Oh-oh, Yes, I’m the Great Pretender
Pretending that I’m doing well (just had to finish the line).
Impostor Syndrome: The persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one's own efforts or skills.
I believe we have all experienced this, one way or another, in our lives. When I went from working in finance to becoming a computer programmer I knew I was an impostor because there is no single way to write code. There are ways to write code that is clean, clear, and precise and there was my way to code, which was the equivalent of throwing spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks.
Something happened to me a few weeks ago that made me think of something in my past that fits the definition of ‘Impostor Syndrome’.
Music runs through my family, from my father’s side to my youngest son, Danny. Unfortunately, the music that runs through my family leaped over me like a thoroughbred in a steeplechase.
But its not like I never stopped trying.
A few weeks ago I was at church. Normally, I stay behind after the service to talk, have coffee and snacks, and just a general gathering among parishioners.
After a time I wander back into the church. There is a small group of people gathered around Becky (Director of Music for the church) at the piano.
I am handed sheet music, and before I could react, I’m thanked for joining the ‘choir’.
“We needed more male voices,” someone said and Becky begin to play.
I felt very much like an an actor thrust on stage that was never given a script.
Being Catholic (we don’t sing) I am perplexed by the amount of singing the people in the Lutheran Church do.
I scan the page and mouth the words when I find my place (I did not add anything to those much wanted male voices that day).
When the song was over I walked up to Becky.
“What just happened?” I asked.
She told me a member of the congregation passed away, and this was the song they would sing at his service the coming Friday.
I asked Becky does that mean I have to sing at the service?
“No, Al,” Becky smiled, “no you don’t.”
This interaction with music reminded me of an event that happened to me in grade school. It was an event that would put my music inabilities front-and-center (literally).
In fifth grade I decided I wanted to play the trumpet. Not sure why that instrument, but the school gave me one with instruction that I should practice every night at home.
Another kid in my music class was a neighbor (our backyards faced each other). Every night I heard him practice the trumpet, but he never heard me.
Why?
Because I never practiced.
When I did practice at school, I was able to hide among the horn section which masked my total lack of skill.
One day, our music class was tasked to be part of a parade in a neighboring town. We were loaded onto a school bus, and off we went.
Parades are big, I’m sure no one will notice my lack of musical ability.
And I had that thought right up to the moment my teacher placed me front row, furthest right position.
You know, the position closest to the people who came out to watch a parade.
You know, the people who came out to hear real music played by people who knew how to play music.
They did not come out to watch some fat kid fake play a trumpet while sweating through his short-sleeved white button down shirt.
They did not come for that, but that is what they got that day.
The end of that parade was also the end of my career as someone who did not know how to play the trumpet.
Years later I faked being a piano teacher and tried to teach myself piano.
You know what they say about people who teach themselves piano…
...they have an idiot for a teacher.
At least I go that right.
