Finding Focus

At a recent recital, I was playing piano for several high school musicians. We had rehearsed together a few times, and I felt confident going into the performance. Then little details started whittling away at that confidence. The piano was arranged in such a way that I could not see the performers well, so I missed some opportunities to coordinate. The room was cold, and the resulting stiffness in my fingers reduced my dexterity. I hadn’t had a chance to practice in that space, so my ears were not accustomed to the reverb…

It looks like a list of excuses from where I am sitting, and perhaps that what it ultimately is. But my performance that day was not what I would have liked it to be. I am convinced that the real reason is simply that I don’t practice as much as I used to. Without frequent practice, the muscles and the mind lose a bit of capability, and I no longer spend the 4–6 hours practicing every day that I once did. If I were to focus my career on being a pianist, I would need to make some adjustments.

Instead, I have concluded that having money is the result of helping other people. I want to find ways to engage my passions in helping other people, and I want to create ways for that to be an income stream, so I am not sacrificing my own well being for the sake of my passions. In fact, that kind of sacrifice is the stuff of martyrs, and I’m not submitting any more applications for that position. But not every opportunity to help others is equally satisfying or equally compensated. As much as I have enjoyed playing the piano and the connections with young musicians, accompanying middle- and high-school musicians frankly doesn’t pay well enough for a person to make that their entire source of revenue.

So I am faced with a challenge of focus. As I began exploring what I wanted my life to be, I realized that I had been playing small for a long time. My first goal was to spend more time creating music and seeking opportunities for it to be heard. Pursuing that goal initially resulted in some short term jobs to meet immediate financial needs, and in less than six months, I now have an exclusive publishing contract for one of my pieces, which can be a stepping stone toward long-range success as a composer.

There have been other things occupying my attention, however. I became an independent contractor in a wellness business in order to develop residual income which would allow me to take full advantage of the freedom of time and location I had gained. As a result, I have been learning and honing some entrepreneurial skills I never saw a use for in previous positions. It has definitely ramped up my personal development, and the skills I am learning are transferable to every other area of my life. Although I haven't yet replaced my old salary, if I were to truly focus on developing this business, I can see the potential to do so in a short period of time from where I stand.

And yet, I still have a passion to help others deepen their purpose and build a strategic vision for their own goals. Although my wellness business can offer this in a very focused way, some people aren't looking for an entrepreneurial opportunity. They want to engage their passions differently, create something bigger than what they thought possible, or just find greater meaning in what they are currently doing. Helping people find purpose and create a vision energizes me and fuels my own creativity. So I am creating Envisionability, a newsletter about purpose, vision, and creative solutions. I see how this can help other people, serve my own personal growth, and ultimately serve as another revenue stream so that I can keep spending my time helping people, composing, and simply enjoying life.

My challenge now is focus. Do I focus on the thing that I most want to do, or the thing that can bring the most financial freedom? Do I split my focus on three different endeavors, recognizing that they all provide some transferable skills and learning? How will that impact my ability to accomplish my goals in each of those arenas? Will other people see how the different elements of my path are linked, or will they judge me as lacking credibility or clarity? Or is my focus actually on something other than the activities of my journey?

Best Worst Accompanying Job

When I first got the call, my instinct was to say "No." A high school band director had gotten my information from another local instructor as an accompanist who could collaborate well with students playing challenging pieces, and I was grateful for the word-of-mouth advertising. But he was calling with one week's notice to ask if I could play for an event which conflicted with another commitment. And during the conversation he said, "We run into this problem every year." That told me that he hadn't adjusted his preparation model to get an accompanist further in advance, even though it had caused him difficulty to wait until the eleventh hour in the past. Given my schedule, I just didn't know how I could possibly rehearse with his students twice before the event (which is my standard practice), so I politely declined.

