The Hardest Audience Is The One That Knows You
If you've ever had to prove yourself to the people who already think they know you, this one is for you.
This week I’m performing for my community. My peers. And it feels completely different than performing for strangers.
When I’m hired to perform it’s usually at a theater, or representing some organization, or playing a special event. There’s a personal element that gets removed. The stakes feel lower.
This week the stakes feel higher. Much higher.
Because these people don’t know me as a professional performer. They know me as volleyball mom. Dog park lady. Dance fitness instructor. The woman who always has “play practice.”
I used to get annoyed when people asked how “play practice” was going instead of rehearsal. Now I’m trying to see it as a badge of honor. How many people get to do at 49 what they loved doing at eight?
A few of my literal neighbors are coming. The ones curious about why they hear so much singing from my house. My son’s volleyball team parents. My voice students’ families. My dental hygienist, who I asked while her hands were in my mouth. A huge group of women bringing their reluctant husbands who will inevitably find themselves moved by the end. Just a whole bunch of people from our community who bought tickets.
And I really, really want to show them what I’ve got.
The Freeze
Here’s what’s been happening though. I’ve started freezing up over learning my lyrics. It might be an age thing. It might be anxiety. There’s a lot going on in my family life right now and it’s creating a low, who am I kidding, a mid-level roar of anxiety underneath everything.
So what do I do with that?
I turn to old school techniques I learned in my training and teach my students. Because artistic growth often hides in the smallest details and true mastery emerges when you go one step beyond the obvious thing.
When I walk the dog I recite lyrics like Shakespearean monologues. Exploring the story arc within a single song, experimenting with pacing and emotional beats, often in a whisper. This intimate practice lets me mold to the work rather than forcing the work to conform to me. It connects the lyrics to the brain and the body simultaneously. And honestly this applies to anything you want to elevate, a speech, a presentation, a difficult conversation.
The artistry lives in the seemingly insignificant choices.
The Stanislavsky Part
This is where my acting training becomes surprisingly useful beyond the stage. The same techniques I studied with masters like Uta Hagen and Sanford Meisner, breaking performance into beats, clarifying intentions, selecting precise tactics, can transform virtually any profession.
Are you a Pilates teacher? How do you walk into the room? Are you intending calm focused confidence or light hearted whimsy? Both are valid. Both yield completely different results. Most instructors of any kind never think about this. It’s an opportunity of artistry missed every single week.
Here’s how I’m applying it to my opening beat at this concert:
My intention: set the tone of community, family, connection, local roots.
My action: my eighteen year old son, confident and well spoken, will introduce me.
My tactic: I’ve worked with him to craft a welcome that’s not too rehearsed and not too off the cuff. Balanced between improvisational and focused.
He’ll introduce me. The band strikes up. Audience claps. I hug him as he hands me the microphone and exits. I take the stage.
One well thought out beat. Intention, action, tactic, result. Audience warmth. Enough for them to lean in and invest.
If a formal organization hired me for this concert I would need to be fully memorized. So if I’m hiring myself, well. Same rules apply.
I can do it. Everything takes more time when you’re older. More time to heal. More time to get out of bed. More time to memorize.
Better get to it. Two more days and then it’s showtime.
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