October 2009 Archives

I am a musician who reads sheet music. Dots and lines and foreign phrases all must be translated before a written page can become a song. The beginner may take hours, days or even weeks to do this, while I need just a few minutes (depending on the complexity). This is not because I am a genius; I have been playing for 30 years.

A beginner will slowly and carefully make sure all the details are right. What key is it in? Is it a 3-4 waltz or a 4-4 rock beat? Is that chord supposed to sound unusual? What exactly does Adagio mean? At the start, I HAD to plod through in order to figure it out.

As the lessons continued, you might say I became proficient, but mostly I got better at guessing. I now play a lot of songs, some of them well, but rarely without mistakes; and too often when I'm learning a new piece, I just guess so that I can continue on and enjoy the song..mistakes and all.

The hard truth is it would be a richer melody, and much more pleasant experience for anyone listening, if I took the time to figure out all the nuances and key changes and strange chords and tempo-marks.

And this truth applies to all things in life. How much more powerful would my computer program be if I took the time to read the instructions? How much easier would the drive be if I first took the time to figure out the best route? How much more rewarding would my marriage be if I took to the time to find out what happened in my husband's life each day?

When I first touched a computer, I read every word. When I first learned to drive, I knew exactly how to get where ever I was going. When I first met Glenn, I asked about all the details.

If I did my writing job well today, you will need only read this once to get the picture. Swiftness comes as we repeat our daily tasks, but we should not take for granted the understanding and richness that is gained when we take a moment to figure it out.

[Footnote:  Adagio means, "slow, leisurely; a slow movement."]

One of the hardest obstacles to overcome when performing is nervousness.

The older I get, the more I realize that it's vanity that activates these nerves, and that's not a trait I want to uphold. The dictionary describes vanity as undue pride in one's self or appearance. While it's not easy to get up in front of an audience and throw off concerns like "Do I look ok?" or "Will I meet their expectations?", the irony is that the more I worry, the worse I play.

I recently watched Oprah Winfrey interview the former actor Michael J. Fox. Suffering with Parkinson's Disease, Michael's limbs jerked and twitched as if, as he described it, a rambunctious child was climbing all over him. It was difficult not to get distracted by his constant motion, but that didn't diminish the power of what he said.

The words I remember most came when Michael described how the disease gave him a new perspective. He is now aware of what is important, and his life began to improve the day he realized he needed to throw vanity out the window.

If a performer loves what he is doing, it means that he has found his talent. People want to be captivated, and it is the presentation of that talent they come to see. Vanity only blocks talent and ruins an otherwise great performance, whether it's for an audience of one or ten million.

The latest version of my SOS Signal newsletter contains advice for anyone who uses Email in a professional environment. Read more here:   Sept/Oct SOS Signal Newsletter