I hate to turn down work, especially work that I enjoy doing, but there were so many reasons that this offer seemed like a bad idea, I felt relieved when I ended the call without adding something to my calendar. Then, he called back. It had been a couple of hours, and I was certainly caught off guard. He told me that they had changed the times of the event and asked if I was able to fit it in more easily. After talking for a few minutes, I agreed to take the job, and he said he would email all the info I needed to pick up the music and schedule rehearsals.

There was so much about the offer that I didn't like. He didn't seem organized. The event was only a week away, and his description of some of the pieces suggested that I would prefer a few weeks to work on them rather than a few days. My schedule was already packed with other accompanying jobs, and I honestly didn't believe that I would be able to provide the quality and quantity of time I typically give students. And to top it off I simply didn't find it easy to trust the director, even though I had only spoken with him for a total of 15-20 minutes. Somehow, I expected that the circumstances would be different from other schools with which I was working.

That same week, I had agreed to almost exactly the same time frame at another school. I was already playing piano for about a dozen advanced students at the high school. The director called me early on a Monday morning, exactly one week before their event, and told me that one of their accompanists was ill and they needed to find a replacement. She told me that I was the first person she called because she recognized that I was one of the most skilled accompanists on their roster, and she asked if I would be willing to take on another ten students. When I arrived at the school later that day, she had all of the additional music together, she had the schedules of all of the students, she introduced me to them and told them about the change of plan, and she reassured them that everything would be fine with their original accompanist. As I worked with the students, she was constantly on hand to help coordinate the rehearsal schedule. What could have been a chaotic and stressful arrangement was instead smooth and enjoyable because she was so on top of things. I was very happy that I had agreed to take on a little more, even with only one week to put it all together.

For some reason, I wasn't expecting the same treatment from the director on the phone. I watched for his email, trusting that I would be able to make everything work with my time and it would be another opportunity to build my reputation. But over the next few days, the email didn't arrive, and it was late in the evening on Sunday when I received his call. His event was now four days away, and he was calling to let me know that he would have music gathered together for me by Tuesday morning. I explained to him my concerns about how little time remained before the event, and I told him that I would likely not be able to rehearse twice with each student at that point. That seemed fine, and we worked out a schedule of when I would be on hand during school hours for the students to rehearse, and when I hung up, I had a bit of a sinking feeling about the whole affair.

On Thursday, I was angry. This was hands down the worst accompanying job I had ever accepted. They didn't actually have all of the piano music, so they had to rush order it. Some of the students had never even played through their entire solo before I met with them, and others were playing pieces that required considerable coordination between pianist and soloist that simply wasn't likely to develop in a single rehearsal. The manner in which the director spoke to the students conveyed a lack of respect, and he had certainly not set them up for success. He referred to me as "Mr. Parfait," even after I had corrected him, and he brought a challenging piece of music to me as the event was starting to ask if I could play it for another student I had not even met ahead of time. I heard from everyone involved that it was the same story every year, waiting until the last minute and scrambling to get accompanists and music together. To top it off, I had never been told with certainty what I would be paid for my efforts.

And then, when I sat down to play for the first student, I realized that I wasn't there to do the director a favor. As disorganized and disrespectful as the director had been, I was grateful for the opportunity to be a part of the students' journeys as musicians. I was reminded of what was true about me, my compassion, my skill, my passion for music and connection with other people, my ability to encourage and inspire. I would have loved to have more rehearsals with the students, and I could have played those piano parts more skillfully with a little more time. But I did my very best under the circumstances, and the students represented themselves well.

It wasn't difficult to let go of my anger about the situation when I got back to the real reason that I was there. Out of a desire for them to have the best program possible, I suggested some planning guidelines to the director and provided the names of a couple of area directors that held similar events so he could compare notes and they could learn from one another. I will probably think twice before I agree to another event with that particular director, and I have learned once again that I don't enjoy playing music as much when I have too little time to prepare it well. And yet, when I clearly recognize the real purpose behind my choices, I can be satisfied with how I handle circumstances and impact lives.

