(1 of 3) When Anti-Fragility Emerges - Lessons from Maria Jo?o Pires' Experience

In 1999, Maria Jo?o Pires took her place on the grand stage of the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, surrounded by the low hum of musicians preparing for the final rehearsal before a major recital. This wasn’t a routine run-through; it was the last crucial rehearsal, the moment where everything had to come together seamlessly in front of thousands of eager listeners. She had been called from her home in Portugal late the previous night to replace another pianist at the last minute. The hours since had been a blur of packing, catching a flight, and mentally preparing for a piece she had rehearsed extensively: Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 in C major, K. 467.

As Pires sat before the grand piano, the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She was tired but resolute, ready to channel years of practice and experience into the performance. This wasn’t her first time on a stage like this; she had done it a thousand times before. The familiarity of the piano keys and the orchestra’s warm-up gave her some comfort, but a far greater challenge was about to unfold.

Then, as the first notes rang out, they didn’t match what was in her mind. Something was wrong. The melody—the rhythm—it was all different. Her heart skipped, and her hands froze just above the keyboard. No, this can’t be right. The orchestra was playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor, K. 466, not the concerto she had prepared.

A cold, creeping panic spread through her. It began in her chest and quickly flooded her limbs, making her hands tremble. She hadn’t rehearsed this piece in almost 11 months —eleven long months since she had last played K. 466. She tried to catch her breath, but her mind was racing too fast. It felt like the ground beneath her had shifted, and she was desperately trying to stay upright

Her body stiffened, her fingers hovering just above the piano, frozen. The conductor, Maestro Riccardo Chailly, continued leading the orchestra, oblivious to the tidal wave of fear crashing inside her. The music swelled, growing louder, but it felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. Her throat tightened as if she was about to cry, and for a split second, she thought about stopping the whole thing—standing up, walking away, refusing to play. But she couldn’t. The recital was just around the corner, and she was here, on stage, in front of an audience, with nowhere to hide.

Her heart pounded against her chest, each beat growing heavier and faster. The pressure was unbearable. Every second felt like an eternity, the world closing in around her. She could feel the weight of every eye on her, every musician waiting for her to join them. Her stomach churned, and a tear welled up in the corner of her eye. She blinked it away, but the fear remained, gnawing at her, pulling her into a spiral of doubt. She was standing on the edge of failure, staring down into a void that threatened to swallow her whole.

In a desperate moment, Pires glanced toward Maestro Chailly, searching for some sign, some reprieve. He continued conducting, his baton cutting through the air, guiding the orchestra through the bars of K. 466 as if everything was perfectly normal. As she locked eyes with him, the Maestro smiled—a calm, reassuring smile that seemed to cut through her panicking moment. His demeanor, steady and composed, mirrored the unspoken message of his smile:?You can do this. I know you’ll recover.?Pires could feel his belief in her, a subtle but powerful reassurance. His positive and comforting response lifted her soul and motivated her. That external act of seeking help, however brief, was enough to steady her resolve.

Her mind screamed at her to stop, to say something, to flee. But her body wouldn’t move. She was trapped in a moment of pure panic. Her breath was shallow now, her hands still trembling above the keys. The music was reaching the part where she had to come in, and she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t prepared. She felt like she was about to collapse under the weight of it all. What would happen if she didn’t play? What if she played and made a mistake? The thoughts spiraled faster, twisting and knotting in her mind until she could barely think.

In the midst of this overwhelming panic, her eyes flickered toward the other musicians, as if searching for some form of consolation. She glanced around, almost involuntarily, as if hoping to find an unspoken reassurance from her fellow performers. Her expression conveyed disbelief, a silent question hanging in the air—What can I do now?

In that brief glance, lasting no more than two seconds, Pires shrugged slightly, a gesture that communicated her resignation to the impossible situation she was facing. It was as if she was saying,?I’m out of options. I’m stuck.?The raw honesty of the moment was written on her face. Pires knew she was unprepared for the piece, but there was no turning back. The intensity of her emotions, from shock to the realization of being 'fucked' (in her own candid expression), was evident.

That fleeting look encapsulated the gravity of the moment—a silent acknowledgment of the challenge she faced. It was a deeply human gesture, underscoring both her vulnerability and the resilience that would soon follow

The fear was paralyzing, and for a moment, it felt like there was no way out. She was on the brink of giving up, of letting the fear consume her. The stage lights felt hot on her skin, the room suddenly too bright, too oppressive. The familiar warmth of the piano keys felt foreign, distant, unreachable. She was alone, isolated in her terror, a million miles from the safety of the rehearsal halls she knew so well.

But then, in the midst of the chaos swirling inside her, something shifted. It wasn’t a moment of clarity or calm, but rather an acceptance—a grim realization that there was no way out but through. The orchestra wasn’t going to stop. The music wasn’t going to pause. The world wasn’t going to give her a moment to breathe. She had to act.

She exhaled, a shaky breath that rattled through her chest, and slowly let her fingers drop to the keys. She had played this piece before, eleven months ago. Somewhere, buried deep in her muscle memory, was the knowledge of K. 466. She could feel it, just out of reach. She just had to find it.

The tear that had threatened to fall earlier never came. Her breath steadied, just enough to get her through the next few seconds. She accepted the challenge. She accepted the fear. She accepted that there was no other option. And with that acceptance, something inside her shifted. Her hands, still trembling, began to move.

She was going to play. No matter what.

REFERENCES:

Classic FM. (2023).?Maria Jo?o Pires expecting another Mozart concerto during a concert in Amsterdam?[Video]. YouTube.?https://youtu.be/UXbVDI0LhRM?si=5MHHG3F7KqXdzO_L

Kübler-Ross, E., & Kessler, D. (2005).?On grief and grieving: Finding the meaning of grief through the five stages of loss. Scribner.

Kees de Jong. (2009).?Maria Jo?o Pires – Expecting another Mozart Concerto during a Lunch Concert?[Video]. YouTube. Available at:?https://youtu.be/CJXnYMl_SuA

Tambun, T.?(2024, October 8).?Addressing the Growing Mental Health Crisis and Building Anti-Fragility Using System Dynamics. LinkedIn.?https://lnkd.in/gxVuNEFh