Summer seems to bring out the best and the worst in people. Vacationers on the small patch of tourist trap where I live are swarming the place, pulling the same kind of bone-headed stunts that they probably would not tolerate from other people in their own neighborhoods. Families hold strategic meetings on street corners. Will they or won’t they step off the curb anytime soon? If they do, which direction will they go? Bicyclists are clueless about the rules of the road, as they dart through traffic, or hold up traffic – because they can. SUVs and golf carts routinely roll through stop signs, making me wish I could write tickets and collect the revenue. Vacation renters burn things. I have no idea what they burn, or why they must become pyromaniacs where I live and have to attempt to breathe the air. Every holiday my car acquires a new scratch or ding – not from another vehicle, but from someone randomly, carelessly running into it while walking and wielding a beach chair, or while juggling children or coolers or paraphernalia.
The antics of the summer people and the heat already were enough to get me down yesterday. Add to the mix that I wasn’t feeling 100%. (My Friday malaise seems to have turned into a flu bug.) I arrived at my studio with no expectations for the day, and hoping that my energies would rise to the task of teaching. Instead of conspiring to meet my lowered expectations for the day, the universe chose to reward me and my students for keeping on task.
A brief departure is in order. I am currently reading a book titled, The Talent Code. Author Daniel Coyle’s writing pivots around the neural substance myelin, and his concept (and that of scientists and others who study myelin) that it is the *way* we work to optimize our performance in any endeavor that builds this brain substance, thus contributing to our success at that endeavor. I am enjoying reading the book because it highlights all the deep practice skills that I have learned, mostly, through trial and error in five decades of living and three-plus decades of teaching and performing. Coyle highlights the techniques and achievements of participants in talent tanks all over the world. The book is an entertaining and easy read. I recommend it to anyone who is self-motivated to achieve high standards.
Identities (and skills) Altered
Friday, I saw direct evidence of what *deep* practice can do. (Identities changed for purposes of anonymity) Eve, the first student, arrived for her second lesson with me. She is a high-achiever in school, and she has successfully completed more than 10 years of serious piano studies. She will be attending an Ivy League University in the fall, and she has already been accepted into a specialized singing ensemble, with the caveat that she takes a few voice lessons first. At the first lesson, it became clear that Eve had serious pitch-matching issues. In most cases, this comes from a lack of practice. The ear is fine, but the mechanism doesn’t know how to respond to create the sounds the ear is hearing. So, we break out the oil can, and a few special techniques to help the ear and the mechanism learn to speak to each other, and we start to wiggle the hinges, slowly and methodically.
Eve had no singing background at all. At the first lesson, I gave her a small set of very specific instructions and a CD of vocal exercise accompaniments to help her. The average student leaves the studio with the tool kit and does next to nothing with it. The average student comes to the next lesson(s) in pretty much the same condition as at the first lesson, having done nothing to affect change. Eve is not the average student.
To my great surprise, in her second lesson, Eve matched almost every pitch in most of the exercises we practiced. Beyond basic pitch matching, I saw her apply the information and the techniques I had given her at the first lesson. Eve was struggling, in a non-egocentric state, to apply the information. The struggle is necessary for skill (and myelin) growth. And the advancement in skill is just a point on an infinite graph, because deep practice teaches us that there is no *there* there. In fact, participating in the struggle that begets results can be intoxicating. Coyle commented on what the teachers at one institution were saying. He wrote, “… instructors routinely see students develop a taste for deep practice. They don’t like it at first … the students begin to tolerate and even enjoy the experience.” Coyle cited a 1995 study of Japanese eighth graders who spent 44 percent of their time, “… inventing, thinking, and actively struggling with underlying concepts.” American students in the same study spent less than 1 percent of their time in that state. Between her first and second lessons, Eve made the exceptional progress and great strides that many of my students *could* make, if they would only practice effectively and efficiently.
At one point during the lesson, Eve attempted to mirror some facial postures of mine. The relaxed tongue and shape of the mouth for the “a” vowel, though very natural positions, were not easy for her to reproduce. Over and over again she tried to find the correct position. She found something like it, but it was manufactured, not relaxed. She struggled with it until it complied. When she put it together with the other elements she had practiced, the result was a free, rich, resonant tone. Her parent, in the room, jumped in surprise. It’s difficult to describe how Eve acknowledged the resulting tone. She was pleased, but not overwhelmed. She described its good qualities without hesitation. It was as if the accessing of that sound was as spontaneous and natural an event as was the sound itself. And that is exactly the best way to *be* when the goal of the work meets the work. There is no thought of the struggle, no thought of the result. And it feels so good when one finds oneself in that zone of awareness without discretion.
Eve left the studio miles ahead of where I had expected her to be, and with song material in hand. And I put the old oil can back on the shelf for the next time I would need it.
Later in the afternoon, Beta, a 16-yr-old who has been with me since age 12, finally put together some of the pieces that have been eluding her for way too long. She’s been on the verge for several weeks. As a student of mine who teaches another discipline recently said (paraphrased), “When what the teacher says starts to sound repetitive, you already know what to do.” When I have interrupted Beta’s singing to make corrections in recent lessons, she has commented on the correction before I’ve had a chance. The circuits are connecting. Beta is bright. But, like most teens, she is scattered between too many activities and she doesn’t work *focused.* She is among the deep practice-challenged. So, Beta practiced a little extra this past week! It paid off. I always tell my students, it doesn’t necessarily matter what, or even how well, you practice. What matters is that you make the concerted effort, apply some time – and even *think* time counts. Beta found her way into the zone early in the lesson. I saw her working without the usual self-criticism, even though she was sensing errors and making and commenting on corrections. She stayed in a state of flow. By the time we got to her song, she was ready for anything. At the end, she exploded, “That was so EAAASSSSY! It’s never felt so EASY!” She left the studio still in that zone and with that half-hungry for more, half-bewildered about what had just happened look on her face. She was oblivious to people and things around her. That’s what I like to see!!
By Friday evening, flu bug and summer people be darned, the world was a better place.
My Achievements
This week, after weeks and weeks of practicing dripping my lunch on my lap, I finally learned that the outsides of pita bread are not porous enough to hold jelly. I can just feel the myelin forming in my brain, wrapping itself multiple times around those nerve fibers. (Not so tight! Not so tight!) I only hope there’s adequate space in there. (No wisecracks.)
Sense and Sentience 