Irene was going to New York to catch two performances at the Metropolitan Opera last weekend, so I decided to head north with her. Not because I also wanted to see Parsifal, but because the NYC ukulele contingent gathers the second Friday of every month for an open mic and jam session, which meant I’d be able to join them. So I tagged along, not wanting to miss a chance to strum with others.

We met for four hours Friday night at the Sage Theater on Seventh Avenue between 47th and 48th Streets, where each of us was to be given a shot at performing one song, and if time permitted after everyone had a turn, a second.

I chose “Makin’ Whoopee” and “Happy Go Lucky Me,” because I’d committed both songs to memory and had played each several times a day for the past few weeks. (I already shared “Makin’ Whoopee” with you here.) But I soon discovered that there’s a big difference between performing a song under your own roof with an audience consisting of your spouse and performing it in a theater on a stage under a spotlight in front of rows of strangers.

When I got on stage, I suddenly found that my fingers were stiffer than they ever were at home, my voice betrayed my nervousness, and the chords and lyrics I thought I had memorized occasionally fled. Regardless of that, I’m going to share those performances with you.

Since they’re not perfect, you might ask … why?

It’s not just because I have no shame, or because I want to publicly track my progress since I can’t see if I’m getting anywhere if I can’t see where I’ve been. It’s because I want to give myself—and you, too—permission to suck.

So often, people stop doing things that bring them joy because they can’t be perfect. They say you’re supposed to write a million words of crap before you get to the words that matter (or so goes the writing advice cliche). I don’t know how many strums something like that would translate to, but I’m sure it must be a lot. And there must also be some number of public performances one must survive before all those eyes on you have little effect.

Not sure what that number is, but I plan on pushing through it. And whatever your thing is, I hope you push through the appropriate magic number, too.

That being said, here I am on stage, performing “Makin’ Whoopee” in front of strangers for the first time.

Next up, “Happy Go Lucky Me,” which was a hit for George Formby back in 1960. I made several flubs in this one, particularly at the beginning and the end, plus I made the error of strumming way too quickly, as if I was in some kind of life-or-death race. But I share it here anyway, because we’ve all got to be free to suck.

So go out there and suck! Because if you don’t give yourself the freedom to do so, you’ll never not suck.

Now that you’ve experienced a beginner’s shaky attempts at public performance, here’s your reward—a couple of performances that show how it ought to be done. First up, John Bianchi, a fellow member of the George Formby Society, with his interpretation of “Hello Bluebird,” which came out four months after the 1926 hit “Bye Bye Blackbird.”

Next, John and Ben Mealer perform a duet on “Bye Bye Blues.”

Thank you, John and Ben, for letting me see the goalposts.