A Sense of Loss

It's never an easy thing to realize that maybe you aren't as talented as you thought. But the more difficult thing to respond to is the need to lay down your talent as a mere distraction from your real purpose.

I'm facing this a bit in my own life of late, mostly in terms of music. And I have to admit that coming to terms with my situation has been particularly painful.

A part of me has always fantasized that my music would lead to a life of performing. I've never actually tried to pursue this dream, of course. But in spite of myself, just the opportunity to perform inspires endless visions of touring and being recognized.

The fantasy absolutely contains a certain amount of arrogance, as well. I find myself measuring myself against other performers, with myself always coming out on top. It's like I can't enjoy the talents of others. I always feel like I'm the one who should be up there playing and singing and being seen.

I guess that's why when moments like this past Friday come along, I feel so crushed. Because when reality and fantasy come face to face, I find myself confronted with the fact that perhaps I need to move on and leave whimsy behind.

As I took the stage at the church coffehouse, I was filled with my pride. I was so certain that I could deliver a performance at least as rich as the woman who preceded me, and command the room with my presence. It never occurred to me that I could deliver anything less than perfection.

Yet right from the beginning I was plagued by difficulty. First the battery in my guitar died, which in and of itself I should have taken as a sign, seeing as I had been called so far away from performing that I didn't even remember that I had a five-year-old battery in my instrument. Then after I worked out that difficulty, I begin playing and did very well at first. But by the time I finished, I found myself barely able to sing, largely because I had drunk too much coffee. And by the time I finished, I basically slunk off knowing that I was no where near as good as the others in the room.

Was I being too hard on myself? Perhaps. People liked what I did and complimented me, after all. So I couldn't have been as horrible as I thought I was. But still, it irked me to realize that I wasn't as good as a professional. I wanted desperately to find my way back to the stage and to somehow redeem myself. And it took all of myself to fight off the urge and walk away unfulfilled.

That walking away part was just terrible for me. I felt incomplete and adrift. And in that moment I was forced to contemplate the fact that maybe all this was a sign. Maybe this awful feeling was a clear communication that I should turn away from such things — that anything that left me feeling so wretched was not good for my soul.

But it's so hard to accept. I simply don't want to make another sacrifice in my life. It cuts to the heart of one of my core issues with faith these days. I feel like my faith has led me to too much sacrifice and compromise already.

I put up with pain and sorrow and submission out of belief that God's hand is guiding me to some greater understanding. But what if it's not the case? What if it isn't true and there is no benevolent Creator? Then all my self-sacrifice has meant nothing.

And so I wrestle. And wonder when the losses will end and the joy will return. And whether that end will be in God's arms, or somewhere else. I wish I knew.