It doesn't go away.

Ever since I was a young kid taking piano lessons, I always assumed that I would somehow "outgrow" my performance anxiety, once I'd practiced enough and gained enough experience as a musician.

But it doesn't go away. It will never go away.

Sometimes people are surprised to hear this from me, since I've been making music, often in public performance, for pretty much my entire life- they may be even more surprised to hear it from people like Glenn Gould, Vladimir Horowitz, Pablo Casals, Renée Fleming, and Frédéric Chopin. Fame doesn't rescue you from the fear of failure and judgment, in fact there seem to be several cases where it actually makes it worse. I'm hardly famous, but it makes me start to realize that this kind of fear will always be with me, as long as I'm performing.

Though I'm sure it affects each person differently, I can describe exactly what happens when I'm about to perform. My muscles seize up and get tense, especially in my hands, arms, and upper body. I begin to feel either too cold or too warm. Rational reminders that I have practiced and prepared as much as possible do nothing to calm me down. I begin to feel certain that I will flail madly and make every horrible mistake possible. The organization or person that hired me will refuse to pay me. There will be a reviewer in the audience who will ruin my career with a scathing article. My friends, teachers and alma maters will disavow me. I develop an acute sense of imposter syndrome, convincing myself that everyone else in the room has a more genuine reason to be there, that I'm not a legitimate pianist, because I haven't gone to Fancy Conservatory™ or studied under Famously Mean Instructor© or reached the Magical 10,000 Hours of Practice® (not a thing, by the way) that earn me the rank of Professional.

Recently, I've started using some tools and strategies to survive the emotional agony of playing in front of other people:

1. Remember that I have gotten to this point, and survived, even through performances that weren't that great. I will survive this one as well, whether it goes well or not. Either way, I'll probably be able to unwind with a beer later.
2. If I'm this worried about performing well, it means I have realistically spent a great deal of time and effort on the project. I will allow a small amount of anxiety to push me, and keep me humble. On that note:
3. Being a great master musician doesn't always guarantee that you're a good person. In some cases, it could make you a bit of an asshole (looking at you, Wagner). I'm probably not the world's greatest living musician. But I'm also (as far as I can tell) not an asshole. I've been fortunate to have met several of my musical heroes. A small number of them were jerks, many were very genuine and compassionate (Heck, I'll just say it. In the brief moments I got to spend with them, David Lang, Caroline Shaw, and Mark Applebaum were each very kind to me in a way I will always remember.) I like to think it's taught me which of these things is really more important. 
4. My newest mantra is this: Am I worrying, or am I problem-solving? If it's the the latter, then it means I'm doing my job- going through a mental checklist of all of the elements of a performance (Breathe in tempo, and begin the phrase on your exhalation. Look for the cue from so & so. Feel this section's pulse internally.) If it's the former, I am wasting energy. There is nothing left, in terms of preparation, for me to control. 
5. Don't just tell yourself to "relax". It won't work. I can settle for relaxing only the parts of me that don't contribute to the end goal (see above).

I don't seek to combat, ignore, or destroy my performance anxiety- I simply seek to understand how it fits into the larger picture, and clarify when it is or isn't welcome. It will never go away. But it will never define my musical life, either.