People tend to believe that good communication is about knowing what you want to say. And that is certainly an important step. If you’re not clear on the message, it’ll be hard to deliver it. But this is only one step in successful communication.

I’ve heard others say that good communication is about listening. I understand the point of this statement, and it makes for a great Facebook meme. But once I know the What of my message, I hardly think listening would be the next step.

No. The next step after What is How. And this is where a lot of communication goes awry. We see things the way we see them, and we forget that the view, language, and experience is always different from another angle. That angle could be influenced by your past experiences, or your personal priorities, how you interpret certain words, or a myriad of other variables. And from that standpoint, no perspective is wrong. They’re just different.

Nothing drove this home for me more than my experiences practicing in bands. And when I began to apply a similar approach to the messages of my craft and business, it was equally beneficial. Before we get to that, though, imagine this scenario during a band rehearsal:

Drummer:  Let’s go back to the part where I go (swings arms around wildly) bap-bu-bee-boo, taka-taka-tee, taka-taka-tee.

Rhythm Guitarist: You mean the section where I’m strumming on the upbeats?

Keyboardist: No. Where I play that string pad for eight measures, right?

Drummer: No, the part where I go (swings arms around wildly again) bap-bu-bee-boo, taka-taka-tee, taka-taka-tee.

Singer: You mean, when I sing “Ooh baby” twice?

Drummer: No. This part. Taka-taka-tee, taka-taka-tee.

Rhythm Guitarist: Right! Where I’m strumming on the upbeats.

Lead Guitarist: Just before the solo at the bridge?

Drummer: No. This part. Taka-taka-tee, taka-taka-tee.

Singer: Oh! I know what you mean. When I’m riffing on the word “looooove!”

Drummer: No! I quit! (starts taking down his set).

This is an exaggerated interaction, but only a little.

The problem in this scenario is that everyone understands the song from the perspective of their own experience with it. None of them is aware enough of the other members’ perspectives to be able to communicate productively. If the drummer knew what his bandmates were doing at the place in the song he wanted to practice, he’d have been able to easily communicate what he wanted.

The same goes for your craft, whatever it may be. If you have a great idea for a song, choosing the best lyrics and structuring them in a way that will be understood and memorable for the listener isn’t “selling out to the capitalist complex.” It’s putting your great message into a format where it’ll best be received. Isn’t that the point of having a message?

I often get pushback from creative folks who “don’t want to ruin their art by learning music theory.” But the reality is, Western music theory is ingrained in our culture. Our ears already know what it sounds like, training or not. You can innovate inside it, but everyone will know if you do it straight-up wrong. It’s like saying, I don’t want to ruin my writing by learning the alphabet. It’s silliness. But I’ve gotten a little off-track.

Changing how you communicate so you can be understood by someone who doesn’t think like you is not giving in or selling out. It’s being a good communicator. Which means, a well-delivered message will change according to circumstances.

If I want to help a singer who is very religious open up and let loose, I’ll tell him to spread his arms, look upward, and sing to God. If I want the same from an atheist singer who loves being out in nature, I’ll tell her to imagine she’s standing at the rocky summit of a mountain she just climbed and sing to the glorious setting sun. I don’t do this because I’m two-faced about religious convictions. I do it because good communication isn’t about me. It’s about the person I’m communicating to.

So the next time you get frustrated by someone who doesn’t understand you, ask yourself, “Am I being like that drummer Judy wrote about?” Then, instead of examining your message (or giving up), examine the receiver. And learn that person’s language.

I’d love to hear your thoughts…

After performance anxiety and imposter syndrome, the next top hurdle between many folks and their ability to perform confidently in life is being a social chameleon.

The term social chameleon refers to a person who unconsciously adapts traits, actions, opinions, etc. to fit whatever environment they find themselves in – the way a chameleon changes its colors to fit its environment. Like all traits, there are benefits and drawbacks to being this way. You can both do better in group dynamics than others but lose yourself in a way that they don’t because you’re not being who you are. On top of that, there’s something very important to understand about the social chameleon.

The chameleon isn’t just social.

I completely wasted my twenties. Not with fun things, like partying too much. I wasted it by being everyone’s perfect chameleon. Sometimes proudly so.

