room. At the far side of the table, a small lamp. He stared at it. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t stop staring at the lightbulb. A once warm and inviting glow became a scorching surface, like a searing hot pan. He could feel it coursing through his whole body. 

This is insane. No, it's not, your anxiety is just a manifestation of what you know to be true. You can’t do this because you aren’t talented. At anything. Worthless. Just wait until it starts. Wait until they hear your weak, little voice stutter and stumble over your lines. An inveterate clown. You have no chance you’ll embarrass the rest of the cast. All the work they’ve put in and you're going to let them down. You’ve always been the weak link in everything in life. 

The anxiety was coursing through his veins like a runaway train. His mouth was dry as a desert tumbleweed. Good luck saying your lines now. Idiot. Moron. You can’t handle this. Yeah, watch me. Enough of this. Once again locked in a shell of self-doubt muttering and mumbling like a man whose address might as well be a padded room. 

Well, I’ve had enough of this. He grabbed his jump rope and started to do some exercises. A way to alleviate the crippling anxiety he roleplayed imagining himself a prized fighter before the main event. In this case, his opponent was himself; his own doubt reverberating off the walls of his subconscious. 

Twelve minutes to go. The anxiety continued its vice grip, but he continued to skip rope determined to distract himself from the torments of self-doubt. He thought of himself standing on a mountaintop looking down, probably not the greatest thing to think of given that he had a fear of heights. He started to feel a little dizzy, maybe it was time to stop, he thought. He dragged himself to the chair and sat down. 

Looking up into the mirror he saw the face of a broken man, destitute, friendless, tired, and worn down. That’s not me. The walls began to close in on him. He stared at them. Their color olive green and just like that he was taken adrift in a reverie. 

He was eight and visiting his grandmother’s house. She was a widower who lived in a three-story house in the countryside. How he enjoyed visiting during the summer all those years ago. The path leading up to the house was immaculately manicured either side bordered by the most beautiful daylilies. Of every color imaginable. He could see them even now swaying in the gentle summer wind. It must be right around Mid-July he thought, that’s when they are in bloom. He continued tracing the footsteps of his eight-year-old self up the gently sloping path. The all too familiar sight of the giant oak tree, its heavy boughs swaying in the wind. Birds flying amongst the branches. Opposite the oak tree was a bright-orange blossomed honeysuckle. He could hear the hummingbirds buzzing along amongst the blossoms. It was his favorite thing to watch as a child. His grandmother taught him all about the birds and the plants they liked. The sky was the most brilliant blue. Cloudless. And the bright mid Summer sun glowing brilliantly. Continuing he reached the house, his hand reaching out to the door, which was an olive-green color just like the walls of his tiny dressing room. Reaching out he knocked on the door. 

Startled, he jumped to his feet, “You’re on in five”. He stumbled for a minute getting his bearings and realizing his reverie had come to an abrupt and equally regrettable end. “Thanks, Joe”, he muttered. Five minutes, that’s interesting, isn’t it? The significance of five minutes. Why not six or seven? Or four? Arbitrary endpoints of the mind's most grueling construct. 

He opened the weather app on his phone. Huh. Rain tomorrow. Well, so much for mowing the lawn. That’ll have to wait. I’ll continue to be that neighbor with the overgrown lawn.  

One step at a time, don’t you remember you were nearly losing your mind just a moment ago. You’re going on stage! In front of nearly two thousand people for a play that you’ve been obsessing over for nearly three months now. The thing was that voice was gone now. Or at least it had subsided or rather its tone had changed. Eh, what’s the worst that could happen? Um, do you really want to ask that? Now? Well, let’s see your career could be over before it even started. That much was true this was easily the largest audience he’s faced, a fledgling theater actor caught in a mind maelstrom right before his first major performance. 

Hey, do you remember that time in sixth grade when you forgot your lines and everyone laughed? Yeah, that was awful but thanks for reminding me. But how about that time I nailed that soliloquy in my first performance in front of a real audience? Why is it we always focus on our worst negative recollections when we are caught by anxiety? 

So what’s it gonna be this time around. How will fate treat you this evening? Will it be a performance to remember? Or will you dread this moment for the rest of your life? A failure that you would never recover from. I could use a stiff drink, he thought. No, not yet. After this is over. It’ll be all the more enjoyable. 

I have to gather my mind's strength. Those negative thoughts, they are just illusions, projections of fear. I've got to let them go. Witness them like clouds floating across the sky. And detach from them. Then they are harmless. A strong mind anchored in love. He had finally convinced himself that he would not only conquer this performance but in doing so he’d also finally slay that specter of self-doubt that had haunted him for his entire life. That feeling of unworthiness was about to be vanquished. After this performance, it’ll all be different. The struggles would be vindicated. The doubt a thing of the past.

But he quickly realized, no, that’s the thing about doubt: the transient and tumultuous emotions of an unsettled mind are never gone. Not truly. Until the mind, itself is finally clear and free to embrace love. That’s it. Unlock the mind’s courage and conviction. He thought of that bright, high blue sky on a Summer afternoon so many years ago. Calm, clear, and strong. Well, it’s time. He stepped out of his dressing room and could see the backstage passage just a short walk in front of him. Smiling, he stepped unto the precipice and at long last embraced his good fortune.