My Own Worst Enemy

As I've mentioned before, learning is like a spiral.  I keep encountering the same issues over and over again, but I usually get to approach them from a slightly new perspective.  This week, it was the idea of asking for what I want (which seems to have been on my mind about a year ago as well).  The challenge hasn't been in knowing what I want or how to articulate it.  Rather, I have this sense that people who are bold about stating what they want are jerks, to put it mildly.

Actually, that's not entirely true.  I respect people who state what they want clearly, and I appreciate knowing what matters to someone.  The option is to play guessing games, and that often winds up just being an exercise in frustration.  So really, my belief about stating what I want is that people are going to think that I am a jerk.  So, it's more about vulnerability and opening myself up to other people's judgment.  And if I'm honest about it, this means I often fear that other people will be a threat to getting what I want rather than a boon.  When I think about it intellectually, this is a silly fear, but it's still a fear.

So, even though I appreciate it when people are clear about what they want, the prospect of clearly expressing what I want has been intimidating.  The way I often perceive it, stating what I want puts me at other people's mercy.  Other people can determine whether I deserve what I want or not, and they get to decide whether they are going to help or hinder.  Of course, the irrational fear is that people are more likely to choose to hinder me than help me.  So, when I state what I want, I have to be strong about it.  Defiant even.  No wonder I'm afraid of coming across like a jerk.

But I don't want to come across as being a jerk, so I just keep my mouth shut about what I actually want and complain under my breath about not getting it.  When I really think about it, there are other options.  Stating what I want doesn't place any responsibility on someone else to make sure I get it.  Creating what I want is still up to me, and being clear about it can make all sorts of decisions easier.  Other people can play a part in that creation, but the responsibility for making what I want important is mine and mine alone.  While a few people have chosen to put obstacles in my path from time to time, others have been invaluable.  And although I don't know this, I suspect that the people who chose to make a situation more difficult than it could have been probably would have done so whether or not they knew what I wanted.

The best way for me to get what I want is to ask for it and trust in my ability to create it.  In personal relationships, this looks like what some people would call defining the relationship, being willing to say what I want clearly and being willing to listen to what the other person wants.  With the music I compose, it means creating without second guessing my vision for a piece, and diligently building relationships with performers so that the music can be heard.  Being honest with myself about what I really want in any given situation might mean setting the bar fairly high.  Personally, I would rather reap the benefits of dedication to a high standard than spend time complaining about not getting what I want.

Expert Opinions

In a recent discussion among a group of professional musicians and artists, I was stuck by the comment, We're all experts at something...  It would probably be an accurate statement in any group, but it's quite different from a phrase often used by one of the leaders in another group with which I worked: None of us here is an expert...  I think these two very different perspectives open up possibilities for very different results.

The word "expert" has actually become suspiciously uninformative.  According to Tim Ferris, you can legitimately call yourself an expert if you've read the three top-selling books on a topic.  Perhaps in some situations that's enough, but it isn't always sufficient for me to trust my knowledge of a subject.  I am much more confident claiming to be an expert in the field of music, because I've been doing that for over 30 years.  I guess from my perspective, experience has something to do with the definition of an expert.  There are a few other niches that I feel qualified to call myself an expert as well, but there are also other people from whom I could learn a thing or two.  Even within the broad field of music, there are areas that I don't consider myself expert, like playing bassoon or crafting a violin.  So whether one is legitimately qualified as an expert sometimes depends on the context as well.

For someone to state, "None of us is an expert here," is intended to open up creative and full participation from everyone present.  If no one is an expert, then everyone's opinion is equally valid.  If no one is an expert, then no one can pass judgment on the ideas that are shared.  But if no one is an expert, then everything shared becomes reduced to opinion and decisions get made based on the most powerful personalities rather than the most accurate data.  If no one is an expert, then it actually devalues the collective experiences of the group. This is a great way to preserve the status quo, but not a great way to move forward and grow.

"We are all experts at something," is equally intended to encourage creative and full participation from everyone present, except with a bit more wisdom and insight thrown into the mix.  It begs the question, "What is my area of expertise?  What do I know more about than most people here?"  It means that everyone has something to offer, but it also means that everyone has something to learn.  You are an expert at something, and everyone else here is an expert at something.  No one is better than anyone else in that case.  Everyone simply has something different to bring to the table.

I'm not trying to hide which perspective I respect more.  The most productive, honest, and healthy situation I can imagine for a group is one in which everyone's expertise is acknowledged and valued.  In assembling a group for a special project, it makes sense to bring together people that have different pockets of expertise that are important to the task.  This is obviously more valuable than just a group of willing people without a clue. 

The trick is recognizing one's own strengths and weaknesses and being willing to bring both forward.  Some people don't want to bring their strengths to the foreground because they want to be modest or humble, or they think that their ideas will be shot down, or they doubt the value of their own experience.  Others live under the impression that they don't actually have any weaknesses, that there is nothing they need to learn and no task that someone else could do better.  Both are equally dysfunctional.  As the philosopher admonished, "Know thyself."  A wise person is willing to fully claim their expertise and fully accept the expertise of others.  And a group of people with that attitude in place could do something truly remarkable.  

The Price of Cognitive Dissonance

I am reading Robert Burton's On Being Certain: Believing You Are Right Even When You're Not, and like many authors who write on similar topics, he discusses cognitive dissonance: the unsettling phenomenon of adhering to two conflicting beliefs at the same time.  In a strange bit of synchronicity, I received some practical advice from another composer this week about pricing music composed for advertising.  He has done quite a bit more negotiating than I in this arena, and he has worked out a system which makes a great deal of sense.  There was one bit that he said that completely floored me, however: "Basically, just figure out the rock-bottom dollar amount you need from the project and start the negotiations at ten times that."

Cognitive dissonance sets in for me because I am confident that he knows what he's talking about, and yet I have concerns about pricing myself out of a project.  The underlying belief is that my time or my abilities aren't worth that much to other people.  It isn't that I think my time or talent isn't valuable -- although I'll freely admit that my mind can slip back to that paraphrasing rather easily.  When I dig down into it, it's the belief that other people don't see the value of what I have to offer, and therefore I can't possibly start off negotiations by asking for ten times what I absolutely need to make.  Three times that figure, maybe.  Any more than that just flies in the face of what I think about other people's ability or willingness to value... well, me.

