The First Time You Say Something it Will Feel Awkward. But You Don't Give Up. You Practise.

First published on June 2, 2021

Sometimes, the things we spent our time doing when we were young hold the keys to unlocking our potential. I will be forever grateful to my late friend, Ben. We helped each other, aged 10, overcome some small fear and discomfort, in the way that friends together can do, and went to a meeting about taking part in the Christmas play. I will also be forever grateful to Mr Leeming who, a few months later, invited Ben and I back again to be part of another play. And then, again, invited me to take the main part the following Christmas. My memory tells me that he said something like, ‘You’re the only person I can imagine playing this part.’

And whilst that kind of friendship and that kind of faith are worthy of a story in and of themselves, that’s not what this piece is about. This piece is about one of the key lessons that I learned over the following 15 years or so, as acting in plays remained my primary pastime. It was pretty much all I did outside of work and education, and sometimes inside them.

Here’s what I remember. Every time, almost without fail, when I first read the lines of the part I was going to play, they felt awkward. They didn’t make sense. The intonation would be wrong, so much so that sometimes it didn’t any make sense at all. I wouldn’t enjoy it. It felt uncomfortable.

It didn’t matter how good I got at acting, and I got good. I took a talent I had already started to develop and I honed it over years. But no matter how much I improved at the process, the first time I read the lines, they didn’t flow. They didn’t feel right.

But we didn’t stop. We rehearsed.

And something changed. Gradually, those lines began to fit. They began to fit me, and I began to fit the lines. And, together as a cast, we began to fit each other.

And that happened every time. Without fail. It wasn’t always perfect (in fact, it was never perfect) and of course sometimes it worked much better than others, or much quicker than others. But it is undoubted that the process of practising, alone and together, gradually created something that fitted much better than it had before.

I am so glad that I learned that lesson. The lesson of rehearsal, of practice. The lesson that when I say something for the first time it will feel goofy and confusing and akward and it won’t fit. And the lesson that the goofyness and confusion and awkwardness and not fitting aren’t a sign that I should just quit. They are a sign that I should practise.

This is how we as humans change. We have a sense, somehow, that there is something we should say. Or something we should do. And, if we just say it or do it, then probably the first time we do that it will feel goofy, and maybe confusing and awkward and it won’t fit. And the beauty of our humanity is that if we keep saying it or doing it, we will find the intonation and the exact words and the rhythm that will fit us. And, as we say it, we will also grow to fit the words.

It doesn’t matter what they are.

'I’m a coach.' 'I’m a husband.' 'I’m a leader.' 'I’m a mother.'

'This is my boyfriend.' 'This is my wife.' 'This is the company I work for.' 'This is my daughter.'

'I made this.' 'Can I help you with that?' 'This is what I do now.' 'This is who I am now.'

The first time we say them they may feel awkward and goofy and confusing. Gradually, if we say them, they become words that feel natural. And, gradually, if we practise, we become the person who can say them.

The most important lesson that I learned from acting is that the first time you read the lines they will feel awkward. But you don’t give up. You practise.