A person wasting her twenties isn’t unusual. The twenties are when we test out our first prototype of the person we think we want to be. We’re working entirely on hypotheses with no actual data to support our suppositions. It’s our first shot at learning who we are.

Part of learning who we are is learning how we fit into the world. Social chameleons fit pretty well, or at least are good at pretending to, because they adapt so easily. But in my twenties, my chameleon also came out in two very important and intimate areas of my life:

My dreams and my relationships.

My chameleon heard a relative say, “But don’t you want to get a real job?” and she thought, “Well a master’s degree could lead to a pretty respectable career. I think I want to go to grad school.” And I did, despite not wanting a “real” job.

My chameleon heard my boyfriend say, “We should get married,” and she thought, “He’ll be so disappointed and hurt if I say no. I guess I want to get married.” And I did, despite not being anything close to ready for marriage.

I was good at fitting in when I wanted to, and this helped me avoid a lot of real-time discomfort. Yet, I repeatedly allowed my adaptation skills to determine the trajectory of my life, which led to much future discomfort. The chameleon taken to this extreme is a kind of performance anxiety. How other people feel about your performance in life becomes more important than how you feel, in part because you fear the discomfort of an audience that won’t clap.

Between my performance anxiety, imposter syndrome, and chameleon tendencies, my twenties became an endless barrage of what my ex-husband would have called revving the gas in neutral. I worked, stressed, and racked up debt for a life I didn’t want. With each chameleon action implemented, I sank a little deeper into a pit of depression and invisibility.

Wow. Sounds pretty bad, huh?

But here’s the amazing part. We each have a person inside us, our real selves. This person knows who we are and what we need. And they are waiting to be set free, one way or another. When I look at pictures of myself from my twenties, I can see that confident person in there, not yet ready to step forward but there. And I feel sympathy for her that she had no one in her life to see what was happening and help her find a way out.

She did step forward when the time was right.

It took much more time than is desirable, but I suppose it was inevitable. The outer me had become so numb and broken that the real me sort of leached through to the surface. One day, without knowing it was coming, I heard myself say to my now ex-husband, “I need to take a break.”

That person inside me saved us both. That was the day I hopped off the wrong path and began building the confidence and sense of deservedness necessary to put myself before my audience. That’s the key.

You before your audience.

This is why I do what I do today. Because I want to be for others what I didn’t have for myself.

And here’s an interesting side note. That family member who thought I needed a “real” job ended up clapping for me years later (metaphorically speaking) once I found my way.

Performance anxiety, imposter syndrome, and the chameleon have a way of teaming up and supporting each other as they throw us and our lives off the rails. No matter what measurement of each you see in your life, all three should be managed if they’re there at all.

So, tell me. Do you have chameleon tendencies?

There’s an easy way to check in and see. The next time you’re about to share a thought, idea, or update on your life, etc… ask yourself, “Am I about to say what’s true for me or what I think the person listening wants to hear?”

I promise you, it’s never too late to be who you really are.

Let me know your thoughts.

My last post was the first in a three-post series discussing three common demons that get in the way between us and our best everyday performances in life. In this post, I want to talk about imposter syndrome. I’ll start by sharing my personal dance with demon number two.

My path toward a life of music started when Boyd Bennett came to visit my kindergarten class to teach us about brass instruments. He and his brother owned the local music school, Bennett Conservatory, in Croton-on-Hudson, NY. At the young age of five, I was already someone who liked things that were different. Because of that, I decided I wanted to play the trombone. It was the only instrument with a slide instead of valves.

Music came easily for me. I had my first live performance at age six, when I played When the Saints Go Marching In on the trombone at a Bennett Conservatory recital.

I so wish I had a picture of that.

Over my school-aged years, I auditioned and got into many all-county and all-state bands, once performing a solo at the beginning of a piece while standing out in front of the orchestra.

While in high school, my middle school music teacher, Mr. Godfrey, would take me with him to the elementary school to help new music students learn to play.

In college, I was a composition student, but my primary instrument was piano. This meant having to pass four piano juries and four composition juries, all critiqued by the appropriate professors in those fields.

