Two weeks ago, I was performing with my jazz band, Nancy Tierney & The Boys, at a cozy dinner joint called Lydia’s in Stone Ridge, New York. We were sold out. The restaurant was turning people away at the door because they were at capacity.
What a thrill! Every musician’s fantasy. A sold-out room.
While I don’t normally get crazy nervous before gigs (not anymore), this one was different. I’d created a new, 2-set show that was full of new material and new songs held together by an unusual pre-Valentine’s Day theme. In other words, my band and I were riding just outside our comfort zone and feeling a bit unstable as a result.
Admittedly, the first set was rough. Mistakes were made. I wasn’t singing all that well. But the audience seemed to be having a great time. Eating, talking, clapping, and schmoozing with one another. By the second set, the band and I were really swinging, in the groove, feeling free and making some great music.
Until… I started coughing. Right in the middle of the song, “Downtown.”
I got through the first chorus, but as I started to sing the second, I felt a tickle in my throat. I turned my head, let myself have a quiet, clear-the-throat kind of cough. That tiny cough set off a series of coughs and then a throat-clenching hack I couldn’t control.
The audience perked up, leaned in and seemed to be sitting on the edge of their seats. An electricity of alertness and anticipation filled the air. My band kept playing. My guitar player looked at me, wide-eyed, and asked under his breath, “Are you okay?” I nodded, tears starting to run down my cheeks as I reached for the glass of water sitting on a table next to me. After a few sips, I put the mic back up to my mouth and started to sing again with a raspy, half-voice whisper.
“The lights are much brighter there,
You can forget all your worries, forget all your cares
And …”
And then the coughing started again! I pulled the mic away from me and let the band play on. Except this time, the audience took over. They all started singing for me:
“Downtown! Where all the lights are bright!
Downtown! Waiting for you tonight!
Downtown… It’s going to be all right now.”
Strong, in-tune, confident and joyful, my audience sang the chorus while I encouraged them by waving my arms in a “come on, come on, keep it up” motion. By the final chorus, I’d regained enough of my voice to join them and we finished together. The applause was immediate, loud and wild! I applauded them. They applauded me. We were all laughing, smiling and having the best time.
At the end of the night, my band mates said, “Wow, you should start coughing in the middle of a song more often. That was great!”
As professionals, as entrepreneurs and even as human beings, we spend so much time, effort, thought, and focus trying to not make mistakes. We lose sleep worrying about the disasters that may or may not happen. We prepare, practice, over-rehearse, work hard, get advice, revise, re-do, get more advice… because we want to do our best, for sure.
But also because we’re terrified of messing up. Of being caught off guard. Of not being in control. Of making a fool of ourselves.
Sometimes, we’re so afraid of making mistakes or screwing up, we don’t even try to take the smallest step towards something new. Something exciting, but scary. We’d rather stay stuck in the same-old, same-old than make a bold move forward and risk falling flat on our face.
Which is stupid.
Because chances are you’ll fall on your face eventually whether you make that bold move or not. Mistakes happen. Problems arise. The unexpected always occurs. And you will mess up.
Which is good news!
Because in my experience, as a singer, performer and as a business owner, it’s the unexpected, unplanned and fall-on-your-face mistakes that create the greatest opportunities for you to connect with your audience, with your clients. For in those moments when something goes askew, you can let go of your tight agenda and your got-my-stuff-together persona and just be a person hanging out with other people, sharing an experience together.
Perfection is not only boring, it creates distance, distrust and separation. Because no one can relate to it.
If I could go back to that gig 2 weeks ago and sing the song “Downtown” perfectly, without coughing, would I?
You betcha. My ego and my singer-self would much prefer a perfect-performance scenario.
But the truth is… a perfect performance would never have been as engaging, entertaining or as fun for my audience as my cough-filled, train-wreck of a performance. Nor would we have had those sweet moments of singing together, clapping for each other and coming together as a chorus, a community.
You just can’t plan that stuff! You can try, but it’s the aliveness, the quickening of energy, the “what’s going to happen” anticipation of something going off the rails that makes it so powerful, exciting and engaging. For both you and your audience.
So, if you forget what you meant to say, or your PowerPoint presentation gets all fouled up, or you lose your place in your webinar script, or you send an email with three glaring typos, stop seeing these things as mistakes. They’re not mistakes.
They’re lovely little cracks in the wall that separates you from your peeps. They’re sweet invitations for you to step out of your “I’m the expert” costume, put on your play clothes and roll around in the dirt with your clients so you can make mud pies together.
The trick is to go with what is happening rather than contract, cut off and try to control what’s clearly out of your control. Open to the crazy spontaneity of the moment. Let “what is” guide you. Take your hands off the safety bar, throw them up in the air and silently scream a big “Wheeee!” as the roller coaster of the unexpected takes you and your audience for a ride.
How you respond to supposed mistakes and mishaps is what matters. Not the mistake or mishaps itself. If I had freaked out, shut down or walked off stage during my coughing fit, I would have lost my audience entirely. If I’d cursed myself, felt ashamed or even apologized, the fun, levity, and magic of the moment would have been completely lost. And everyone would have felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.
So, the next time you make a mistake or something goes all catawampus, remember… mistakes and mishaps are life’s funny way of inviting you into what’s really important. Because flawlessly delivering information, remembering to say all the right things, creating the perfect pitch, publishing a mistake-free ezine… none of that matters. Not to your clients. Not to the success of your business.
What does matter is your ability to create and sustain a real, raw, authentic connection with those you serve. A connection they can trust. A connection that allows them to feel seen, heard and included.
And sometimes, your biggest, badest, ugliest mistake, the one you fear the most, is the magic ingredient that creates and completes that connection. If you let it.
What mistake have you made recently that you tried to cover up?
When was the last time you made a huge blunder and then had a big belly laugh while telling the world about it?
What is the one mistake or possibility you fear most?
Tell me. Leave a comment below and tell me.