I Think I Can . . .

                That familiar motto from The Little Engine that Could was chugging through my mind as I approached the piano at the Hunterdon Hills Playhouse for my first ever piano recital.  I've played piano for many years but never really mastered it in large part because I’m terrified to play in front of people.  When I was a child, I talked my way out of a recital every year, telling my piano teacher that we were going to be away that day.  It sounds clever, except for the fact that she lived down the street from us so she knew our comings and goings.  She was very kind, though, so she never pushed me.  I think she knew that if I were going to really overcome my fear, I’d have to push myself; I’d have to want to conquer that fear, and I’d have to think I can. 

                I have a personal theory that every one of us can accomplish anything if we really want to.  My theory isn't found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (that I know of), and it’s not the philosophy of some great mind who died a long time ago.  It’s a theory based on my own experiences, my observations of others, and my belief that we’re all created in the image and likeness of God.  Now, before you write my bishop, I‘m not claiming that we’re gods.  We’re not.  But I am saying that God has given us tremendous talents and resources to make us happy.  He wants us to use these talents to create his Kingdom here on earth.  Now that’s a pretty tall order, so he must have given us a lot of talent and a lot of ability.  And he did.  I've seen my theory proven true over and over again because I've seen so many people do extraordinary things. 

                But I've also seen a lot of people fail at what they set out to do out of fear – fear of failure.  It seems strange that being afraid to fail can actually lead to failure.  When we allow our fears to get the best of us, we just give up, out of fear, and we fail.  It’s amazing how much we let fear govern our lives.  How often do we say, “I’m not good at that,” or “I can’t?”  That’s fear talking.  I love music, but I've allowed my fears to keep me from enjoying it as much as I could.  I allow my fears to limit my happiness.

    

It’s even stranger, though, that repeated failures are the building blocks of great successes.  We all know the countless adages that encourage us to keep trying:  “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again;” “Practice makes perfect;”  “Wash, rinse, repeat!”  Talents have to be developed; we have to practice them; we have to grow into them.  Whether it’s playing a musical instrument, painting, playing a sport or even shampooing our hair, if we really want to do it, we have to keep trying.  We have to choose to not let fear control us.  We have to think we can.

                The route from my chair to the piano seemed like the longest walk I’d ever taken.  My heart was pounding in my chest like it wanted to get out and run for the hills.  I would've readily followed it.  As I reached the front of the room, a loud murmuring rose from the audience.  They recognized me!  About 80 percent of the audience was made up of parishioners, and they were very surprised to see me parking my caboose on the piano bench.  Anonymity was not an option.  The success or failure of my performance would be very public.  But as I neared the piano, my teacher said, “Smile!”  That’s exactly what I needed to hear.  That one word made me chuckle.  It made me realize that Western civilization would neither rise nor fall on the outcome of my performance.  It made me wonder why a 48 year old man who stands in front of hundreds of people every week without fear is worried about playing a simple piano piece for a few friends.  I sat down, tuned them all out, and played.  It went well; I made one little mistake but, mercifully, it actually fit the tune of the song.  Most importantly, I was very happy with my performance.  A lot of hard work went into that little piece.  I have a wonderfully patient teacher, and I practiced a lot.  But in the end what got me through was that I thought I could.