I share these details not to impress (or bore) you, but to make an important point that perhaps you can relate to.

Despite these and other successful experiences under my belt, I went out into the world feeling like a complete music imposter.

That’s what people with imposter syndrome do.

“Imposters” routinely discount any accomplishments they’ve achieved or give the credit for their successes to others or outside factors. Imposters overwork to make up for their perceived inadequacies and when their work is well-received, believe that it’s a result of luck or oversight on the part of those giving accolades. And most stressful of all, “imposters” live with a fear of one day being discovered for the frauds they really are.

And so it was for me. It didn’t matter how many musical successes I had, or how quickly I could learn new musical things. In cover bands with musicians who were self-taught and couldn’t speak the language of music theory, I still felt like a fraud.

Now part of this is gender related. Imposter syndrome is enhanced by low expectations and cultural messaging that you “cannot” be good at something. That means it’s a little more prevalent in women and minorities. But it still afflicts more than 70% of all people.

Like every topic in this blog series, there are too many variables to specifically address your personal experience as an “imposter.” As with every personal growth goal, layers have to be peeled away by examining the messaging you grew up with, your past experiences, etc… This is best achieved by working with a coach. But I want to leave you with some tools to think out imposter syndrome, in case you can relate to what I’ve talked about so far.

So, here are some thoughts to consider as you work toward imposter syndrome management:

• Talk about it. Since imposter syndrome is so common, you may find that people you feel intimidated by are also experiencing it. Sharing can greatly lighten the emotional load.
• Get feedback from someone you trust. The worst feedback isn’t negative feedback. It’s no feedback. For many “imposters,” that gives license to assuming the worst. Positive feedback tells you you’re doing great. Constructive criticism makes it clear how you can do better. Both stop the imposter mind from messing with you.
• Out your secret shame. Think of an event or events that took place in your past, possibly something you’ve labeled a “failure,” that you have up until now not wanted others to know about. It should be something that flares your imposter’s shame and that you’ve viewed as proof you’re a fraud. If something comes to mind, out yourself about it. Tell someone or many people. You’ll find that it doesn’t define you the way you thought it did (meaning, other people won’t care) and it will lose its power over you.

Living with imposter syndrome can be exhausting and painful. Learn to manage it however you can. Let me know your thoughts…

This post is the first in a three-post series, covering the most prevalent culprits that stand between people and their best-performing selves. I have dealt with all three to varying degrees and at various times in my life. So have many others, maybe including you. They are performance anxiety, imposter syndrome, and the social chameleon.

For now, I want to talk about performance anxiety, since it is the mother of all demons standing between you and your best everyday performances.

And notice I say everyday performances. Not just artistic or business presentations. I’ll tell you what I mean by that, but first, a little about my dance with this demon.

When I was a kid, a had a crappy little tape recorder. Yes. That’s how old I am. I loved singing in my bedroom and had a rich fantasy life where I owned a theater that produced musicals using the latest pop hits. I’d listen to the radio and when each next hit from one of my “musicals” came on, I would “practice” that “scene.”

One day, I decided I wanted to record myself singing one of these songs on my crappy little recorder. I practiced the song over and over again until I felt ready. Then I hit record. Immediately, my throat clenched up, my voice squeaked, and I could no longer remember the words.

Welcome to the world of performance anxiety.

Nothing changed regarding my ability when I hit that button. All that changed was the knowledge that I was being recorded. It triggered my fear of stinking at things that are important to me.

So what, if you didn’t like it? you may ask. Couldn’t you just delete it and try again?

Well, sure. That’s logical. But anxiety isn’t. Besides, it wasn’t just a fear of other people thinking I stink at singing. It was a fear of me finding out I stink at singing. A recording would be proof!

Now, if you’re saying to yourself, “This has nothing to do with me. I’m not a singer,” hang in there. I’m getting to you…

This performance anxiety followed me into my musical adulthood. There’s no nice way to describe it. As a singer and keyboardist in the cover band world, my performance anxiety made me an asshole to myself.

For days leading up to a gig, I was an impatient stress-case who hated how I looked and who was getting a cold. I mean it. I got a cold every time. I wasn’t faking it. The symptoms really came.