I know that negotiations for a commercial project are different from collaboration with a music non-profit or a specific chamber ensemble, but in the more "artistic" arenas, I am even more likely to sell myself short because of my beliefs about non-profits and musicians and money.  The key part of my fellow composer's advice, though, is to start negotiations at ten times what I absolutely must make to undertake the project.  That also implies a willingness to come down as far as what I determine to be rock-bottom.  If I start at rock-bottom, I have no room to negotiate, and I won't be giving anyone a chance to see greater value in what I have to offer.

If I never challenge my beliefs about what value other people are capable or willing to see, they are not likely to change. But having a concrete dollar figure as a starting point for negotiation gives me a framework to experiment with my beliefs, which is in my opinion, a healthy way to confront cognitive dissonance.  If I believe two conflicting ideas, I could just choose one arbitrarily.  I could just live with the mental discomfort.  I could develop other beliefs to make sense out of the dissonance.  Confronting the competing beliefs head-on has the potential to lead to a stronger conviction in one direction or the other, and the best way I know to confront the beliefs is to test them where it's possible to do so.  Spiritual beliefs are somewhat immune to testing, but beliefs about negotiating a price for a project (and many other beliefs about myself and other people) are quite easily tested.

So, basing my numbers on a formula that has been tried and tested by a reliable source, I can determine the absolute minimum amount of money I need to receive in order to make a project worthwhile, and I can resolve not to allow negotiations to dip below that absolute minimum amount.  Multiplying that figure by ten gives me the starting point for my end of the negotiations, combined with the time-frame I believe I'll need to complete the work.  From there, the experiment will play out, hopefully over a series of projects, and I'll have a set of clear empirical data against which I can measure my beliefs about what my work is worth.  I can formulate hypotheses ahead of time, but the strong beliefs I have are hypotheses in and of themselves.  Ten times what I absolutely must make still seems exorbitant, and yet a part of me knows that it's an appropriate place to start.  The most challenging part may be to set aside the cognitive dissonance for awhile and allow my beliefs to be effectively tested.  The reward is a sense of personal value based on actual experience rather than whatever I invent inside my own head.  In other words, the high stakes are worth the challenge. 

Stravinsky's Wisdom

There are some quotes that return again and again like a perfectly appropriate refrain for many different experiences.  I have mentioned before the value I find in Stravinsky's words, "The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self."  The key, of course, is determining where those constraints come from.  External controls are a bit more difficult to embrace as desirable, but deciding for oneself where to create boundaries for a project helps define, focus, and inspire.

Q&A with August Bradley

My Dark Little Room by August Bradley

What I am finding with my current project, however, is that I sometimes fail to distinguish between what I want to create and what I must create.  I wind up thinking things like, If I compose a piece for an ensemble of this size, it will be a challenge to ever get it performed... I should go with something smaller.  That isn't really all that inspiring a decision, to be honest.  It's much more inspiring to consider what the perfect set of instruments would be for a particular piece.  It might be a full orchestra, or it might be just a quartet or trio.  That kind of constraint, being very specific about what is desirable, is what most easily opens the door to freedom.  It requires focusing on what I want rather than misconceptions about what must be done.

While that may not seem like a constraint, it does eliminate possibilities.  Once I consider that the perfect ensemble for a piece is a woodwind trio, I have no reason to consider how a violin or trombone could add to the sound.  I am free to focus on the instruments I have chosen as most desirable options, and I can go on to make further constraints about the piece based on the music and what I see as its ideal incarnation.  It becomes a matter of composing passionately rather than composing "correctly".


My own thoughts get in the way sometimes, though.  I can't start off this quietly and slowly; a piece has to grab the audience right off the bat.   Nevermind that thousands of very effective pieces start quietly and slowly, including a couple I've composed.  I can't repeat that entire section of the music; that's lazy and uninteresting.  Nevermind that repetition is an incredibly important and commonly used element of musical form that can have a musical purpose.  I have to add more complexity to this music; no one wants to listen to a piece that's too simple.  Nevermind that there have been musicians in every age who gained fame from simple pieces because so many people listen to them, or that some of the most memorable and well-loved works of music are just simple, well-written pieces that communicate something of value with compelling aestheticism.   Why in the world would I want to set up such frustrating constraints when the music itself suggests a different direction?  That doesn't create freedom.

So, as I conceive this piece, I am conscious of the kinds of constraints I am using.  I want nothing to do with the voice that claims to know how things must be, especially if those ideas lead me away from the direction of inspiration.  I want to create constraints that are based on my vision for the piece.  Freedom emerges when I am willing to set aside all of the conceptions about how the music must be and define its boundaries by what I want the piece to be.  It may take on its own twists and directions as I compose, but I will be more aware of them and better able to let the music "breathe" within well-defined boundaries.  If only the rest of life were as simple as setting aside the beliefs about what must be and focusing on what is possible.  If only. 

Still Reflection on Troubled Waters

An accompanying job in one of my old stomping grounds has stirred up memories of a challenging situation.  While I'm not one to wallow in regret or rehash the past over and over again in my mind, I do occasionally consider what I could have done differently in a given situation, so that I might learn something valuable even if an experience didn't play out the way I would have preferred.  As I played through this particular sequence of events from my past, I came upon a startling realization.  Although I made conscious efforts to "not make the situation worse," there is very little I could have done to change the outcome.  It would have been more authentic, and perhaps had a greater positive impact on some of the people involved, for me to simply speak directly and honestly without going overboard on efforts to be diplomatic or polite.

As concise as I can be while still painting a more or less complete picture, here is the story.  I fired someone.  Actually, I eliminated their position.  I did so as gently as I could, and I offered another possibility for the person to be involved and continue to earn an income.  This individual was essentially getting paid for doing the same thing that several other people did as volunteers.  It was a bit of an ethical disconnect for one person to get paid to do something that other people did for free, and the budget wouldn't allow me to pay everyone I would have liked to pay.  However, I needed someone to do a different task, a more unique task that I could practically and ethically justify paying someone to do.  It seemed like a perfect fit to me.

