cri de coeur

Tonight it's cold. Colder than most nights, and a fog has settled outside. The streetlights have been made dimmer, softer; the ring of nebulous orange that hangs around every lamp reveals the hazy smoke that abides by Bernoulli's principle on this windless night. Through the leaves of trees along the tiny road leading to my house, they create shafts of light reminiscent of a scene in any film that tries to evoke nostalgia through soft focus and a filtered lens.

It seemed surreal, on my way to the convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes, how the fog creates a sense of foreboding, of the unknown, everytime the headlights of a car cresting the other side of the hill that separates my neighborhood from the rest of the world appeared to grow larger, more luminous; a large oval glow of mystery appearing in the dark out of nowhere... it's only a car. I thought this would make a nice backdrop for a film.

It's quiet. Quieter than most nights, with Dad on an overseas trip and my sister on a five-day physical training course somewhere off the coast on a semi-inhabited island. The only sources of loud noise being Mom and the little sister, and they're strangely sedated tonight. No one seems to be interested in watching TV in the living room; all somehow docile. It seems eerily tranquil, like the calm before the storm. I must be imagining things.

It feels like the right time for introspection, to come up with resolutions for the new year that's right around the corner. Of the things that have happened, and tying loose ends. Of the mess that's been made, and putting things back in order. Of noticing the burnt bridges, and mending them one by one. Of finding new meaning in everything, and not letting go. Of casting aside the shadows, and breathing in the sunshine. Of remembering all that's lost, and cherishing the ones that still last.

'Tis the season for twenty blackbirds to be baked in a pie, after all. All the regrets and the missed opportunities, the ex-girlfriends and the lonely nights, the awkward silences and the misspoken words, the anger at your parents and the contempt at those around you, the darkness and the emptiness, the hurtful tears and the weary years, the misunderstandings and the nonchalance, the disappointment and the sadness, the wrong people you've fallen in love with and the ones that didn't matter, the lies and the cold shoulders, the hatred and the disenchantment, the screaming and the silent treatment, the artificial friends and the inconsequential -- bake 'em all in a pie and eat it. It's time to move on.

PLAYLIST

Don't Let Me Down -- Stereophonics

Miles Away -- Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Semi-Charmed Life -- Third Eye Blind

Honey And The Moon -- Joseph Arthur

Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye -- Robbie Williams

performance anxiety

That's what I was trying to say.

I just couldn't get the words out when I was trying to say it. A terrible curse for anyone who has larger-than-life ambitions, but that's what I have -- performance anxiety. The inability to function properly in a desired or expected manner under pressure or stressful conditions. It's probably just a nicer, more medical term for "being chicken", but I'm pretty sure this psychological affliction goes far deeper than that.

Everyone has some form of performance anxiety, in varying degrees. This type of anxiety in moderate amounts can be healthy, as it forces the brain to direct attention, effort and energy to a particular task at hand. But when you're striving for perfection, and anything less won't satisfy, and you're comparing yourself or your work to others or theirs? The level of anxiety becomes ostensibly insurmountable, affecting your judgment and your ability to concentrate, and your mind starts to unravel.

You're getting the jitters, you start doubting yourself, your heart palpitates, your legs start to shake, your palms get sweaty, and you stumble over your words. Sounds familiar? It does to me, because I used to get stage fright. I've learned to overcome that impediment (although not completely, speaking in front of an audience is almost second nature to me now; in fact I welcome the challenge and sometimes take great pleasure in it), but there are a great many other things to have performance anxiety about.

Such as the start-up competition I'm currently devoting myself to. I'm really doubting that I'm good at business or financial matters at all, or even if the idea would work to begin with. Or the creative writing competition I was supposed to submit an entry to (some of my friends even said I would definitely win the top prize, but I wasn't going to be caught up in that hubris), which I didn't. Or the screenplay I was asked to write to be made into a short film, but I got so jittery by the time I was ready to consolidate my ideas into one cohesive script the deadline had passed (the concept was cool, if disparate but it would have been so kick-ass to have a film to call my own, gee, if only).

And that's just the ancillary stuff. Having performance anxiety in things that matter, like in relationships, in the workplace, in the bedroom (but that's another story, which I won't tell!), to name a few. Living up to people's expectations, of what is required of you in all sorts of situations. Don't you just hate that? Kinda makes you wish you could run away and never come back, doesn't it? Well, hold that thought because you still need the money.

One way to cope with performance anxiety (from "Performance Anxiety" by M. Robin) is to "be process-oriented, not product-oriented." Wow, whatever the hell that means. Concentrate in the means, not the ends? Live in the moment, not the future? Fulfillment is in the journey as much as the destination? Hey actually, that's not bad advice.

Not surprisingly, performance anxiety is more often than not caused by cognitive distortions -- irrationality clouding perception and awareness of the real world, amplifying the negative and minimizing the positive, looking at everything from a worst-case scenario perspective. That fits my profile perfectly, which I oughta change (it should make life a lot easier for anyone if they do). Understanding it will require heavy reading, and I'm always up for that.

And so, to end with a cute analogy from someone else,

"An archer competing for a clay vessel shoots effortlessly, his skill and concentration unimpeded. If the prize is changed to a brass ornament, his hands begin to shake. If it is changed to gold, he squints as if he were going blind. His abilities do not deteriorate, but his belief in them does, as he allows the supposed value of an external reward to cloud his vision."

I think that hits it right on the dot.

PLAYLIST

Under Control -- The Strokes

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams -- Green Day

Story Of The Year -- Sidewalks

Way Down The Line -- The Offspring

Black Hole Sun -- Soundgarden