And how she relinquished perfection… kind of.

Once upon a time, on a frigid, scant-of-sunlight Fall day in Berlin, one high-achieving, princess-in-a-bubble type made it through her fullest day of the week at the elementary school where she assists in the English learning of 10-13 year olds. 

They could not care less about their nearness to someone who could offer them so much in regards to their English language experience. Much in the vein of the makeover in My Fair Lady is her English spoken with the consistent, articulate timbre of a soon-to-be opera singer with the elocution of a diplomat. 

It would help them with their own ear for the language, but she has to speak to them in German anyway, because they pretend not to hear her when she speaks to them in English.

No matter. After her day of back-to-back classes, she was due for her weekly voice lesson.

Thus she promptly stuffed herself, along with the other dozens of commuters at her stop, onto the most convenient public transport option available towards her mentor’s private studio. Like sardines into a tin.

On the bus at last, with hardly air to breath or any room to move, she was on her way to gain all the inspiration and motivation she needed to devote herself to her truest purpose. 

The prima donna had had a long day, but she was ready to work on herself. 

After a bus ride that took way longer than it had ought to, she made it into the studio and shed her many outer layers. She got herself comfortable while waiting for her colleague to finish from the lesson prior. 

Everyone runs late in the city, apparently, largely on account of the public transport, which was very new for her.

When it was finally her time to enter the sacred space, a nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her of all the things she could have done differently in the day. Without having practiced that week, she had a vague fear that she didn’t belong in the studio at all.

What kind of a musician makes progress without practice?

This same voice occurs to her in moments of self doubt or mediocrity, and she typically reminds herself that she chooses her path, everyday, and she is in control of her future, not her lame, whiny thoughts. 

On this day, the stresses of this new city life were adding up to be too much.

She was usually perfectly punctual and properly manicured, seen in her favorite shoes alongside something pink or sparkly. 

These days, she had merely the couple of sweaters and pairs of jeans that she brought with her, while the remarkable shoes and A-lines of her beloved treasure trove were all under the careful watch of her stylist, back home in the US.

So she wore the same sweater as she had the day before, and the day before that. 

But what does an outfit have to do with showing up to a voice lesson?

Maybe it doesn’t. 

But she was out of her element. 

No longer in the confines of the structure of school dictating her schedule, her practice flew out of the window. 

She was not any closer to mastering any of the skills she had been working on. Her biggest fear was that her teacher would call her out on it and impart discouraging words, that Bentley really wasn’t set up to be as successful as she had always dreamed.

~

So the lesson began, with warming up the voice and vocalizing to the heavens.

“Look to the Staatsoper! Sing to Santa Fe!” Her teacher encouraged, gesturing to her posters of the acclaimed opera houses hanging high on the wall of the studio.

Only, Bentley had trouble seeing herself onstage in these places. 

She was having trouble visualizing anything about her future since moving to Berlin. 

Everyday was a threat to her mental standing, and she questioned why she had even moved across the world, so far away from her normal in the first place. 

“What did that feel like?” Her trusting, guiding, faultless mentor asked.

And when Bentley thought about the sensation that arose as she was singing just moments before, no words came.

They stared at each other in silence. Bentley felt the pang of something sickly.

Nausea. Dread. Anxiety. 

Like all the hope in the world could not lift her out of the pit she had fallen into.

The only word that came to her mind was one she did not dare utter. Especially not about herself.

“I don’t know.” She finally responded. 

Her teacher smiled and assured her they would figure it out together. 

But the uncertainty and inability to shake the overwhelming sensation of doom was not conducive to much more work, but she showed up, so she had to sing.

They moved over to the mirror to look at all the moving parts as they worked.

Breathe in a joyful surprise. The breath comes from the lowest part of the lungs and your lower belly puffs out. The upper jaw moves away from the lower jaw. The vibrato is focused through the hard palate, reverberating through the masque. Does that make sense to you? Sustain the. breath. It’s that easy! You already know how to sing. We are fine tuning your truest voice together. Sing to the opera house. Tilt your head down. You forgot to breathe. Try again. Sing the note higher. Try again.