Not so for the individual in question.  The position for which I wanted to pay someone was not desirable to this person, so when I stopped paying for her participation, she stopped participating.  I found someone else to fill the paid position and went on with my job.  It was, after all, nothing personal.  When I heard about another paying opportunity for which she was quite qualified, I passed it along, but she wasn't interested in that either. Instead, she started a whisper campaign to get me removed from my position.

One person who was sympathetic to her point of view happened to be the board chairperson, and this position held more power than any salaried position in the organization.  The chairperson already had some significant differences of opinion with me about the organizational structure.  I believed that the paid staff had been hired because of our expertise in our areas of focus, and that the volunteer board existed to guide and support the vision of the organization, spearheaded by staff leadership.  The chairperson believed that the staff were hired help who were expected to follow the orders of the board, lack of expertise or leadership notwithstanding.  This distinction was never clearly communicated to me, so I continued to operate under my own perceptions.

I knew that there were communication issues.  I knew that the board was slow to make decisions, and that many of those decisions were based on fear rather than vision.  I knew that there were rumblings going on behind the scenes and in the shadows.  In other words, I knew this organization to be like most other organizations.  So, I offered leadership from my position to support the stated purpose of the organization, not realizing that leadership was not really what was expected of me.

Eventually, ten months after these events began, it was suggested that I resign.  I did so, and they ushered me out as quickly as possible, with a polite reception and a plaque.  I received the plaque graciously and told everyone how wonderful it had been to be a part of their "family" during my time there, and I left it at that.  In the moment, I thought there was no reason to bring up any of the misguided or dysfunctional actions that led to my departure, since really there were only a couple of angry people with personal agendas that created a toxic environment.

Now, looking back at that situation, I realize that nothing I would have said could have made matters worse.  I'm sure there are things that someone could say or do that would have exacerbated things, but there was no reason for me not to be direct and honest with the people involved.  My situation would have been no different, and (although I doubt anything coming from me would have been received) they just might have heard something that no one else was willing to tell them.  Instead, I gave up and let them have their dysfunction, and in the process I didn't trust myself to be able to confront them with loving honesty.

Sometimes, being adept at self-deception leads us to the illusion that we are also effectively deceiving everyone around us.  I want to be the kind of person who will tell someone, "What you are doing doesn't line up with what you claim to believe."  Not out of spitefulness or malice, but simply because there is really nothing to be lost on my end and everything to be gained on the other end.  If I could go back and observe, "It must be frustrating to constantly be at the center of upheaval and turmoil," I wouldn't have been telling the chairperson anything astounding, but it would have conveyed that I saw the pattern of his involvement in one organization after another. 

Of course, I cannot go back and have any impact on that organization.  That time has passed, and I have moved on to other endeavors.  But I will continue to interact with people for the rest of my life, and I want to take as much as I can from my life's experiences, the ones I absolutely love as well as the ones that are frustrating as hell.  From that chapter, I can glean (among other things) that there isn't that much to be gained by me trying to "not make a situation worse."  I can trust my own authentic baseline of tactful diplomacy, honest care, and incisive discernment without adding anything to it.  It may not change the outcome in the least, but it will change how I am with myself, and that is ultimately worth more than anything.

Seeker's Journey: The Village

Seeker greeted the next morning with great excitement and faith, reassured by the messages of those who had traveled the unmarked path he had discovered and confident that it led to a wondrous destination.  Fear and doubt were still present as he traveled, but they were quiet and unobtrusive.  Before long, Seeker came upon a village and was overjoyed to see its activity.

In the village, there seemed to be many small gaggles of people, and in most of the clusters, many people stood enraptured by a nuclear figure, a speaker of some kind or a person engaged in some intriguing activity.  Some of the people looked as though they had been listening for quite some time, and yet they were captivated by what they heard.  Before long, Seeker realized that this place was like many on his map of destinations, and he quickly unfolded and consulted the map.  He had been to some similar destinations, and there were many more indicated as possibilities: MBA, Community College, Law School, State University, Medical School, and on and on.  Some of those destinations were very specific with regard to quality and location, and some were more general, but they were all sites of learning.

Sites of learning had been a distinct pleasure for Seeker, for he loved to gain new knowledge, and so he began to take in what the village had to offer.  One group was listening to a speaker convey the secrets of finding hidden treasures in the nearby mountains.  It was an interesting topic, but Seeker had obviously missed some essential information at the beginning of the discussion, so he wandered a bit and observed some of the other goings-on.  He saw one individual sitting on the ground, grabbing handfuls of mud and slowly smearing it on his face.  An onlooker whispered, “How profound!” 

Although it increasingly became a challenge, Seeker tried to keep an open mind and benefit from the wisdom of the enlightened people in this village.  One woman claimed to have incontrovertible proof of the existence of extraterrestrial visitors as she held up what was quite obviously an empty pie tin.  Several people claimed to have been contacted by spiritual beings bearing messages of truth, but none of them seemed to have received the same messages.   Some people were unable to share their complete knowledge adequately to the gathered crowd, but had written their secrets down in volumes which were available for purchase.  Little by little, Seeker’s bright, wide-eyed smile began to ebb as he became more and more skeptical of the knowledge to be gained in this site of learning.

A bit disheartened and frustrated, Seeker trudged back to the outskirts of the village.  He was comforted when he saw that his uncharted path continued on past the village.  This, at least, was not the end of the road.  There could be something better ahead, something that had more substance, more truth.  Just then, Seeker heard an unexpected voice near the path ask, “Disappointed?”

He looked to see a large, free-standing window overlooking the path and seemingly connected to nothing.  As he approached, he responded, “Quite disappointed, actually.  I had hoped to learn something.”

 

“Didn’t you?” queried the reflection in the glass.

Seeker pondered the question, and was about to respond when the reflection asked, “Wasn’t the hammock and the fire a nice surprise?”

“Yes.  Yes it was.”  Seeker’s face lit up a bit and his shoulders relaxed.  The reflection smiled back, and Seeker was filled with a sense of comfort and peace.  He decided that he was finished with the village, and he continued down the path.  He didn’t consult his map of destinations, but he wondered what such a place as that village might be called.

