1,000 Days of Music - Day 11: Flustered

I get flustered playing Burgmuller’s By the Limpid Stream. The music is supposed to flow in even triplets, which, in my nervousness and impatience, sound hurried and jerky. I get flustered in the mornings when I’m trying to cram in too many tasks before rushing out the door. I get flustered while shopping because half my brain is looking for the sleep I somehow neglected to get last night, and I get flustered exchanging the items I bought by mistake.
I am looking for something I seem to lack—poise, certainty, patience. The faster I try to go, the more deftly it escapes me. All the notes tumble together as if I’ve thrown them in the dryer...or they slip through my fingers, elusive and ethereal, leaving me feeling like all thumbs. I am flustered.
The opposite of flustered is calm, clear, composed. It is the height of irony for me that I only feel calm and composed when I’ve released the need to be that way.
“Good evening,” I say. “I’m running on fumes right now, but I’m pleased to present this performance for your listening enjoyment. Please pardon the errors. I play much better when I’m fully awake.” And it’s not half bad.