“This is not going well for me.” Bentley blurted out. She felt defeated. Nothing was physically aligning, even if her brain knew what it was supposed to do. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room as her teacher stared at her.

“Why would you say that?” Her teacher questioned, appalled. 

Bentley had no idea what to say. She had a sense of guilt and saw her fear coming true before her eyes.

“No, I am asking, what would make you say that? Do you expect to come in here and be perfect?” She implored.

Perfect.

Bentley knew better. Perfect was not real. 

It was a fleeting construct. 

It was her favorite color. And the sunset on her evening bike ride, and a dance party with her best friends, and making breakfast in the morning with Prince Charming, and having a coffee watching the clouds go by after. Every dress her stylist chose for her, and the shoes Bentley picked to match. It was not a state of being.

And yet, that little part of her who always wanted to be in control, and make every choice the right choice, and allow no room for failure, as illogical as it was, made her falter. 

Her teacher saw right through her perfectionism. Through her lack of practice, and all the ways she was not owning up to what she set out to do. 

Everything that was between now and the future.

So she had failed at something.

She failed at being perfect. She failed to prepare for her lesson. She failed to learn new skills as a result of it. And she failed to make someone else see only the projected, polished parts of her. 

~

At the end of the lesson, her teacher said, “I really have the feeling that you are a perfectionist and that when I correct something, it upsets you. You judge yourself before you can even work out the new skills you are learning. You do not need to be perfect. You only need to know how to recreate what I am listening for. Come in after you’ve been working. If you don’t understand something, say it to me.”

What really went wrong that day? Could a teacher say anything more assuring?

And what really happened when her teacher noticed she hadn’t practiced and called attention to Bentley’s greatest gift, which was also one of her deepest flaws?

She survived hearing the truth. And she now had a choice to make.

Would she continue on a path of misunderstanding and skirting around reality, gliding by on pure talent to only get so far?

Or would she own her mistakes and decide to put the work in towards actually learning something with her real voice, even with the possibility of being rejected?

It is a very real, very typical query. When one is implicitly motivated, high-minded, and capable of true greatness, it can be one’s biggest burden. 

I believe one thing is absolutely certain, and that is you will never know if you do not try. 

No more misunderstanding or being misunderstood in regards to her voice. She was going to show the world her truest capabilities.

To truly work towards something requires applied effort, consistency, repeated, perhaps boring, attentiveness, and deliberation. It takes perseverance, and fortitude, and you have to be committed to an end goal you cannot even see yet. You have no idea who you will become as you live everyday in pursuit of your truest self.

But you will never find out if you do not pursue it.

You know what happened when she walked away from her lesson that day?

She laughed!

She was exonerated from her need to be perfect! Not only was there no such thing as achieving perfection, but without practice, of course, she couldn’t expect it!

It may be a life-time of recovery, but she was really getting the hang of letting go of perfectionism, and opening herself up to learning new things.

All those so-called fears? Were not really fears at all, but projections of those pesky lingering thoughts that had no business in a place of whimsy and dedication to opera.

It may be difficult to find yourself in a new phase of life, but it is not without it’s intense learning opportunities, which are the fun of embarking on new adventures in the first place!

That day, the prima donna was not Ms. Perfect, Blonde, Immaculately Dressed, without a hair out of place, and so on. 

She found a mentor who will see her for who she truly is, and not just who she presents herself to the world as.

What a gift! Bentley was excited to get a move on with the tough stuff. The hard to hear, but so necessary to become the most authentic version of herself yet.

She was right on track to her future as world-class prima donna, just like she had always planned.

Her shoes may have matched her outfit perfectly, but she no longer needed to strive for anything beyond who she was in that moment.

The End

XOXO,

Bentley