In Sync with Me

Jung's concept of synchronicity is a featured concept in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, which I have been working through with a few friends over the past several weeks.  Essentially, synchronicity is "the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner."  In other words, seemingly connected events that don't have a high probability of happening concurrently.  While I am much more prone to labeling such things as coincidences unless they are uncannily pertinent to what I'm doing personally, I have been trying to notice when events seem to be lining up in a significant way.  Perhaps this willingness and intentionality on my part has contributed to a feeling of being "in sync" with my life.

Most theories of personal growth and development postulate an even number of phases, cycling through focusing inward and focusing on something external.  The first phase is usually something akin to survival, concentrating all of one's energy toward getting the basic necessities.  A second phase (if one is able to trust that survival will happen) is often adopting an external set of rules or goals, whether they originate from a church, a political organization, or some other institution with established beliefs.  The next phase would be integrating the meaningful beliefs from outside oneself into a period of defining personal identity.  And once deeper self-actualization has taken place, the following phase would address how to engage with the broader society, or at least some portion of it.  I can see this pattern at work when I look backward at my journey, but I have often been wrestling with whatever phase I've been in.

When I was clearly (looking back) in phases of clarifying personal values, I was also often struggling to engage more purposefully with a larger group.  And sometimes when I have accepted a prominent role within a larger group, I have found myself confronted with challenges about what beliefs are most meaningful to me personally.  While the internal and external work can be in balance, I have frequently tried to force myself to focus in a particular direction when I wasn't actually in the "right" phase to do so.  I have wanted to guard against being focused too narrowly and missing some important piece of personal doctrine.  Certain beliefs about what life "ought" to be about have served better at some junctures than others.  To put it another way, I haven't always been willing to let myself grow because I was afraid of what beliefs I might grow out of.

Everyone has a doctrine—a system of beliefs they live by.  Some piece of a person's doctrine may be incorporated from external sources, and some may come from an internal sense of what's important or how things should be.  But at some point, the beliefs have to become personal if they are going to have deep value.  Living by a doctrine that someone else created for you doesn't reflect integrity.  That's just a sort of irresponsible obedience.  Integrity comes from taking a personal stand for one's own life, claiming a personal set of beliefs not to judge right and wrong in others but to identify what has true personal value.

At some points in my life, the beliefs that primarily informed my decisions were actually different from what I thought I should believe.  I was in conflict with my own doctrine, but I didn't realize it at the time.  Now, I have been taking time to really think about what beliefs are really potent for me.  I have been giving myself permission to be honest about what's most important to me, without worrying about what might get left behind if I focus in a direction that has personal importance.  Trusting myself, with some confidence in what I have been recognizing as valuable for me, I find a strange appropriate-ness in the opportunities I am creating and discovering.

While I may have told myself so in the past as a reassurance or believed it intellectually, I feel in a very deep way that I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment in my life.  It's not synchronicity, but I believe that noticing the "rightness" of my experience comes from being conscious of my personal doctrine and aware of how I am able to engage life in a meaningful way.  And when I know that what I believe makes sense, fear has a lot less of a foothold.

Draco and the Labyrinths

Draco crawled on his belly through the maze.  He didn't know how he had come to be there, but he was beginning to discover how to navigate its twists and turns.  Before long, he could predictably get food when he was hungry and attention when he was lonely, and yet there always seemed to be new paths to explore.  One day, he discovered that he didn't need to slither along the ground, but could actually crawl up the walls of the labyrinth.

With a sense of wonder, Draco climbed on short legs up a wall all the way to the top.  When he looked around, the whole labyrinth was laid out before him.  It was no longer a mystery, and although it was comfortable and familiar, he began to notice something beyond the labyrinth he knew.  It was another place, unfamiliar and yet inviting.  He crawled to that place and began to explore.

Soon, Draco realized that he was in a new maze, with wonders and perils he had never known before.  The old labyrinth was gone.  As he walked along the new passageways, he made new discoveries.  Beyond learning how to get his basic needs met in the new place, he also found ways that led to other rewards.  Before long, the new labyrinth was as familiar as the one he had left behind.  When he scaled the walls, he could see other mazes, but they seemed distant and unreachable.

With a bit of surprise, Draco discovered one day that flaps of skin between his legs would let him glide through the air.  As he tried out his new capability, he realized that he could reach the other labyrinths he had seen with great ease.  He wandered the mazes, each with its own surprises and rewards.  The routes through some of them were so simple that Draco lost interest quickly.  Other labyrinths were complicated enough that he became frustrated with them.  Over time, he became familiar enough with bits and pieces of many labyrinths that he could find his way to what he wanted.  By traveling this or that path, he could reliably get food, shelter, and other rewards.

But Draco eventually became so accustomed to the reliable routes that navigating the labyrinths no longer excited him.  He began to think about who had built the labyrinths, and why they had fashioned the corridors as they had.  He knew that his parents had created at least one of the mazes he frequented, and he assumed that they had traversed their own twisting paths.  Friends, lovers, bosses, distant officials, and others he had never met crafted other labyrinths.  When one maze became tiresome or filled with dead ends, Draco could glide over to another labyrinth and walk its paths for awhile.  And when that became frustrating, he moved to yet another maze.  He began to wonder if there wasn't something more, something that wasn't a labyrinth.  A place without twisting corridors and confusing jumbles of paths.

One day, Draco noticed that the skin flaps that he used to glide from one maze to another had developed further.  To his amazement, he found that he could fly up into the air.  He would soar for awhile, and then return to one of the familiar labyrinths when the sheer freedom became frightening.  A strong tether kept him from getting too high, too far away.  When he became tired of the convoluted halls, he could fly up and away from them.  But when he needed something, he knew how to return and travel the familiar paths.  The tether kept him safe and close. 

Until one bright day, Draco realized that he could get to anything he needed by simply flying to it.  So he shook off the tether, and took to the air.  He played on the zephyrs, perfectly content.  And he never entered another labyrinth.

Lessons from Karaoke

Maybe karaoke really is Japanese for "You're doing it wrong," but three things I noticed while out with some friends at a karaoke bar seem bigger than karaoke. So this week I'm sharing them with you so that they might have an impact in your non-karaoke activities. And mine, too.