Beliefs Become Reality

Over the last two weekends, I have put my piano skills to work accompanying about 80 beginner-level musicians at their solo and ensemble events. Students from several schools gather at a host school and take their turns walking into what is usually a math or social studies classroom and playing their piece (with their trusty pianist) for a judge who is usually a complete stranger. For some, it is a grueling experience, and for many of them it is a lot of fun. For me, it has been remarkable to see what adorns the walls of modern classrooms.

Certainly there must have been inspirational posters of some kind when I was a young student, but I don't remember what they said. Posters decorating the classrooms I was in this weekend had phrases like: Surround yourself with what you want to become. (It depicted a rather dull pencil in the midst of a forest of very sharp ones.) Another read: Character takes courage... it requires doing what's right, not what's easy or popular. Of course, some of the messages were about how to treat other people, and some were designed to build effective habits. My favorite of those was: If you don't have time to do it right, you must have time to do it over. The ones that most caught my attention, though, were the ones that were instilling beliefs that may not be conveyed in any other area of a person's life.

We don't outgrow some beliefs. Whether they actually serve us well or not, we hang on to some ideas about reality without any concrete supporting evidence. And sometimes we even cling to conflicting beliefs. We may believe that it's absolutely true that strong moral character is desirable and requires sacrifices. And we may believe that it's absolutely true that you have to cheat to get ahead in life. One of those certainly wasn't on a classroom poster, but many people pick it up somewhere. Just those two conflicting beliefs can wind up meaning intense struggle about identity and defining success. And we have hundreds and hundreds of beliefs that we have claimed as truths.

Claiming a belief is true doesn't really alter reality, though. Sure, some people get more money or a better career position by cheating. Yes, the choices people make in friendships have an influence on them. But it also takes courage to do something that doesn't seem "right" to everyone around you. And sometimes it may be important to get a task done without worrying about whether it's done as perfectly as possible. The bottom line is: I get to choose the standards by which I live my life. I don't get to define Truth, but I do get to decide what I'm going to believe. And that changes everything about how I live.

About a year and a half ago, I believed that I was trapped. So, naturally, I started working on getting myself out of the trap... only to realize that I wasn't actually trapped by anything other than my own picture of the way things had to be. When I started believing something different about myself, reality started to look different as well. I don't actually believe that reality changed, but what I was able to see changed. Being willing to dance with what was verifiably true opened up possibilities that didn't exist for me when I was claiming all kinds of things as truths, when they were actually just beliefs I had chosen.

More to come on recent developments. For now, one last poster I saw this weekend (quoting Henry Ford, I think) : Whether you believe you can or you believe you can't, you're right.

A Terrifying Acknowledgment

When I was teaching college courses a couple of years ago, students would occasionally ask how long they were required to wait if I wasn't around at the start of class. The policy (anecdotal at least) was that students should wait 15 minutes for a professor with a Master's degree and the entire class time for a doctor. Since I had earned my terminal degree, I advised them to wait for me unless I had officially canceled class. This policy seemed unfair to some of them, perhaps even like a sort of forced respect, but it never really came into play. I was almost always early to classes I was teaching.

In fact, I am almost always early to everything. I suppose I have thought of it as polite or even respectful not to make people wait for me. I certainly waited for a few professors in graduate school, but only on a rare instance did it seem to be an inordinate amount of time. With regard to my own classes, I considered it a matter of respect to the students to start on time. I wanted to cover a lot of material, and I wanted to take advantage of every moment I had to convey that material. But I wondered recently if my sense of self-worth hasn't at some point crept in to the practice of being early, or at the very least, on time. Was I really worth waiting for? Do I arrive early because I believe I may not be worth the wait in other people's eyes?

Saturday, I accompanied about 50 young musicians in a solo and ensemble contest. In the morning, I played for students from one school's band program, and in the afternoon, I was with students from a different school's orchestra program. Plans had been made in advance to ensure I would have about an hour to get lunch in between, and I had the schedules in hand a few days ahead of time. I rehearsed with each of the students twice over the previous two weeks, so we were well-prepared on that front as well.

