I believe in anxiety, that is, I believe it is okay to be anxious, to embrace anxiety and squeeze the power from it. I have learned that painful uneasiness pushes me to perform. For all manner of things even remotely within my sphere of influence, anxiety has proven to be rocket fuel for my soul.
I was once self conscious of my anxiety. I would rarely confess it to anyone else, for I thought to be at all troubled was to be weak. The first time I learned that performance anxiety was not my own issue was when I shared my fear with a preacher. He sat me down on the edge of the stage and patted my shoulder. “Mark, if I were ever to take that pulpit and not be a little queasy, I’d flop.” It was a revelation to me. This man seemed so very charismatic, so large and in charge, so natural from the microphone (authentic, just like at that moment on the steps). He seemed strong and courageous, like there was nothing he could not talk about intelligently and forcefully.
I began to watch him closely. I started to notice the fidgeting leg as he sat waiting to take the pulpit after the choir. I watched him in his rituals, just like a major league ball player. First he would lay his bible on the pulpit, then smile at the crowd, then stroke the cover with an open palm. Every week he would do this same thing, and I could tell that somewhere in that ritual, he was finding his energy to combat his anxieties.
In college, it took me a while to harness the power of anxiety. I would flit from class to class, assignment to assignment, willy-nilly. I would never grapple with a calendar, what was due when…instead; I would constantly be surprised by deadlines, overwhelmed with homework. I would pull all-nighters and turn work in late. (This did, I suppose, help me with creativity, for I was able to manufacture some of the best excuses for late work I have ever heard!)
Finally, in my fifth year of college, I became an adrenaline junkie. I was doing my “teaching block” in a public school, and I had to ride the wave of anxiety daily. It would crest when I went into the classroom, and like my preacher, I had to grab it and pin it down for myself. I was able to learn to turn anxiousness to enthusiasm. Sure, I never knew how a class period would work out, and yes, some flopped. What happened, though, was that I was able to convert dread into power, failure into motive to do better.
Overtime, I became Mr. J, a persona of wild passion and caustic wit. I excised my anxiety by moving and by channeling it into charismatic delivery. I really have been able to burn white hot in class, and that’s likely why every day after class, I am exhausted.