When I looked at the head-spinning array of songs in their catalog, I found myself thinking Ah! I know that one!, only to realize as I thought of the tune that I didn't really know it as well as I believed. I knew the chorus perhaps, but not the verses. Or I knew some words, but couldn't for the life of me remember the actual melody. Disappointed, I kept searching for another song that I actually knew with a little more confidence. My mind sometimes thinks I have knowledge that I don't actually have.

Having experienced getting up on stage and singing, I may actually try one of those almost-familiar songs next time and see what happens. Who knows? The lyrics may all come rushing back. But being on the stage has challenges all its own. For instance, I couldn't actually hear the key of the song I was singing when it began, I just had a general sense that there was accompaniment. So I started in what seemed like the appropriate key and went for it. As the music became more distinct at the chorus, I realized that I was way off. But I couldn't quite make the shift to a new key until I stopped and listened for just a moment. Then, I jumped back in, more in sync with the accompaniment. My mind had been so locked in to what I was doing, that I couldn't comfortably make that shift without a little break in my own inertia. When I realize I am off course, sometimes the best thing to do is stop and get my bearings -- rather than continue to barrel forward.

The greatest phenomenon of karaoke bars is that everyone gets acknowledged. Whether you sing a song like the original artist or your performance lacks any recognizable melody or rhythm, people will acknowledge you. And the applause and cheers are quite sincere, even if someone tanks. Sure, people may really go crazy for a great performance. They also recognize that it takes guts and commitment to even be on stage in the first place. You might not be ready for American Idol, but it is an accomplishment just to get up and do your best. It doesn't cost me anything to acknowledge someone for doing their best, and there will probably be someone in my life to recognize me for stepping forward.

And even if there isn't, the whole point behind the evening was to have fun, and it was obvious that people did just that. People who were natural entertainers and people who were singing on a dare. And it was fun for everybody, whether we were on stage or enjoying someone else's performance. Of course, there is a little anxiety that goes along with any kind of public performance, but the bottom line is: Life is too short not to enjoy what you are doing. When I am willing to have fun with everything I choose to do, my whole life perspective is transformed.

Escaping the Failure Net

There are a lot of things that matter to me. My marriage, composing music, coaching others in unleashing their creativity and developing a purposeful vision, serving on the local steering committee for the More To Life organization, nurturing the meaningful connections I have with friends, and a handful of other things as well. I make commitments about those things on a regular basis, and I put those commitments in my calendar. I know when I intend to work on a piece, how much time I want to spend composing on any given day, when I’ll have a project completed, and when I’ll submit it to a performance opportunity. I chart those kinds of commitments for all of the things that are important to me. And sometimes it all runs like clockwork.

Sometimes, my commitments get in each other’s way. I have a flash of inspiration about something, but I’ve already committed all my time to other areas that week. Or I underestimate how long it will take to complete one step, so my entire time line winds up being adjusted into conflict with other commitments. Intellectually, I understand the need for flexibility. And in practice, I often do well with shifting the landscape of my personal commitments in a way that maintains my integrity and honors my deepest priorities. When I start second-guessing myself or inventing what other people might think, I get into trouble, though.

It goes something like this: If I don’t keep this commitment, then people will think less of me, and then they won’t respect me, and then they will not support what I am creating, and then I’ll be all alone in this, and then I will fail, and no one will really care except me. And then I’m caught with the decision to give up what I want in one area because I’m scared of what will happen. If I was honest about my actual priorities, the decision would be easy, and I could possibly come up with more creative solutions about how all of my commitments can play nice. But when I complicate it with my own predictions and inventions, I trap myself in the most uncreative space possible. I call it my Failure Net.

But the Failure Net is built on a cascade of fears. The truth is the best gift I can offer the world (and myself as it turns out) is my bold, honest, and authentic self, and I can do that in a way that welcomes feedback and insight from others. The only trick to doing that is simply to trust myself.

Knowing

What I have learned or read doesn't always make a smooth transition into what I do. Even when I understand something intellectually, applying that understanding sometimes takes effort. I'm thinking about this because of a conversation I had a few days ago. The other person was agreeing with me, and then saying something completely different. I got nods and verbal statements like "Right" and "I agree." Then the next thing I heard sounded like the opposite of what I had said. And I honestly believe that this person thought we were in agreement.

I was frustrated. I ended the conversation for the time and resolved to figure out a better way to explain or demonstrate what I was thinking before we talked again. The next day, it struck me. I already know very specific and valuable communication tools that would have been ideal for that exact situation. Why didn't I use them? Was I too bowled over with disbelief that someone would say "I agree" and then disagree? I don't subscribe to the notion that on some level I didn't really want to be heard, and I'm certainly capable. I simply didn't apply what I knew in that situation.

Something very similar happened yesterday when I was introduced to someone. When asked what I do, it didn't even occur to me in that moment to say the well-rehearsed elevator pitch I've been honing. What I said may have been good enough to get the point across, but the bold and succinct elevator pitch was really perfect for that situation. Why didn't it just roll off my tongue? Why did my brain search for something to say instead of just recalling that planned response to a clear, direct question?

My best guess is practice. Knowing what to say really doesn't have a lot of practical value until I open my mouth and say it. Same thing with recognizing the solution to a challenge. It may be nice to have the tools, but what actually makes a difference is using those tools. If that isn't second nature yet, I think that means I get to practice letting what I know inform my behavior. I suppose that's what a creative life is all about... finding effective ways to get ideas from my head into reality. And trusting myself to know how to do it.

Hedging My Bets

Not long ago I wrote about finding focus. The multitude of things I have been building and developing in my life are all meaningful and valuable in some way, and yet I made a startling realization this week: I have been hedging my bets on my own success! Instead of going full throttle toward my passions, I have had other plans waiting in the wings just in case. In many ways, I have been putting out my terms of surrender to the universe, even as I strove for forward momentum.

This week, I received inspiration from a number of sources, and I started trimming the hedges from my plan. What I actually want to surrender to is my inevitable success at being authentically me. Keeping a Plan B in my back pocket is only necessary if I believe that I'm going to fail. In truth, I know that I will always have the opportunity to make new discoveries, course correct, and find a way forward. My journey may not look like what I expect it to, but building a Plan B or C only robs me of my commitment toward what I most want.

My friend, James Towell, wrote this week: "You might know that I do a fair bit of running. After a while, I had to look for a deeper purpose that just getting back in shape. I got that 'I have a body, and I'm going to use it, and enhance its capacity to help me have a full life'.