The judges took a little more than the allotted time with each student, which is par for the course at these events. Many of the pieces selected by the students (or their teachers) were longer than the actual time slot, and the judges typically want to give some valuable verbal feedback to students in the moment. What I didn't expect was that we would be almost an hour behind schedule by lunch time. I had ten minutes to scarf something down and get to another part of the building where the orchestra students were being judged.

Except that the orchestra students weren't in another part of the building. They were at another facility entirely, about 15 minutes away. I learned this at precisely 1:00, when I was supposed to be accompanying the first student of the afternoon. A director offered to make a phone call to the other school as I rushed out to the car and spent 20 minutes in heavy traffic mentally deriding myself. I had simply assumed that both groups of students would be in the same place. I may have heard differently at some point, but I didn't have anything written down. Now, I was holding up an entire afternoon that had been carefully scheduled because of that assumption.

I arrived at the site where the orchestra students (and parents and judges) were waiting and parked as close as I could to the front door. As I rushed up to the door, I saw a sign that directed contest participants around to the side of the building. My mind was going crazy with criticism and my heart was pounding. All of the personnel for the contest and the families of every student I was accompanying were being inconvenienced by my error. By the time I found where I was supposed to be, I was easily half an hour late. I exchanged a few words of explanation with the orchestra teacher, and I went in with the first soloist of the afternoon. And that was it. They waited for me, and once I arrived, things got back in motion.

While I don't want to become less intentional about when I arrive or how I prepare for events, the whole experience has given me an opportunity to acknowledge the value that others place on my presence. I want to be more conscientious about the details for future events, especially if there is limited time between commitments. But I also want to appreciate the respect I receive from others. When it comes down to it, I waited on my professors because I valued what they had to say. If I didn't, I probably wouldn't have shown up to class in the first place. What I have to contribute has value, too. And I'm more likely to bring myself fully forward when I recognize that.

Complexity and Value

Every year, a panel of individuals updates and revises a list of music for American middle and high school solo and ensemble competitions. There are actually several different organizations that oversee these contests, but the process is the same. Their selections comprise a long list of pieces considered to be "standard repertoire" and of appropriate brevity to fit in the contest schedule, which means that sometimes only one movement of a longer work winds up on the list. And each piece is rated by its complexity on a five-point scale.

There is a distinct difference between a "Grade 1" piece and a "Grade 5" piece, but judges in these contests are really judging how well a student plays whatever piece they have selected. Musicians that want to progress to a state-level competition usually have to play a piece of a certain complexity from memory, and they have to play it well. But a student can receive high marks for performing a piece that is appropriate for their level of experience, even if it isn't one of the most difficult pieces on the list. As an accompanist, I am playing for some talented students who have worked hard and play challenging pieces very, very well. I have also been rehearsing well-prepared "easy" pieces that are more musically compelling and enjoyable than some thrown together "difficult" pieces, and I have realized something about how I hold my own music.

Certainly, there are many pieces that are off the chart for what a high school musician is expected to be able to play well. In fact, there aren't very many serial or avant-garde pieces on the contest lists I've seen, and with good reason. Most high-schoolers don't have the experience with their instrument or with music theory to play such pieces convincingly. Or even musically. And yet I have been accompanying some beautiful, fun, and exciting pieces of music. Somewhere along the line, I got it into my head that "more difficult" equates with "better," and that belief had some deep roots.

Perhaps it comes from a desire to be taken seriously as a composer, or even a healthy appreciation for overcoming a challenge, but the thought that difficulty and worthiness run in proportion with one another has been something of a prison that I trapped my creative energies inside. Virtuosity has its place, but so does simplicity. I often criticize my musical ideas as unimpressive, when the sound would otherwise be ideal for what I want to express. Judging the value of my creative expression by how difficult it will be for a performer to reproduce... well, even writing it out in those terms seems silly.

