On Learning how to Play

This morning, I lead three separate groups of pre-school and kindergarten children in making music together.  After each class, I lead three separate groups of college students--who have spent the time either participating with or observing us--in conversation of "what's important here?"

And we observe:  Those little darlings are more inclined than we are to do whatever comes to their mind. They feel free to try out their musical being, they allow themselves to respond to the music around them.  They are blissfully ignorant of any attempt of theirs either making or missing the mark.  And while often it is genius, it is also often 'wrong'.

We talk about how we don't expect them to be "right" yet--they're learning! They're exploring! They're trying it out!

We talk about how one day they will be able to recognize the difference between "right" and "wrong", but that part of the process of recognizing what the mark is is to have permission to blatantly and freely miss it.  Aiming and missing, aiming and missing, until one day they get it, and are secure.

It's the aiming that's important, not the getting it right every time.

And it makes me think about my practicing journey recently, of how anxious I had been about being perfect, of playing every little thing perfectly, and how it ended up just shutting me down.

It makes me think of how, last week, as I practiced, I allowed myself to play wrong notes.  How it struck me that wrong notes occurred far less when they were allowed for, than when they were not. 

And it made me think of how now--after allowing myself to JUST PLAY, wrong notes included--I am playing the score and thinking "gosh, this is easy!"  

Because stepping into the thing I was terrified of caused the thing to lose its power.  

It turns out wrong notes aren't such a big deal; it turns out, wrong notes are the way to doing it right. 

I aimed and I missed, and I learned how to play.