"Well, I had my first ever singing lesson on Wednesday. I sensed that I'd get more out of it than just an understanding of the voice. Apart from it being tremendous fun, I noticed a similar theme. 'I have a voice. I'm going to see what it can do, and enhance its capacity to see how it can support me in living life to the full'.

"...My running and singing helped me connect with a deep purpose for my [personal] work. I want to see what I can do with my heart and my mind. I want to enhance their capacity for no other reason that to help me live a full life. I'm going to see what I can do. I didn't settle for 'I wonder what it would be like to sing', and I'm not settling for 'I wonder what it would be like to live life without resentments, and with love for myself and others'."

I'm with you, James. There's really no point in betting on my failure or spending time figuring out my eventual terms of surrender. I'm going to see what I can do.

Having What I Want

Last month, I told you about a piece I had begun for solo flute. Since then, I made the time to complete the piece and enter it into music publishing software (so that a performer is looking at a page of professional-looking music rather than the original hand-scrawled version!). A few days ago, I received feedback from a couple of flautists about the piece.


What I wanted from this piece was to tap into my own playfulness and compose a piece of music that would be satisfying to play and accessible to young performers. And I wanted to write something that had the potential for multiple performances. Composing this piece also gave me an opportunity to conquer the belief that I need several hours set aside if I want to be productive. Much of the actual creation of the piece happened as I had a few extra minutes waiting in a restaurant or a parking lot, which was possible because I had such a clear impression of the piece in my mind. For that alone, the project has been valuable to me.

My fear was that I had made some sections too virtuosic or that I had written a piece that sounded cliche. I learned about the capabilities of the flute. I've heard dozens of solo flute pieces. I've worked with several flautists as an accompanist. And yet, the underlying fear was that I didn't know what I was doing. It was important to me to run the piece past a performer or two, in order to verify that I had accomplished what I wanted. To be blunt, I wanted someone else to tell me that I knew what I was doing so I had an external reason to let go of that fear.

So much of what I have been wrestling with has been the belief that I can't have what I want. Whether it's about my music, my business, my relationships, or my finances, my first hurdle is convincing myself that I can actually have what I want. It's a challenge to even clarify what I want if I believe that I can't get it anyway. And my fears seem very reasonable in that space, even though I know that they are products of my creativity running unproductively rampant.

Deep down, I know that I am a capable composer, and I know that this piece is all that I wanted it to be: playful, playable, short, accessible, idiomatic, and fun. I didn't really need someone else to tell me those things. But the confirmation from other trusted sources helped me to verify which beliefs were on target, and that in turn weakened the bite of my fears about the piece and myself. By getting feedback from others, I also learned that I had written a piece with pedagogical value, which means that a flute teacher has more of a reason to give it to a student.

So my next step is to find performers who are interested in programming the piece. Which brings me to the realization of what I most want. In everything that I am doing, in every aspect of my life and career, the thing that ties it all together for me is connection with others. That connection even plays an important part in keeping me centered with myself. What I want most is deep connection and meaningful engagement with others. And I believe I can have that.

Emerging

When my wife and I visited Florence, we made it a priority to see some of the sculpture of Michelangelo in person. Impressive as every completed work was, the most striking image for me was the hall of unfinished "slave" sculptures that were originally intended for the tomb of Pope Julius II. Nine-foot-tall figures emerging from blocks of stone. Even though they are quite static in reality, I imagine them to be in a continual state of casting off the raw marble and stepping out into full view.

I have been thinking about those sculptures this week as I submit music to a few competitions and opportunities for performance. I am categorically an "emerging" composer. Although there are likely many definitions for that label, my sense is that an emerging composer is one who has received some acknowledgment and achieved some success but has yet to gain broad name-recognition, an international reputation, or prominent creative position. I am working toward becoming a sought-after composer, although that's not an official category, but I have realized this week how much I fit into the "emerging" category as a human being.

Since I began writing this blog a little over a year ago, I have gone from playing it safe to more consistently claiming my strengths. I have been developing skills and behaviors that wind up serving every area of my life, whether it is in teaching communication skills, working with other musicians, or the lessons learned in starting a business and networking. I have stepped more fully into local leadership of an international non-profit organization, and I have stepped away from environments that kept me from engaging my full capability and creativity.

Now I am learning again that everything I do in a day's activities can be things I truly want to do. Especially when I realize that how I am being is more meaningful that what I am doing. My attitude and my willingness to remember why I want to do those things makes the difference between a day of burdensome obligations and a day of playful engagement. So, in the midst of all my other activity this week, when I put aside another piece I was working on to start composing a flute piece that was in my head, I found the entire process to be rather playful.

Not only were some of the musical elements playful, but my way of approaching the piece was light. There is no reason I have to compose this piece, but the ideas seem more of a natural response to how I am wanting to be. And that opens up possibilities for the music that I am not always willing to pursue. I am already thinking of the flautists and flute teachers with whom I can share this piece, and what kinds of audiences I can engage. Recognizing why it is important to me that my music is performed and heard, without being attached to any specific outcome, helps me balance boldness and playfulness at a level I have not often been willing to trust. And I have no idea what will come of it.

So as I become more comfortable with what it means for me to be engaging life 100%, I am recognizing more opportunities to create and to have a positive impact on others' lives. Perhaps someday soon I will see results that place me in a "sought-after" category as a composer. Perhaps not. Either way, as a human being, I plan to keep emerging.

Changes in the Weather

The leadership of an organization with which I was once involved recently decided that a keystone to creating their vision was clearer, open communication. I was thrilled for them, and I was a bit surprised. During my time with them, I had spoken often of the need for communication practices that were more in line with their stated purpose and mission, and my words had not been very well received by some key decision makers. Although it would have been rewarding to be acknowledged at the time and to be a part of their growth, I am encouraged that they are addressing some of the issues that have kept them from creating all that they envision. And I am not disappointed with where my own life has led.

I made a recommendation to another group just a short time ago, and I was told, "A few years ago, this wouldn't have been possible, but now the time may be right to start heading in this direction." I don't believe that the idea has any more value now, but the ability or willingness of some decision makers to embrace it has changed. And I may have become a little more skillful at presenting my insights. In fact, these two elements form a powerful dynamic that can determine whether a great idea soars or flops.