At my early performances, I would start the first set being the semblance of a normal performer. But with each little mistake, which to me were all huge and boldly telegraphed to the room, I would turn down the volume on my keyboard. Some nights, I’m not sure anyone could hear me at all by the end of the third set. Then I’d go home, and instead of sleeping, I’d rehash all the ways I had been inadequate at the gig.

See? I was an asshole.

Honestly, I don’t know why I kept gigging. But fortunately, I did. And over time, I learned to work through it all. I promise anyone reading this that you, too, can learn to work through it (even if you’re not a singer – still getting to you!). The things I learned to help myself manage that anxiety became the methods and tools I use to coach others to more confident performances today.

But how does all this pertain to you? Especially if you’re not a performer (finally, we’re here!)?

All the world’s a stage. So said Shakespeare, anyway, and he was right. But it’s not just that we’re born, play our role, and then make an exit. It’s because most everything we do is a performance. Giving a speech. Being interviewed for a job. Asking someone on a date. Saying how we really feel when we know it’ll disappoint someone. These are all kinds of performances.

As with music, I struggled with everyday performances like these well into my thirties. Believe it or not, the music performances were sometimes easier to deal with. After all, they were rehearsed, and I had tools on stage (aka, cheat sheets) when I needed. But put me in a real-time situation where I needed to tell someone intimidating what I charged, or a guy I was dating that I wasn’t that into him, and I really struggled. No lie, I went on quite a few dates I didn’t want to go on because I couldn’t just say, “Yeah, no. Thanks.” And these are the small but oh so important things that a life is made up of. If you rack up enough of these seemingly inconsequential moments, it becomes a whole lot of not my life.

The majority of the most important performances in our lives barely register as a thing. And most are unscripted.

Imagine being out to dinner with a friend and she runs into someone big in the field you’re trying to break into. She introduces you. Lights, camera, action!

Or you find yourself in a situation where you need to stand up for yourself. Or set a boundary with a loved one. Or correct an important misunderstanding about something that happened at work. All of these are important everyday performances where you want to keep your head and communicate clearly and concisely. People with performance anxiety can struggle with any of these situations.

If everything is a performance, you may ask, why doesn’t everything I do trigger my performance anxiety?

That’s a great question. Thanks for asking! Something has to be at stake. Your reputation. Your self-worth. Your emotional or physical safety. Something important to you must be at risk.

If this resonates with you, the natural next question is, “What do I do about it?”

Improved performance skills don’t come about from reading one blog post. They develop over time as you practice performing. One way to accomplish that is to join forces with an experienced performance coach (I can recommend one!).

Meanwhile, below are some tips to get you started in the right direction whether or not you go the performance coach route. Start incorporating them into your everyday performances, and you’ll watch those performances become better and better.

• Confident performance always begins with the messages your body is sending to both your brain and your audience. Control the messages by relaxing your shoulders, slowing down, breathing deep, cracking a smile, if it’s appropriate. Basically, hold your body the way you would if you were feeling relaxed and confident.
• When your mind goes to a place of panic, ground yourself. Noticing your points of contact is the fastest way to do this. How do your feet feel against the floor? How does your bottom and back feel against your chair? Grounding yourself will hold you in the present.
• Jettison any concern about the other person or people liking you. Even at a job interview, the only thing that matters is communicating your message. How it’s received is out of your hands, and wasting valuable mental energy worrying about that detracts from the power of your message. Focus on the message, not their feelings.
• Similarly, don’t put too much stock into any performance. Your life never hinges on any one performance. I swear.
• Don’t sugarcoat, pad, or apologize for your viewpoint. All of those things come across as wavering and uncertainty. Just say what you mean without disclaimers or too much explanation.
• Approach any everyday performance as an opportunity to practice performing better. Performance is a skill that needs to be practiced, like every other skill. Note what went well and what needed improving and then apply that information to your next performance.

There is so much more to confidently executing your everyday performances. For example, to unabashedly speak your truth, you have to get clear about what your truth is. But that’s for another post. Meanwhile, I hope these tips help. Break a leg!