I was back in my hometown of Highland Park, Illinois (a suburb of Chicago) last week. It was my 40th high school reunion, and as I laughed and reminisced with my grade school buddies, I thought about how, in my forties, I “discovered” the sheer joy of being onstage performing. Whether it was by speaking, singing, or dancing, I came alive! I was mystified at why it had taken me so many years to connect with this vibrant, open part of myself. As I pondered the question, a memory surfaced from first grade.

It was my first performance in a class play, and I had been given the part of The Announcer. In my 5 year old’s mind, I had been given this extremely important role because my teacher, Mrs. Friedberg, had confidence in me and in my ability to pull it off.

Absolutely delighted with the prospect of being on stage, I accepted my older sister’s offer to coach me. After all, she was an expert with three class plays already under her belt. The most important thing was to speak VERY VERY LOUDLY so that everyone could hear. “Most kids mumble and are too soft,” she advised, “and it ruins the play.” I would practice for her and she would direct me, “Louder! Louder!” I didn’t realize she was setting me up for humiliation.

I was looking forward to “knocking ‘em dead” at the performance, but not in the way I ended up doing: by shrieking my lines at the top of my lungs, “MRS. FRIEDBERG’S FIRST GRADE CLASS PROUDLY PRESENTS…”

The instant those first few words came blaring out of my mouth, I knew I’d been had. From my vantage point front and center stage, I could see my sister and her fourth grade friends falling off their chairs in laughter, and the audience of parents looking like deer in the headlights. My big moment turned to burning humiliation and shame.

The thing that got “knocked dead” that day was my desire to be in the spotlight. I didn’t do any kind of performing after that, so I wouldn’t have to feel that awful embarrassment and shame again. Consciously, I forgot about what had happened, and did not connect the incident to my choices in life, until midde age, when I experienced the joy of coming alive on the stage, and the memory resurfaced. Then, the connection became sadly obvious. For forty years, I had tucked away that bright, bold, expressive, showy piece of myself. I hadn’t even known it was there!

What about you?  Are there parts of yourself that you are just now discovering?  Why did you tuck them away in the first place?  Is there a whisper of something that you’d like to understand? I’d LOVE to hear your discoveries.