One thing I took away from both experiences is that I have great ideas. Not all of them, of course. I have plenty of ideas that miss the mark completely. But I have plenty of insights that are right on the money, too. Either way, my ideas are worth sharing. Feedback from others can help discern the unrealistic from the realistic, the absurd from the inspired. The only way to get that feedback is to share what I'm noticing and what I'm thinking. So, if nothing else, I am encouraged to keep sharing my own discoveries and ideas.

But how I share those ideas is important, too. I am learning to paint as vivid a picture as I can when I communicate my vision to others. I want to be specific enough that other people can see the possibilities I see. And I want to clearly express how they will benefit. Change is threatening to many people, primarily because our minds go crazy with worst case scenarios. And yet, actually creating the lives, relationships, or businesses we want often requires changing something. Otherwise, everybody would be perfectly happy with everything just the way it is. I realize that I can communicate possibilities in a way that helps people see how a proposed change is actually an improvement, and a step toward what they truly want. In the past, I have often taken for granted that people will see that potential for themselves.

And then there are some people who just don't want to see possibilities. No matter how clearly and effectively I communicate, I know that there are some instances in which my ideas won't be well received. In one instance, it was a single individual on a decision-making team who had a personal agenda. I don't know exactly what this person believed, but it was clear that no idea coming from me was going to gain ground. But there were more ears listening than that one closed pair. That individual is no longer on the team directing the organization's practices, and some of the ideas I conveyed are now being considered, even though I am no longer present to communicate them. Sometimes, the timing of an idea is at least as important as creating a vivid expression of its value.

So, what I value from all of these experiences is clarity about what I control and what I don't. How I communicate insights can make the difference in how those insights are received. That part is entirely in my court. And sometimes, for whatever reason, a person may be unwilling to hear what I have to say. I may be able to influence that, but often that piece is out of my hands. Being aware of that can help me to be patient, because one way or another, the weather will eventually change. And if what I want to express is important to me, especially if I see the incredible benefit that it could have for others, I can wait for the tempest to subside and try again.

Acts of Sabotage

Rehearsal is part of a musician's life. If I want to perform a piece of music flawlessly, it takes considerable practice ahead of time. Even those who improvise in performances need to rehearse on their instrument in order to pull off convincing, skillful improvisations. As a musician, I accept that how well I perform is based in part on how well I have practiced. It would make perfect sense if I transferred that philosophy into other areas of life as well.

As a step in building a business, I recently joined a networking group called BNI. The group is designed to be an ongoing source of mutual referrals, and we meet for breakfast each Wednesday. At the breakfast, every member offers a 60-second introduction of themselves, their business, and what kind of clients they are currently seeking. My first week as a part of this BNI branch, I assumed that my 60-second introduction would require very little preparation. I have been speaking in front of groups of people for many years, and since I knew the basics of what I wanted to say, I went in cold.

One minute is not a great deal of time, people. If you don't believe me, set a timer and start talking about something that ignites your passion. I wound up rushing things, and I didn't even get to everything I wanted to say. Needless to say, I realized that I wanted to be better prepared to deliver a concise, effective introduction the next week. So, the night before the next BNI breakfast, I rehearsed an introduction verbally. I didn't write anything down, but I went over it several times, tweaking a phrase here and there. On Wednesday morning, I spoke through it again in the car and believed I was much better prepared than the previous week.

No matter how prepared someone is, there is always a little bit of stress in the heat of the moment. My delivery that morning fell far short of "flawless." It was clunky at best. I forgot a piece of information and then went back and inserted it awkwardly, and I added things that diluted the basic facts I wanted to get across about myself and my business. Even though I have read time and time again about the value of writing down a presentation, some part of my brain decided that I didn't need that advice... until after the fact. I finally admitted to myself that the importance I wanted to place on my participation in the BNI group would be best served through being thoroughly prepared, and that meant more intentional rehearsal.

I had the opportunity just a couple of days later. Since I won't be able to attend the breakfast this week, I went online to the group's website and looked for a substitute from another BNI branch. The first person I contacted agreed, and invited me to his branch's breakfast on Friday (just a couple of days after my second barely-prepared introduction). Of course, he needed my 60-second introduction written down in order to present it as my substitute, so the arrangement necessitated taking the time to thoughtfully construct what I want to say. After a little time scripting the intro, I memorized it and practiced saying it aloud until I was satisfied with every aspect of it. Friday morning was a perfect opportunity to try the well-rehearsed intro with a brand new group of people.

Nailed it! I represented myself and my business with much greater authority and confidence when I practiced what I would say ahead of time. So much of what I know as a musician and a composer transfers to other areas of my life if I allow it to. But my mind sometimes sabotages what I truly want to create by convincing me that I don't have the time or skill to do something well. Or that I don't need the extra preparation because I already know what to do. The truth is that it didn't actually take very long to be well-prepared, and no matter how well I know how to do something, a little extra practice never hurts. Moreover, I am usually realistic about what I am able to accomplish when I think things through. The bottom line is that anything worth doing well is worth the time to prepare well. Something I've known, but sometimes forget.

Getting It Right

"Do you and your wife go to bed at the same time?" I thought it was an odd question, but a friend of mine had heard somewhere that couples who go to bed at the same time have better marriages. That someone even did the statistical research into that off-the-wall fact reflects a trend that I am now seeing from a new perspective. A lot of people want to do things the "right" way. They don't trust in their own capability enough to just enjoy the journey of their lives, they want to check with the experts to make sure they are doing everything in a way that will ensure success.

Until recently, I wanted to see every step of the journey before I committed to the destination. And I wanted to make sure that I could tackle every obstacle along the way without risking failure. Of course there were still surprises along the way, but it ultimately meant that I wasn't taking the path that would be most fulfilling. I didn't trust myself enough to take the journey I really wanted to take. Now I have a strong belief that the next step is all I really need to see, and I don't necessarily need to see it right now. When I trust in my capability as a human being, I can enjoy myself a little more along the way, too.

