Declan Hale

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One of my least favorite traits about myself is my innate tendency to resist the uncomfortable

In social situations, more often than not, I find myself taking the path of least resistance. This is not to say I am dishonest towards people or wavering in my convictions, but when it comes to debates and arguments, I know that I am not “good on my feet” in these situations, and I tend to do what it takes to avoid any sort of conflict.

However, it usually ends in me self-deprecating in my own head, wishing I had just said what was on my mind. Still, even though I know this pattern in myself, it’s hard to make myself comfortable in the uncomfortable.

But let’s take a step back for a minute…

If you came to this blog from one of my social media accounts, you probably know me best for my ventures in spoken word poetry. Surprisingly enough, this has only been a recent interest of mine.

I have been writing and absorbing poetry for some time now, but rarely did I ever think I had the courage to stand alone on a stage and recite my own work. Sure, I had done theater before, but that is a highly collaborative effort, where I am merely a small part of a vast whole. And even as a small stroke in an entire canvas of a story not my own, I’d never have to be myself on the stage of a theater production. I could dive into a character, and let the whims of the story take care of the rest.

Spoken word is different: you stand on the stage alone, all attention focused squarely on you and your efforts. And, you do not have the disguise of a fictitious personality created by some other writer: you are utterly yourself. The audience expects to see deeply into your soul. They expect you to open the door to your heart and see each bloody beat through the words you alone craft. It’s inherently uncomfortable.

Somehow, I found myself on that stage, exposing my heart to total strangers.

I had recently gotten a couple of my poems published in a local anthology (which you can read here). I then saw a post on Facebook for an open mic event. I do not recall exactly what compelled me to attend and read my poetry there, but I soon found myself in the dark basement of a small rock n’ roll museum, twiddling my thumbs nervously as I waited for my name to be called. Lord knows I had not performed on a stage since long before the turn of the decade, so I frankly had no idea how I would act up there, especially jumping in blind to a completely new artform.

But, before I knew it, I faced a blurry sea of bodies. Bright lights blasted on me, expecting a great show.

I can’t tell you much of what happened after that. I can certainly guarantee it was not the most stellar performance you’ve seen. The poem I chose to recite was quite clunky to read aloud. Having watched video playback of the event, I had my head buried in the text the whole time. My voice was shaky, my words lacked proper enunciation.

However, I received a wondrous round of applause. It is a sound no performer can forget: the slapping of dozens of hands merging into one unintelligible wall of noise that denotes you did something special. I got on that stage, I bore my soul, and that’s what mattered most.

I loved the experience so much that I got up that same night again and read a second poem. Again, my delivery was quite sloppy, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered what that I got up in front of people and shared my own work–my own thoughts, emotions, inhibitions–and didn’t apologize for any of it.

I kept on pursuing spoken word from there. I wrote pieces specifically designed for the stage. The man whom I consider my mentor-in-poetry, Uxmar Torres, recommended I memorize my pieces, and I did just that. I travelled to places I had never been before just to partake in open mics, sharing space with and performing for those who have the same passions as me. It gave me the opportunity to meet amazing people, whom I would have never even known without this shared interest!

Most of these events I performed at contained a couple dozen people, no more than 50 in a crowd at one time. This is not to diminish these shows’ validity: I love an open mic with an intimate turnout.

However, this did make it feel like a step up when I performed at a “Write About Now” poetry event with over 200 people in attendance.

I remember how I felt in the crowd that night. I was practically sick to my stomach. I couldn’t get out of my head deciding which poem would be the best to perform for this crowd. I enjoyed all the poets that performed, but as my time came closer, I found it harder to focus on the fantastic talents onstage. I was so distracted by my own overthinking, I even inadvertently ignored one of my poet friends (sorry, @she.unapologetic, it won’t happen again). It was quite uncomfortable.

But, I went onstage and performed. I ended up switching my piece at the very last minute, and I found myself in front of one of the most receptive audiences I’d performed for. It was an elevating experience.

Then, I got an opportunity I thought I wouldn’t achieve for a long time: the chance to perform as a featured poet

Another poet friend of mine, kat., sent me an application to be one of a few featured poets at an upcoming event. I figured if I could perform at an open mic in front of hundreds, be a featured was the next step. I applied, but I still thought that, certainly, I wouldn’t be chosen to be a featured poet.

Then, I was chosen to be a featured poet.

It ended up being one of my favorite poetry events I’ve attended. It was held at the back of an intimate cafe, with no more than 30 in attendance total. There were eight featured readers, providing a healthy mix of prose and poetry readings. Everyone was supportive of everyone’s writings, and I got to meet some more great poets who I hope to continue connecting with.

You can watch the full set here:

As I reflected on this performance, I realized something: all three of the performances I have mentioned in this blog are inextricably connected by my aversion to uncomfortable situations.

In my first spoken word performance, I was obviously uncomfortable, as it was a brand new experience of me sharing my own opinions and artistry with others, something that–as I mentioned in the beginning–I am usually reluctant in. The Write About Now event upped the stakes, putting me in front of a much larger crowd in a highly unfamiliar space. Even before this featured performance, after having performed at several of these types of events before, I found myself waffling on which pieces to recite and getting inside my own head until the very moment I stepped up on that stage.

But, you know what else? I still did it!

The art of jumping into the uncomfortable is simply that: just jumping into it! A lot of my aversion to the uncomfortable and conflict avoidance comes from my opinions being misconstrued and being unable to publicly defend my own values strongly when questioned. However, these spoken word events have put me face-to-face with that. Poetry is unfathomably personal, and performing it is literally showcasing your emotions and opinions to people you don’t even know. I still find myself apprehensive to perform, sometimes even questioning why I put myself through these feelings, but it is a direct way to face these negative traits within myself and express my emotions bluntly through an artform I so love.