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April 2003
Welcome to the April 2003 edition of Newbie. While Ive been
writing this column for just a little over a year now, Collector Times is
celebrating their fifth anniversary this month. Im pleased to be a part of
this team, and offer congratulations to our Editors on reaching this
milestone. Hopefully, by the time they reach the tenth anniversary, Ill no
longer be a "newbie." I wouldnt bet good money on it, though. Now, on
to this months subject.
In the first week of November last year, I began taking flute
lessons for the first time in my life. This isnt so unusual, as many
adults undertake such things as music lessons later in life after the kids are
grown. We can try things that we either didnt have the time or the money (or
both?) for before. In February, I took part in my first recital, along with
a number of the other students from the studio. I selected a song that was
nice sounding, within the "grasp" of my abilities, and which I enjoyed
playing, and practiced it for weeks leading up to the recital. I reached
the point where I could play the song completely from memory, and played it
just fine in most of my practice sessions. The day of the recital came, and
I botched it. My nerves didnt bother me until I stood up to play it in front
of an audience. Then, I started off with my embouchure not quite right,
which kept the sound from being right. That resulted in frustrated
feelings, which led to more errors. About the biggest thing I did right in the whole
performance was that I didnt quit. What I could do just fine in the quiet
of my own home, or before my flute teacher, I became too self-conscious to
do in front of an audience.
Stick with me here, as I will bring this around to gaming shortly.
I do have a point to this seemingly off topic rambling.
My teacher recommended a book called "The Inner Game of
Music," by Barry Green and Timothy Gallwey. In it, the authors speak of
two selves contained within each of us. One of these "selves" represents
what we can do. It is the nearly unlimited potential of human effort. The
other represents that little nagging voice that speaks up whenever that
"potential" self seeks to express itself. Its the one that tells us we
cant, or well fail, or that other people will laugh at us. Its the one that tells
us that well look like a fool if we try. Based not only on what the authors say,
but on my own experience as well, people all too often listen to that little
nagging voice. Worse, we let it convince us to never try. Its easy to
see how this applies to music. I allowed those self-doubts, fears, and feelings
of self-consciousness to interfere with my ability to do what I already knew
I could do. Because of allowing my attention to be diverted from the task
at hand, I did not perform to the potential I was capable of.
When we were children, most all of us played "make believe." We
ran around pretending we were our favorite heroes, or cartoon characters,
or grown-ups. I remember sitting in an old broken down pick-up truck on
my Grandparents property, pretending it was an airplane and my brothers
and I were flying all over the world. It was easy, and it was fun.
Somewhere, though, in the process of growing up, we begin to shy away
from "make believe." We get self-conscious about pretending, and find
ourselves chained to reality.
If youre always firmly rooted in reality, this may not seem like
much of a problem. If, however, youre trying to play a "Role Playing
Game," its trouble. One of our early problems in playing an RPG such as
Dungeons and Dragons is "getting into character" and actually playing the
character. I cannot speak for anyone else, but I know for myself that, to a
certain degree, that little nagging voice was in there, warning me that I
would look foolish. It didnt matter that others around me were doing their
best to immerse themselves into their roles. In fact, in some ways, that
tended to fuel the nagging voice. What if I was not as good at playing my
role as they were? Not only might I look foolish, I might look incompetent
as well! Our first few attempts at playing, sitting around the living room,
were in some ways hesitant and awkward. This is not the fault of the Game
Master, no more so than my mistakes in the recital were the fault of my
teacher. Both equipped me with what I needed to perform properly. While
we can say that someone makes us nervous, in most cases though, no one
can actually make us nervous. We make ourselves nervous in response to
what we think about someone else.
Enter the internet, this marvelous tool of communication and
information that we so easily take for granted now. We have the ability to
exchange nearly instantaneous messages with other people all over the
world, while staying safely sheltered in our own homes. One of the
conditions of internet communication is that we are perceived only by what
information we give, rather than nuances of voice, appearance, or age. We
can be almost anything we want to be on the internet.
Sounds something like pretending, or make-believe, doesnt it?
While we like to joke about 45 year old men posing as 16 year old girls on
the internet, why not 43 year old men posing as 23 year old half-ogres? Or
40 year old women posing as elven thieves?
We tried just that last week, and while our attempts at RPGing in
person were somewhat hesitant and awkward, it seemed to flow much
smoother when we played through an internet messaging system. Our son
Mastered the game from his computer in his room, while my wife and I
played our characters from our computers on our desks (in separate parts
of the house). We were joined by someone I only know as "Warfox," an
internet friend of my son who lives in another state. The "isolation" of
the computer screen made it easier to slip into character, and to interact with
the other players as their characters, not as "my wife" or "my son." By
typing my speech and actions into the message window, I can imagine the
characters Im interacting with as the characters theyre supposed to be,
and not as the people I would see across the table. Suddenly, without
having anyone watching me do so, I was free to allow that child-like ability
to "pretend" to assert itself without inhibition or fear.
The anonymity, though, can be either a crutch or a stepping stone.
We can allow the isolation of the internet to become a shield behind which
we always hide, or we can use it as a tool to discover the comfort of
learning to pretend again. The best goal, of course, is to be just as
comfortable playing an RPG in person as through the internet, just as the
goal of a musician is to be as comfortable playing before a live audience as
they are playing in private. Going back to the "Inner Game" book, part of
that is accepting for ourselves that its OK to look foolish and to make
mistakes. Even with all the mistakes I made in the recital, no one laughed,
no one made disparaging comments, nor in any way gave me any reason to
feel ashamed of my performance. Likewise, the mistakes I made playing
my character last week were not met with scorn or derision, but rather, if
they were acknowledged at all, it was with helpful suggestions for playing
the character better. Learning to be comfortable with performing, whether
its a musical performance or playing a role in a game, is realizing that we
are most often our own worst critics.
Learning through the internet that others will accept our mistakes
and quirks, even as we accept theirs, can help us relax and allow ourselves
to play without fear and inhibition in person. Sure, it also enables
someone who cannot find gaming partners locally to continue gaming as well, but for
those of us who are older and have to relearn "make-believe," its a magic
carpet past that nagging little self that tries to keep us firmly entrenched
in the adult world. If youre having trouble getting past that little nagging
voice yourself, I heartily recommend trying a game or two through the
internet.
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