For the record, my wife and I usually don't go to bed at the same time. We have different sleep patterns and different schedules. And the time we spend awake with each other is largely what defines our relationship. That doesn't mean I think it's wrong for couples to go to bed at the same time, but it seems entirely a matter of personal preference. Just because something works well in one person's life doesn't mean that everyone else should be doing it the same way. And yet, I will admit that I want that comfort sometimes. I want to know how things are supposed to be done so I can at least have a basis of comparison.

The real kicker is: No one actually knows how it's supposed to be. Someone may have made a decision, and other people may have followed along. A whole group of people may have gotten together and agreed on a way to do something. But it all amounts to preference. I believe that people have the capability to choose the best way for them to carry out their life's purpose, and with the exception of a few basic moral principles, it doesn't have to be the same way anyone else would do it. Consulting the experts is fine, but there isn't really any external measure of success that matters. I ultimately define for myself the "right" way to get where I want to be. It starts with trusting myself and taking a step.

For me, it also means trusting others to be a part of my journey. But more on that later.

Leading from Within

In so many movies, there is a scene that I rarely see played out in real life: an individual spontaneously stands up in front of a group of people and delivers and impromptu rallying speech that inspires the crowd to significant, purposeful action. Whether they are going out and winning the competition or burning down the evil scientist's laboratory, their decisions are inspired by an individual voice. I'm sure that this kind of thing happens in reality in more subtle ways, whether for good or ill, but this kind of influence seems short-lived to me. It isn't what I think of as "leadership."

Even the word leadership has conjured for me certain mental images of a person who is at the front of a group of people. The leader marches purposefully forward, and the rest of the parade follows. The leader holds the torch high and people flock to him. Or even, the leader unveils the blueprint and a throng of people dash off to do their part. These are rather comical images to me right now, but they are caricatures of what I have been expecting of myself and others.

Various sources have been contributing to an evolving definition of leadership recently. What I have been reading and hearing from some other people reveals a definition of leadership that is slightly different from what mine had been. They suggest that a leader is the one who breaks from the crowd and heads off in a new direction with purpose, creating a path rather than traversing one that can be clearly seen. Sometimes, these definitions of a leader don't even make mention of who is following or where they come from, because ultimately it is about a path of personal meaning.

In many ways, I have gotten good at waiting. I have waited for the right opportunities, the right environment, the right number of supporters, or even the right quality of support. I have held back engaging 100% of my capability in the world, because I want to make sure that others are with me. I spend time and energy trying to figure out how to convince others about the value of what I am doing, when I could just be doing it. The waiting and holding back doesn't actually move me forward. And as valuable as it is to me to have other people's support, the primary motivation has to emerge from within my own being.

So I am looking at clear ways to redefine my sense of leadership in my decisions as I begin a new year. I am forging my own trail, and I'm trusting that the people who see value in what I am doing will be there with me. I want to engage others about what I am creating, and I want to connect with them about their journey as well. But I also acknowledge that doing it is more compelling than talking about it. And if I am committed to carrying out the personal journey that is most satisfying to me, I believe I already have all that I need to be on that path.

Truth... but from whose point of view?

A fundamental benefit of brainwashing someone is getting them to accept as truth whatever you want them to believe. Although I have never been brainwashed (to the best of my knowledge), experience has taught me that some people state their opinions as irrefutable facts. Unless one is able to objectively assess reality, truth can seem rather subjective. Incidentally, providing tools for people to determine this for themselves is one of the things I value most about the More To Life organization.

One of the most thought-consuming activities for me over the past month has been weeding through all that I have been hearing from various people's perspectives and getting back to the truth about myself, others, and reality. I am stepping away from a situation in which income was predictable, but my opportunities for leadership and time for creative pursuits were at a minimum. What I am stepping into is in many ways unknown, with no guarantees about income or potential partnerships, but with great freedom regarding creativity. It feels both liberating and scary.

For the past few weeks, many people have been mirrors for me; some of those mirrors were a bit warped, and some were quite magical in the way they eliminated every flaw and blemish. I have received harsh criticism and high praise, and I have purposefully considered how all of these observations line up with what is actually true. If I listen to other people's words without assessing how they match up with reality, I give them tremendous power over my choices and possibilities. And yet, dismissing everyone else's opinion as being valueless could make for a rather lonely and self-centered existence.

From where I stand now, I realize how easy it would be to have someone else tell me what to believe about myself and others, but brainwashing is a costly luxury. I prefer being able to thoughtfully assess what is true and move forward with a strong belief in who I honestly am and what I want to create. There is a little part of me that wishes I were able to do a bit of brainwashing of my own, though. If everyone had faith in their capacity for embodying a noble vision for their life, I believe the world would be a very different place. Bringing it forth in my own life will have to be enough for now.

Parable

Three men set out on a journey, each determined to take their own route. The first set off without clearly defining his destination, and within the first hour he threw away his map. Along the way, he asked the people he encountered, or looked at signs along the road, to find out where he was. When he learned something about his current locale, he would think, "Ah, exactly where I wanted to go next." He knew that no one could criticize him for where he had arrived, because he had no clear destination in mind and could therefore never be off course. And he was only mildly perturbed when he learned that he traveled in circles, because at least he was in motion.

The second man was more clear about where he wanted to go, and he told many people of his intended destination. With great purpose, he set off in the direction he thought best and with great confidence he followed his own internal compass. He kept his map close and he spoke to many people along the journey, but they were of little value. When he consulted the map and learned that it indicated a different route than he had chosen, he assumed that the map was outdated. And when the people he encountered suggested a better way to reach his destination than the route he was taking, he assumed that they were mistaken or even malicious in their intent. Without regard for reality or the counsel of others, he stuck to his own sense of how to get to his destination. He has yet to draw close to it, and it is more and more difficult for him to hide his frustration each day.

The third man had a clear destination in mind, and he shared it with others. He consulted many guidebooks and maps, and when he was satisfied that the accumulated knowledge was sufficient, he began the journey. As he encountered people along the way, he shared with them about his path and his destination. If any had advice or suggestions, he weighed it carefully, considering whether it had merit and adjusting his plan accordingly. Along the way, he planned future destinations and thought about where later journeys might take him, while still holding to the purpose of the path he was on. Although he took time to enjoy the journey, he was also intentional about making at least a little forward progress each day.

A balance of confidence and humility makes any destination more attainable and any journey more enjoyable.