Have you ever been quite worried or uncertain about an approaching event that you ended up feeling pretty happy about? I don’t know about you, but it’s happened to me on many occasions. I wouldn’t say it’s the story of my life or anything, because sometimes the incident turns out just as badly as I had imagined. I’ll give an example of both ways this has happened.
First, a negative example. When I was in high school, I was sick and missed a piano recital. Of course, I didn’t enjoy being sick, but I certainly didn’t mind missing the recital. Because I hated recitals. If being sick was the price I had to pay to miss one, I was more than happy to pay that price. I wouldn’t have to spend an evening feeling like I might vomit, and running my perspiring hands down my skirt to keep my hands as dry as possible, hoping that they weren’t leaving perspiration stains behind. And, of course, there was always the chance that my performance would be a botched one. But this time, I was off the hook—only briefly, as it turned out.
My piano teacher decreed that I would play my piece (“Wedding Day at Troldhaugen” by Edvard Grieg) for the next high school assembly. A perfectly horrible idea! So much worse than playing in front of other sufferers and their parents. Now, I would be playing in front of well over a hundred teens who would be bored at best and, at worst, actively unhappy at having to sit quietly and listen to Grieg’s musical tribute to his own wedding that occurred way back in 1867. I sought to be excused, I begged for mercy, but none was forthcoming.
I’ve since read that a performance of “Wedding Day at Troldhaugen” should take 5-6 minutes—my performance probably took nearly twice that long. It started well, but broke down part way through. One section was repeated, but there was a different ending for the repetition that transitioned into the next section. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember the second ending. I repeated that section probably five or six times until I was able to successfully make the transition and surge into the final section.
I was humiliated, but not because of my classmates’ reaction. Sometimes I think I went to the best school with the best kids at the best time. No one told me I’d done a great job. This was a good thing as I would have objected furiously—I knew I’d given the worst performance of my life—but they clapped politely as the “Wedding Day” ended, and life went on as usual for the rest of the day. I stamped down the feelings of humiliation until I got off the bus; then I went to my room and cried. I had embarrassed myself and knew my teacher had been disappointed as well. Both of us knew I could play better than I had that day.
Okay, there’s my negative example (something that I imagined would turn out badly and my fears were justified), so it’s time for a positive one (where what I feared in advance turned out to be quite a pleasant experience). Sita and the Prince of Tigers has won a couple of awards, one for magical realism, one for multiculturalism. One of the perks of the award was a radio interview with Pat Rullo, a national talk show host on Speak Up Talk Radio. And while I was delighted by the affirmation/recognition that Sita had received, I was absolutely terrified by the idea of a radio interview. I couldn’t imagine talking coherently. I couldn’t imagine stringing more than three words together that made sense. I remember something Vladimir Nabokov said once, something about being a genius in his thoughts, a great writer on the page, and a child when he spoke—something like that, anyway. I didn’t fit into the first two categories, but the third fit me just fine.
I’d just about decided to decline the interview. But first, I decided to talk to an author friend of mine who had been interviewed by Pat already. “She’s great,” Luk said. “No worries. Email her and ask her how to prepare, if you’re worried.”
So, I emailed Pat Rullo and confessed that I was a tad nervous about the interview. “Nothing to worry about,” was her assessment. “It’ll be like we’re a couple of friends just sitting around and talking. And you already know what we’ll be talking about—your book, Sita and the Prince of Tigers. It’ll be fun for both of us to talk about that.
When the day and hour came, I wasn’t totally calm but, in fact, the interview was pretty much as Pat had described it. We chatted like old friends, just sitting around and talking. Click here to listen to the interview.
As soon as the interview was over, we hopped in the car and headed out. I had just 30 minutes until my appointment with a periodontist; he was going to discover whether I had a cracked root. If that were the case, the tooth would have to be extracted and I would have to grow bone until I could have an implant installed; none of this sounded like fun. I had dreaded the interview and the appointment in equal measure. But the interview was over, and I felt good about it. An hour later, I knew the root was not cracked. This day that I’d dreaded had turned out so much better than I had expected.