Some of the most profound and compelling ideas have been simple ideas. In fact, I find immense humor in Rube Goldberg contrivances that accomplish the most mundane tasks in the most complicated ways possible. Many of the musical innovations of the 20th Century were not necessarily born out of interest in accessibility or beauty, but rather to form an intellectual argument about the future of art music. It was an aesthetic choice toward the complex, with a clear understanding that such music was not being written for the masses. Whether I enjoyed or criticized individual pieces, learning about and becoming intimately familiar with so much of that "intellectual" music likely had an impact on my beliefs about musical value.

That doesn't have to determine what I do from here on, however. I honestly want to compose music that expresses something beyond how hard a performer had to work. Whether the ideal sounds for what I am creating in a particular piece are "easy" or "complicated" is actually low on my list of conscious musical priorities. So, I am ready to stop limiting the possibilities of what I can create based on its complexity and start allowing for the full breadth of my ideas to take shape, no matter how simple they may seem.

Evoking Passion

As I have been playing piano for a large number of high school musicians over the past week, it has struck me that so many of the beliefs and habits people carry around for the rest of their lives are already in place for these students. Many of them are talented, but the level of dedication and artistry displayed by a few of them is reflected in the music they play. They have tapped into a true passion for what they are doing... something not everyone discovers. A few students are on the other end of the spectrum as well. After every few measures, they take a pause to offer excuses and justifications for why they don't know a piece or aren't playing very well.

Of course, some of this latter group's behavior could be the result of nerves, but there is something more underneath. After accompanying so many other musicians over so many years, it's evident to me that some of them call forth a level of passion and intention that others never reach. And the same goes for other walks of life as well. There are some people who turn being laid off from a job into an opportunity to create something about which they are truly passionate. I have heard of people writing books, starting companies, or taking their lives in unexpected and satisfying directions, all because they "lost" a job. Others interpret the same circumstances as a sort of paid vacation, or use the situation as an excuse to indulge in self-defeating thoughts and behaviors. They don't tap into the same level of passion and purpose.

In my own life, I have taken the time created by stepping away from a predictable work schedule to compose music and seek more opportunities for my music to be heard. And I have been working to fit all of the things that ignite my passion into one big picture of my life. Seeing how excuses and assumptions work against other people, though, I have realized that I can be doing the things that are truly important to me, regardless of my circumstances. Many years ago, I was working full time as a courier and wrote a ten-minute wind ensemble piece over lunch breaks and in the evenings. And back then, the full score and all of the parts were written out by hand; I didn't have a computer program to assist with notating the music the way I do now. But it mattered to me, and so I made it happen.

Believing that I have to create a special set of circumstances in order to have what I want is a self-imposed limitation. It means that I have an excuse for not doing the things that matter to me, which could have the payoff of letting me play the martyr. In any case, recognizing that I have the freedom to do what what's important to me regardless of my circumstances is liberating. I am grateful that I know what I'm passionate about, and I strive to stay awake to how I can inspire others to discover what those things are in their own lives.

Establishing Value

Over the last few weeks, I have appreciated the chance for some last-minute accompanying opportunities. I didn't expect to be available for music gigs until the end of the year, so I hadn't really done much advance planning for December. As I was confronted with the question of how much to charge for rehearsals and performances, I realized that it was time to deal with some beliefs about money once and for all.

Money has never been a preoccupation for me. I would prefer not to have to worry about dollar signs at all and just compose, collaborate with other musicians, and spend time connecting with and inspiring other people. There is nothing distinctly economical about the culture of integrity, gratitude, and grace I envision, although people would probably make different choices with their money if they acted more out of gratitude than fear and embraced integrity. But coming to terms with my beliefs about money will be a big part of how I am able to create what I want in the the coming months.

