The Fringe, my folly, and a takeaway

Every year, I attend at least one show at the Edmonton International Fringe with my best friend, her husband, and my partner. It is a tradition that I love and look forward to very much. This year we had the pleasure of attending Just Felice Makes Friends, an engagingly awkward and delightful magic show that involved some collaboration with her audience. The performance we attended included some wonderful unabashed kids, and some equally extraverted adults in the crowd who were almost immediately responsive to Just Felice, and her charming self-consciousness quickly activated my ingrained desire to make those around me comfortable. I would generally say this is a positive quality to have, but in this case, it caused me to forget my motto of avoiding eye contact and engagement in situations where there is a possibility that, in doing so, I might be called upon to volunteer for something. Being asked to participate is my nightmare.

Wait, Jessica, perhaps you are thinking, aren’t you someone who performs all the time, and sings in front of people with ease? The answer to this is, yes. But this is a whole different thing. I delight in crafting a themed setlist and weaving stories together to take folks on little musical trips with me. I know how to use a microphone, I understand what my voice can do, I know the stories of my songs intimately, and I know, even in spontaneous, unexpected moments of musical performance, how to sew these things together. I am fully myself when I’m on stage in this capacity and, in fact, I’m so comfortable with it that sometimes I forget I’m actually quite shy and don’t love being the center of attention.

At my core, I’d call myself an introvert, and this past Saturday night that introversion came rearing its head full force when Just Felice asked me to join her onstage to help with one of her final tricks. I could feel my face go immediately red, my politeness and fear of creating more attention causing me to stand up, and get on the stage, where my awkwardness immediately combined with her awkwardness in ways that I’m told made everyone laugh (I have very little recollection). While the folks I attended with delighted in my discomfort, I certainly would have felt a small sense of relief had a black hole suddenly appeared on the stage to save me from this unexpected attention.

The irony that singing on stage feels as comfortable as breathing, while knowing that in the moment I’ve just described, I would have preferred almost nothing more than to disappear, is not lost on me, and I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit these past few days.

So, because this is a blog and not a novel, this is where I’ve landed: performance itself isn’t necessarily making me less introverted. Instead, I’ve found a door that I can open and invite people through. On the other side is a space where I feel comfortable, where I know what I’m doing, and where I have the language to express myself. Music and storytelling give me a way to open that door without having to become someone I’m not.

I don’t have to be the most naturally outgoing person in the room to create connection. I can be myself with the safety net of years’ worth of stories and singing, two things that have always been the most comforting things I can think to do. And it’s so satisfying to connect when I’m being myself.

I suppose that’s why I’m so grateful to the people who come to my shows. You’re meeting me at the door, and giving me the opportunity to share the things I love in a way that feels natural to me. Being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m not interested in connection, I just need to find the doors and keep opening them. And when the show ends, the microphone gets put away, and, like Cinderella, I go back to being shy, that’s okay too. So if you’re someone who has had or will have an awkward before or after the show conversation with me, I promise, despite everything I’ve just said, I do enjoy talking with you, particularly if you like to do most of the talking!