Yesterday I played my flute, which is not something I do very often in a non-teaching environment. I used to have major skills; I don’t anymore. It can be depressing to try and play a piece that I performed for a college recital, for example, and listen to myself make multiple mistakes I’d never have made back then. I’ve accepted that I’ve lost much of my playing ability and will probably never get it back to where it was. Instead of practicing flute, I learned how to teach better, play other instruments, and improve my writing skills. I can live with that trade-off.

But even though I’m not where I once was, it still feels good to take out my flute and challenge myself now and then. It reminds me what I’m trying to teach my students, and the important life lessons that performing music has taught me.

The Moment of Fear

Yesterday I attempted a difficult run (combination of fingerings) in the first movement of the Bach Partita for Flute, one of my favorites. In the moment before the run, I thought to myself, “I’m not going to make this.” I felt the old, familiar gnaw of fear in my stomach. It rose up, and I recognized it immediately. It told me that I wasn’t going to make the run, that I was about to fail out loud, in front of my children, who were playing nearby.

I didn’t make the run. My fingers flubbed it completely. 

The Failure of Confidence

That gnaw of fear intrigued me. It’s a moment that every musician knows, and probably every athlete, too: you’re approaching the trickiest moment, and you know you won’t make it unless you’re completely confident– and then your confidence fails you. It made sense that my confidence had failed me at that moment, playing the Bach Partita, because I hadn’t practiced it in so long.

But it wasn’t just that I hadn’t practiced the notes. I hadn’t practiced the confidence either.

Practicing Bravery

Ever since my word of 2016, Brave, I’ve made it a point to look for situations where I need some extra bravery. It’s become easy to find the trigger. I just look for moments of fear– because fear is the root of almost all uncomfortable emotion and paralysis– name the fear out loud, and dig deep into my well of brave feeling. Every time I do it, another drop appears in the well. Sometimes it dries up a little, when I give into my fears, as I did while playing the flute yesterday. But I know it’s there, and will continue to replenish me if I dig for it.

It would make a great ending to this blog post if I could tell you that I spent a few minutes practicing that run, building up my confidence with each pass, and finally performed it perfectly, finishing to wild applause from my children. But I didn’t do that. I put my flute away, thinking about another area where I need to practice confidence and bravery: in my writing. Writing isn’t completely like performing music. Your raw ability isn’t generally exposed in the moment; you can hide behind edits and polish your words. But eventually it gets put out there. Eventually, it gets read. And the moment you push the Publish button, or click to send the querying email, you have to summon that same sort of bravery that it takes to play a run in the Bach Partita. You have to be willing to say, “I’m not sure if I’m ready, or if it’s going to work out, but I’m going to try.”