Good Anxiety.

The title of this blog will be weird for some people I know. My darling wife has anxieties, mostly about public speaking, but all based upon public embarrassment. There is nothing good about her experience of anxiety. A friend of mine who loves to play music gets panic attacks. One of my sisters spends large amounts of her life with a feeling of undefinable anxiety. But this last Monday I had the opportunity to play a gig with my band, Sam's Cross, for the first time in nearly a year, and felt the good anxiety again.

The good anxiety is a feeling of your nervous system at a higher level, a feeling of being excited and alive, taking risks to achieve something really worthwhile. I have on several occasions made a complete arse of myself on stage, and that piercing feeling of failure and shame is not something quickly forgotten. But that very risk adds to the feeling of joy when you do well, particularly when what you are doing makes people happy.

The gig in question occurred in the basement bar that a guy named Bill had built for himself in the house that he grew up in. The bar actually is in the exact same part of the house as his bed when he was a boy. On Mondays this bar is open to friends, and friends of friends, and one of our band members is at least a friend of a friend. In fact, this is a public house in the very original sense of the word, supported by donations, policed simply by the people in the bar, and a very nice place it is too.

The last time the band played we had a drummer and a banjo player, both who have gone from the band, one quitting and one being ousted for not showing up. They have been replaced by an accordion player, and this was therefore her first gig with us. The nervousness therefore is not simply for myself, but for others as well. Those who have played sports, or sailed a ship, or been part of any group that has to work together is aware of the connection and fondness that develops within a group (if it goes well) but I submit that nothing builds that bond more than a band. In a song everyone in the band relies on everyone else completely, and at every moment throughout the song. Everyone must share a feeling, a rhythm, everyone shares the telling of a story. If it falls apart everyone shares the shame ("Play something you know" has been yelled at me on stage) but if it works everyone shares in the explosion of applause that washes over you and makes everything feel good.

So, that moment before the first song, looking out over a crowd of strangers and a few special friends is a glorious one for me, it is the best of life about to happen. As a result, for the last week I have felt somehow more complete as a human being, a feeling of correctness. Is this the thing that I'm supposed to do? Probably. So I should get off me arse and practice some more.