When I had a full-time job in a related field, my bills were getting paid, but I wasn't spending the time and energy I wanted to creating music. Even as I tried over the last year to develop ways to perform the duties of my job in such a way that my creative goals were also being satisfied, I encountered communication hurdles that consumed a lot of the time and energy I freed up. Some of the people who had control over my position had expectations that were different than what I was trying to create, and it ultimately resulted in my vision taking me away from that position.

Looking back at that situation, it was a convenient way for me to avoid addressing the issue of money. Having a salary meant that there was a concrete dollar value already placed on my time and expertise. Anything I was able to create in my "spare time" didn't need to have any financial specifics attached, because the money I needed for survival was coming from another source. Asking for more just seemed greedy.

Now I am recognizing that the money I earn from my music is a byproduct of my music having an opportunity to impact people's lives. I also realize that it doesn't serve any part of my vision to undervalue myself. Having a clear and specific dollar figure in mind for accompanying jobs, music preparation projects, and commissions doesn't mean that I can't be flexible. But it sets the stage for a better financial foundation for what I want to create in the world. Stepping away from fears about survival or an attitude of neediness opens space to actually have all of the ingredients my vision requires. I believe big dreams are best supported by fully acknowledging my capability and value.

The Case for Live Accompaniment

I've been accompanying young musicians for some intermediate school competitions over the last few weeks, playing the same piano parts several times in a day. Some students choose to use a CD accompaniment, perhaps for a variety of reasons. The CD is predictable and consistent. They may have practiced many times over with the recording. The CD doesn't cost them anything additional to show up at the competition.

A live accompanist is an asset, though, as many teachers point out in their letters to parents. A live pianist can follow a student who rushes ahead or holds a note too long. A live accompanist can adjust the balance of the instruments more effectively. And a live accompanist can provide feedback in a rehearsal. But I've been thinking today about what I get out of it.

Sure, I get paid. It's not enough to call it a second job, but it is a little extra to help out with infestation recuperation. In truth, it's not enough money to be worth the effort by itself. What I have concluded is that it is a matter of connection.

Music was initially designed to communicate and to connect people. And we still use it for the same purposes. Alan Merriam's list aside, people value music because of its ability to connect us to one another, to our beliefs, to our history, to nature, even to God. Music connects us to distant times and cultures as well as to the world around us right this moment. And although we can get some of that impact from a recording, live music is exponentially more connecting.

I still believe that musicians should get paid, don't get me wrong. But the real payoff is in the opportunity to connect with one another and to communicate through the music. It's what makes the difference between an accurate performance and a truly beautiful one. It's the part of music that can't be as easily taught in a classroom. That what I get to be a part of. No wonder I get such a kick out of it.

Making Things Difficult

On Saturday I accompanied a ton of intermediate school musicians at a local competition event. At their level, the piano parts were not terribly difficult and the judges were mostly there to encourage the students to stick with their musical training. It was fun to work with them, and I made a little money. Over lunch, while sitting with one of the event organizers, I even made a couple of strategic suggestions that may improve their scheduling system in the future. The most flattering part, though, was when one of the teachers pre-booked me for next year's event.

I walked away from that event believing that I was a skilled accompanist, an insightful strategist, and a valued musician. Then I went to work on some of the high school accompaniments I am preparing for a couple of weeks out. These piano parts are a bit more challenging, and I was really struggling with a couple of them. One in particular was marked "Allegro con Vivo," which I was interpreting to mean "faster than you would like." It was a difficult piece of music. Nearly at the limit of my ability.

Then, I rehearsed with the saxophonist Monday morning. I asked him about his tempo, since "Allegro con Vivo" is a rather subjective marking. I was astonished that his speed was nearly half the speed I had been practicing. It still sounded fast, and it still had liveliness. But now it was suddenly an easy piece of music. Of course, I'll still practice it and prepare for this student's performance, but I won't dread it or use it as evidence that my skills aren't enough.

Now I'm wondering what else seems to be at the limit of my ability. What else am I making more difficult than it actually has to be?