Last month our church hosted a talent show. In the weeks leading up to the event, we were encouraged to sign up for a slot displaying our talents. I was reluctant to do it because my one talent-show type of talent is reading my writing. At best, that’s awkward and anxiety-inducing. At worst, it’s a nightmare I have about being booed off the stage. I considered it for a moment, then put it out of my mind, then decided to go ahead and do it. As we talked about it as a family, my daughter decided she would play a flute solo for the show, too. So, I sent our names in via text to the friend that was organizing it and when the list came out in digital form, I was surprised to see more kids than adults on the list.
A few weeks passed and the number of adults on the list dwindled to one–me. Me and a bunch of kids showing off a variety of talents from singing and playing instruments to magic tricks. And then there was me, reading my writing.
So, my initial hesitation was that I don’t talk about my writing much at church. A handful of people at church know I write and if they follow me on social media, they see it and read it and sometimes comment. But it’s never been something I’ve been loud and public about, in any setting. I was nervous to share so vulnerably and when I get nervous I get awkward-funny. Like, I think I’m hilarious but it sometimes comes across sounding cocky or arrogant. It’s horribly embarrassing.
I decided I would read from a short story I wrote a few years ago when I was wondering what it would be like to set Easter morning in a contemporary time and place. In the last town we lived in, you could walk everywhere, even to the funeral home and one day I envisioned a woman waking up one morning for a funeral, walking to the funeral home for the service, only to discover a hitch in her plans for the day.
This is the story I called Alive! An Easter Story. I couldn’t read all of it at the talent show because it would have taken 45 minutes. As it was, I read more than half of the story and it took probably 25 minutes. There is nothing longer than standing on a stage in front of a microphone reading for 25 minutes to a mixed crowd. I could hear every shuffle and screech from the children in attendance and I nearly regretted signing up. A book reading is an appropriate choice for a coffee house or an artsy gathering. A talent show? Maybe not so much.
But I got through it and I was proud of myself. I loved the story all over again and people were so kind in their words after.
(This was only a fraction of the pride I felt at my daughter playing a solo.)
The only regret I had about the whole evening was that I was the only adult participating. That left me with a lot of questions.
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Our friends in Arizona want to have a family talent show via Zoom. It is one of the many surprising ways we’re connecting with people these days. Since it was proposed, the four of us have struggled to come up with ideas. There are the musical instruments, of course, that the children could play and play together. Our son knows a couple of magic tricks. I was maybe going to play guitar. Phil is at a loss. It’s not that we don’t have talents; I’m just not sure they always lend themselves to performances. How do you turn food and relationships into something worthy of a talent show, even a fun family one that is just to pass the time? Maybe Phil could do a cooking demonstration. Or we could give him a list of ingredients like on Chopped and ask him what he would make with said ingredients.
A family talent show with our friends is a safe space to try and fail. I would do anything for and with these friends. But I know this isn’t always the case.
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Phil and I were sitting on a couch in my parents’ house a couple of Christmases ago the first time we saw an ad for The Masked Singer. I was horrified. No, thank you, I said. If you’re not familiar, it’s a singing contest but all the contestants wear elaborate head-to-toe costumes that conceal their identities. The judges are given clues to the singers’ identities and spend episodes trying to guess who is behind the mask. To me, people singing and dancing wearing these ridiculous costumes seemed weird at best and creepy at worst. I wondered if this was just another way for celebrities to grab attention.
Phil, however, was interested. He watched a few episodes, and I kind of got hooked on the guessing process. We’ve never watched the show regularly, but we tune in now and then. And it’s kind of grown on me, but not for the reason I thought. (I still think the costumes are weird.)
Often, when the masked singers are revealed, there is shock and surprise from the audience and the judges. And the singers themselves, especially celebrities from other arenas of entertainment like sports or movies, generally express how much joy and freedom they found in singing behind a mask. Sometimes they are singers who get to try a different genre. Or artists who had a stellar career in a previous decade and maybe have faded from memory. I’m often moved by the gratitude these celebrities express. It reminds me that they are just people, too, and some of them have the same fears the rest of us have.
And it’s inspiring to know that even people who have succeeded in one area of life might still need a little encouragement to try something new and different in another area of life. Without anyone knowing for sure who they are, they have the freedom to sing and dance as if they were unknown. For a few weeks, they get to be anonymous in their endeavors.
I’m wondering if that’s what the rest of us need, too.
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If our talent show at church had been anonymous somehow, would more adults have stepped up? Are we afraid of being seen trying (and maybe failing) at something new? Would we feel more freedom if we could be unseen?
Maybe it’s not always a fear of looking silly or trying and failing. Maybe it’s the feeling that we don’t know what our talents are. I’m wondering how we can help each other remember what we’re good at. What’s unique to us.
If you could try something new as an unknown, would you? What would you do?
