My announcement of the imminent deadline had the predicted effect and lots of posts have been received in the days leading up to that deadline. The deadline has now passed though and we are into our last few posts of the series.
Today at home we are both, for a change, working on a Friday. Normally we both have Fridays off but with having had 3 full weeks off over Christmas and that including Monday and Tuesday this week, we both need to work today to catch up with stuff. Its a relatively short day as in-between school runs on Fridays we can only work 09.00 – 14.30. After that I’ve another hospital appointment to attend with my Dad, whose situation is finally becoming clearer, if not necessarily better.
Today’s post is from Clare Haynes, making her series debut. You can find Clare on LinkedIn, and BlueSky (@clarehaynes). I don’t think we have met but we have certainly interacted on social media for a decade or more. Clare is known as the Conversation Queen. She specialises in confident conversations: helping HRs & leaders with troubled teams conquer difficult dialogue in simple steps. Clare’s a 2nd Dan in MMA, talks to plants and loves snow holidays.
Over to Clare:
Strings get me every time – on a soundtrack or live. Especially violins.
When I was 10, I played violin. Badly.
I took lessons at school. I most certainly didn’t have ‘The ear’. I wasn’t comfortable with my teacher, and he was certainly more comfortable with instruments than pupils.
I remember lessons were on Wednesday mornings in a room just past the headteacher’s office. Opening the school-loaned violin case, with its musty red velvet lining, out would waft the pine scent of bow-rubbing resin.
‘Screechy’ summed up my melodic offering to the music gods!!
Outside of school, on Tuesday evenings, I was in the Brownies. This included sitting a lot on a cushion (called a Toadstool) in a village hall, doing needlework or practising First Aid. As a fidgety tomboy who envied her brother’s whittling or fire-building in Scouts, I wasn’t best suited.
It was recommended, via school, that violinists would benefit from the extra experience of orchestra. But it clashed with Brownies, so orchestra was decided to be for the best. I didn’t overly object, knowing I was getting nowhere near a penknife.
Car-sharing (coordinated by the music teacher) took us to another school with a huge assembly hall, shiny parquet flooring and suspended blue gym ropes.
40 or so children were gruffly instructed where to sit in the crescent of chairs. For me, it was mercifully fourth row, right at the back. Music sheets were distributed, to be shared in pairs.
Erecting a flimsy music stand was the easy part. Reading music less so… Because I was being taught The Suzuki Method, with less of a focus on reading music (promoted as smoother learning, I think).
For what felt like years (probably only one!) of Tuesday evenings, I stumbled through, waiting to get caught and severely told off. I dreaded it all day. I’d say, ‘I don’t want to go’ and have tummy ache.
Eventually I was allowed to quit – both orchestra and violin.
These days, I find myself saying ‘I don’t want to go’ but to work.
It’s not the boss – me! It’s not the subject matter – I love what I do (still, after more than 20 years!). It’s not the people – I have been so lucky working with smart and inspiring clients.
But each job, when delivering training, facilitation or a speaking gig – to groups – I have the thought, I say the phrase, or I feel the dread of, ‘I don’t want to go!’
It’s apprehension, nerves, imposter syndrome – the full range perhaps.
Usually, even when there’s a repeat topic, it’s for a different crowd. Or for the same organisation or company, a different topic. Or for the same crowd and same client, a different venue. Variety on one hand, uncertainty on the other.
So, just like orchestra, I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know if I can do it, I don’t know how it’ll go.
And sometimes I handle the uncertainty and nerves by going the extra mile and playing a trick on myself, thinking ‘I can’t be bothered’!
But, like all well-written programmes, there’s an override:
If the gig got cancelled or the programme postponed, I’d be hacked off and disappointed. It tells me that I want it, that I appreciate it and that it matters to me to do a good job.
I regret not continuing violin. I’d love to make sensuous sounds with a bow on strings.
The notes now tend to be on Post Its, flipcharts or screens, but the nerves still kick in. I don’t want to go. But deep down I do.
And for a minute I might seem like that uncomfortable teacher until the ‘music’ starts.
I’m really pleased Clare put this together, at the very last minute.
Clare’s post is a great one, evoking a lot of memories for me and stirring a lot of thoughts too. It reminded me of “forced” extra lessons in school that I definitely didn’t want to go to, but regret now not going. It also made me think of being “made” to go to work and school, echoes of which will be in my post in a couple of days time. But mostly it resonated because I’m like Clare, with hints of imposter syndrome every time I do something new, and conflicting feelings every time I work with a client. I’d much prefer to be able to not work, and one day that will happen – but right now I “force” myself to work. Clare is right that if the client cancelled, I’d be mad, so deep down I must want to go.
What do you grumble about going to, but really, deep down, you do want to go?
Till next time…
Gary.
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