On self doubt
I need to nurture my connection to Divinity/Source. That’s what it all boils down to. For the sake of argument, for all intents and purposes, that is the only thing that even exists. I know that. I understand that. It’s time for me to walk the walk, permanently.
There is no “trying.” “Try” is synonymous with “fail.” Period. Every time I try something, well... You see, the word try implies that confidence is in question. When confidence is in question, it means doubt exists. Trying is for doubters. Why... Would I doubt myself. It’s so painful... And not even a kind that leaves a pretty mark, like piercings.
I am not my past. I am not my interpretation of my past. The present moment is a clean slate, and through habits of self-doubt, I have tainted that slate - colored it, soiled it unnecessarily.
Between Source and me, there is a bond too tight to squeeze in any doubt. There’s no room. There is a solid nexus, so tight you can barely make a distinction.
I surrender. I trust. I am grateful. I love.
Feeling this doubt leave is great. It’s restoring me right back to relaxation.
Tonight at Greenhouse, I choked. Like, literally, several times, and it’s because of this silly thing called confirmation bias. My conscience is used to looking for me to fail, so it created this fun game called “stop breathing.” Take away natural breaths, you take away your connection to Source. The poem I recited, although immensely powerful, on paper and when performed correctly, was no more moving to me than a list of groceries. I even forgot a couple of items.
And it’s ok. This was overall very good confirmation of a painful lesson that I hadn’t quite fully figured out yet. And now I have.
On facebook, Meytal Cohen answered a fan question about stage fright. It was spot on. Exactly what I needed to read at that moment.
Throughout the life of Brian David, he had struggled to find confidence to overcome self-doubt. At this point in the game, though, it’s as if life is always just beginning. Going back into old habits feels foreign and wrong, and it hits me harder than it ever had before. Just looking back at tonight’s performance, I did average, maybe even below, for me. My “usual.” But man! It had such an effect on me.
That’s no way for a performer to handle himself. Riding anxiety and expecting tomatoes and daggers to fly at no notice at all. It’s the responsibility and honor of the performer to breathe and connect with what he’s sharing in order to insure that the piece gets translated correctly. In my world, all of my pieces can move mountains, there’s really nothing weak in any of them. They’re all very solid forces to be reckoned with.
So far, no one really knows that but me.
And tonight, I gave into anxiety and forgot to breathe. I wasn’t connected with myself, I wasn’t connected with my poem, and I wasn’t connected with the audience. And everyone lost out because of it... It was basically just me up there testing my memory in front of strangers. Critics. Etc.
The old motif... As within, so without. I used to be so harsh and unnecessarily critical of myself, and that old habit was translated into projected expectations onto others. “They’re going to see everything wrong with it,” choke. “They’re going to think it’s shit,” choke. “They’re going to find a way to leave or hurt me,” choke. This is the habit of someone who is no longer alive. That person was living to die, dying to live, and dying to die.
I, Brian David Bernard, live to live. Death was the destiny of the one occupying this body before this consciousness settled in, and so it is. That essence is gone.
I just need to find a way to stay connected to Source in front of a crowd. Then connect with the piece. Then connect with the audience. It’s not that complicated. I know how to do it, I’ve done it before. So, like any habit, I’m going to nurture this one into perfection.
I started a painting I’m calling “Exorcising Self-Doubt.” Catharsis. Once something is gone, let go of, there is no sense in picking it up again. So I won’t. Tomorrow, I will set something on fire that symbolizes my old connection with doubt.