My most embarrassing performance

On Creative Risk and Peer Encouragement

I begin touring my show, A Little Bit Much next month! 

Venues are being confirmed and shows are being added across the country in the coming weeks. 

I kick off at home: Bowen Island, Sept 20th and Vancouver, Sept 26. 

Get tickets and see other locations on the tour schedule here 

---

Two girls in the front row exchange a look and giggle. My heart grips, anticipating mean girl humiliation rippling through the room.

I arrive late. By late, I mean right on time. But the year-end slide show isn’t in the auditorium, so I race to my kid’s classroom, slipping in the back door right as the slide show begins. Right as my kid turns around to check if I’m there. I smile at him, all casual, as if I’m not catching my breath from my run of shame.

The slide show is adorable. Photos capture seasons, friendships and the learning units our littles worked through. The chickens they hatched, the art they made, the talent show they put on. The occasional short video intermingles with pictures, carefully curated so every child is represented. 

It’s the video of last month’s talent show where the giggling begins. One of the girls, who is presently sitting towards the back of the class, is large on the projector screen, singing. 

I know kids are far more used to watching themselves on video now, but when I was a kid, if I had to watch myself in front of my whole class, witnessing their reactions, my body would have been consumed with the prickling heat of humiliation.

OH MY GOD I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING. Unplanned story segue…you’re welcome…

I’m 8 years old, at the Pacific National Exhibition with my family and close family friends. There’s a karaoke-like thing in a booth on stage. You sing your chosen song with video footage in the background. Like starring in a music video. It’s the 80s, MTV is awesome, and this is novel. You get a VHS of your performance. 

My friend goes first. She sings like an angel to Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings. Dude in the booth asks if she wants to dedicate it to anyone, which she does, her parents, and there’s footage of elegance. Feathers. Wind. Nature scenes. Pretty shit. We’ll watch that VHS at slumber parties. 

Welp, I’d been playing a Tone Loc cassette on my new, yellow Sony Walkman. Fave songs? Wild Thing. I got it going on. Funky Cold Medina (you know, that ol’ classic about a date rape drug?). Yes, this was my song of choice. 

I dedicate this horror show to my parents because a precedent has been set, and later I hear a stranger murmur, Why would she dedicate that to her parents?

I have a terrible perm. I’m wearing Hammer Pants. Or something very similar to Hammer Pants. Are those back in style now? Parachute pants? I can’t. Anyway…The background footage is of army dudes and war reenactments. Tasteful. Maybe that’s the only manly man video they have to associate with the lyrics “The girls are all around, but none of them wanna get with me” (was our buddy Tone the original incel?) I liked the song because he referred to a penis as an Oscar Meyer Weiner, which I thought was hilarious. Because I was 8. I did not understand the context of the scene. But clearly, even back then, I was drawn to performance that would raise a few eyebrows.

I like to think my humour has matured. The people closest to me know that it has not. 

I had attentive parents, I swear. But I don’t think they’d been paying attention to the lyrics of those songs because the shock on their faces, oh my. And the judgy looking adults all around. Classic. Embarrassing my parents with inappropriate shenanigans since 1989. Feel free to call up the lyrics and picture 8-year-old Chela in a public stadium at a fair singing, very confidently, but very poorly. It’s important to note, I cannot hold a tune, even when rapping ohmygod I’ll be over here hiding under the sofa. 

Years later, someone mentions this video in front of my older brother’s hot teenage friends, and they scour our storage looking for the VHS. OH THE SHAME AND HORROR KILL ME NOW. 

Perhaps the gripping in my heart in my kid’s classroom is due to suffering the humiliation, melting into the shag carpet while my brother’s friends smoke joints and laugh their asses off at my profound performance. 

The video of my son’s classmate isn’t just a snippet; it continues to play her whole performance. The giggling girls in the front row start looking back at the singer. Other kids start shifting and shuffling, looking around at each other. I feel this protective agitation rise in me. I’m tracking a room, feeling for the potentially vulnerable, feeling for the subtle dynamics between kids, tracking for safety, tracking for kindness, anticipating cruelty, aware that kids can be jerks and that creative risks can lead to mockery. 

The initial rise of energy breaks as one of the boys starts slapping his thigh. Then another. The class joins, creating a beat alongside her song. The giggling girls in the front row beam admiration at the singer. The singer beams back as the girl next to her leans against her and squeezes her in a hug. The kids start singing along. 

THEY’RE CELEBRATING HER.

I’m standing in the shadows, snotty, ugly, sobbing. The lights come on, and I look around at the other parents and see I’m not the only one crying. 

I leave wondering, at what age does that sweet, innocent celebration turn to critique and ridicule? Or do both exist at all ages, all the way through? I mean, if her performance was like my Tone Loc disaster, it would have been a different vibe in that place.  

I think about the teens and young adults who’ve grown up curating images of themselves online, about “cringe culture”, trolls and all the other factors that dissuade self-expression and creative play. I think about what a steaming pile the comment sections on viral videos on social media are, the way total strangers (grown ass adults!) will ridicule and bully people. 

I want to contribute to a creative world of wonder, encouragement and playful risk-taking, especially for the young people. 

Recently, I had a conversation with a young woman in my community whom I don’t know. I said, “Wait, did I see you singing at the Farmer’s Market? Wow, you’re wonderful, please take that talent as far as feels joyful for you.” 

I think we need to actively celebrate and encourage artists more than ever.

The creative risks I’ve taken have changed the trajectory of my life, have led me to find passions and talents I’m honing with dedication and seriousness. I’m 44. I’ve built a lot of trust in myself and am in my fuck-it era, but I can’t tell you how much encouragement makes a difference. I understand the power I have to encourage and support others. As do you. 

A single sentence can change someone’s view of themself. In either direction. A moment of encouragement can persuade someone to bet on themself, take their art seriously, do the thing, press publish, ship. 

I’d love to hear about your experience with creativity, risk-taking, and putting yourself out there. What helps? What gets in the way?

And…will you play a game of creative encouragement with me? 

What’s something you’ve read, watched or listened to lately that you really enjoyed? I don’t mean the big names (although that’s fine). Someone out there, doing their thing, making art, taking risks, and you’re better because of it. Will you celebrate them? 

Link to them. Or tag them in the comments if they’re here on Substack. Or send them a note. Share their work. Let them know - your work matters, you’re doing great, keep going. Life can get so full, it’s easy to forget that people are really stretching themselves to make this world beautiful. And if you’re one of them, your work matters, you’re doing great, please keep going. 

With Love and Creative Encouragement,

Chela

PS - Remember to grab your tickets for A Little Bit Much! Know someone who lives in one of these locations? Please share this with them. It takes a community to fill a theatre!