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 Irrelevance of Evidence

Speaking as an ex-church-goer (actually I consider myself post-Christian), Easter no longer has much relevance to me as a holiday.  I still value the celebration of rebirth and new life in its manifold expressions, but now I honor those concepts differently than I once did.  Musically speaking, the Passion story is tough to ignore.  In Western art music, there have been an astounding number of compositions written on the theme of the Passion.  Although I haven't done the research, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it is second only to romantic relationships in terms of the number of musical works the story has inspired, many of them profoundly beautiful. 

 What has amazed me in recent years, and this week in particular, are the number of churches and religious programs focused on the historical evidence for Biblical events, as if the factual accuracy of a story has a direct relationship to its value. When one needs to solve a mystery or defend a case in court, certainly factual accuracy and verifiable evidence are necessities. But spiritual mysteries are not intended to be solved, and spiritual truths do not need factual defense.  Reducing one's faith to a belief in provable data removes a large part of the potential for spiritual growth through self-examination.  Why would one be inspired to grow or develop as a human being in response to mere historical fact?

Perhaps my view of the value of spirituality is off-kilter in that regard.  It is highly possible that only a small percentage of people now view religion or spiritual practice as a vessel for growth.  Factual, historical data does not necessarily compel one to treat other people differently, or to focus one's life in a specifically meaningful way, and that may be what some people prefer about the approach.  To me, it always seems that someone is trying to convince me of something when the issue of historical validity enters into a conversation about spirituality.  And the evidence they may present to convince me of facts has no bearing on the spiritual value of the story.

Like most other streams of thought, I've been considering how this relates to creative practice as well.  I believe that every creative person at some point, even if only for a moment, wrestles with the question of whether what s/he creates has value.  There are certainly ways to answer that question based on awards won, commission fees paid, tickets sold, or reviews written.  All of that pales in comparison to whether the creative act has value to the creator, and ultimately I believe that is the most important (and least data-driven) answer.

Milton Babbitt, a sly smile from the Princeton professor

In 1958, the composer Milton Babbitt had an essay published in High Fidelity magazine entitled "Who Cares if You Listen?" (not his original title), in which he advocates the continued support for the development of music as an art form without regard for how large an audience it may attract.  While this may present some practical complications, the underlying principle is really that the creative must ideally be free to create what is personally inspiring, rather than what is deemed popular.  It is through that deep sense of creative freedom that a culture progresses, in art as well as science.  Doing what has received the popular stamp of approval is treading water creatively.  Trusting a personally inspiring means of expression, whether one is painting, composing, programming, or constructing, builds momentum for the individual creative and ultimately everyone in an outward ripple.


It all depends on trusting the personal meaning that one finds in what one is doing, however.  So, on a day when some would convince me of their beliefs with historical data and impersonal facts, however legitimate or skewed they may be to prove a particular point of view, I am turning instead to what is personally meaningful, seeking that inner trust for what I am creating that will best serve what I can contribute in the world without falling back to the illusion that I have something to prove.

Enough Isn't Enough

The word "enough" has been on my mind recently.  It's a measuring tool that doesn't stay consistent.  Every complimentary thing I could acknowledge about myself can be minimized by the simple application of that one little word.  Sure I'm creative, just not creative enough.  I'm intelligent, but not intelligent enough.  Enough for what?  I don't know.  But I think it has something to do with personal satisfaction.

One organization with which I was involved was great at reminding people that they are indeed enough, just as they are in this very moment.  Rich enough, pretty enough, smart enough, good enough.  Except that the organization also encourages people to keep taking courses, which to me implies that I must not be enough if I need to get more of something for my life to be all that it can be.  If I'm already enough everything, then I am lacking nothing, and there is no reason to pursue further knowledge or training or anything.

The problem is that the affirmation is empty.  What exactly am I rich enough for?  I'm rich enough to be happy in my life, but I'm not rich enough to start a $3 million endowment for musical innovation.  That's just reality.  I believe that some people are smart enough to make healthy decisions about their own lives, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want them making decisions about my money or my intellectual property.  The word enough requires some kind of qualification in order to make any real sense.

My own challenge with the word recently even comes in a bit of a disguise.  My inner critic says something like, You should be doing more.  You should be composing more every day.  You should be getting out there and making something happen. Which all really amounts to: "I'm not doing enough."  It's a harsh criticism for exactly the same reason that it's a lousy affirmation.  It needs some kind of qualification in order to make any real sense. 

So my question back to the critic has become, "For what?"  There are a lot of answers that actually don't matter to me.  It's really alright to have some clear sense of realistic limitations.  It's alright with me that I can't start a $3 million endowment, so stating that I'm not rich enough to do so isn't much of an insult.  It's just a statement of fact.  So, I'm not composing enough to send a new piece out to every competition I hear about.  That's OK.  That would be exhausting, and it's more important to me that I enjoy my life.

My level of compositional activity at this point may not comparable to some prolific composers, but the question is whether I'm satisfied with what I'm doing.  If I'm not composing enough each day to be personally satisfied, then there's something specific to address.  Then, there's a qualifier that makes sense.  My inner critic may be trying to open the door to that conversation, but it's much more direct to throw an accusation than it is to ask "Are you satisfied with the amount of music you're creating day to day, or would you be happier if you stepped it up a notch?"  Now that is an interesting question.

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.

The Value of Drive Time

When I made a shift in work environment recently, one of the benefits to the change was that I would not be driving 45 minutes, twice a day, four days a week. I certainly know people who have a longer commute, but the shift in schedule was a piece of how I saw myself creating time for what I wanted to be doing next. Essentially, my weeks were gaining an additional six hours over and above the 40-something hours I had been spending on the job.

It wasn't until I was driving extensively over the past week to rehearse with a bunch of talented high school musicians that I remembered how much I actually enjoyed my time on the road. Sure, I get frustrated at traffic from time to time, but more often I had been using the time to plan or work out details of various projects. Essentially, the drive time had helped me be efficient and insightful. When I looked at it from a new perspective, it wasn't such a great benefit to give up the commute.

This made even more sense when I took the Strengthsfinder 2.0 test online and read about the strength of being Strategic, my highest strength according to this particular evaluation. It said that Strategic thinkers need "musing time" to give their brains a chance to work on problems and challenges, coming up with the best course of action. In other words, my actual strengths were being engaged effectively because I had a commute. Take away the commute, and my brain isn't able to work things out as effectively.

It occurs to me that people often fall into patterns of behavior that tap into the natural strengths subconsciously. They might gravitate toward certain jobs or certain kinds of relationships without realizing that an area of innate ability is being directly by that decision. For me, I chose to work somewhere that required pockets of time that my brain could do something it does well. But I didn't choose the commute because it would engage an area of personal strength. At least not consciously.

Now that I know what works well for me, I can make those decisions more purposefully. I won't necessarily be inventing a daily commute, but I can schedule musing time into my day. Acknowledging what is true about my strengths gives me an opportunity to effectively seek out ways to engage my natural capability in what I am creating rather than trying to make things work the way they are "supposed" to. It's another way of trusting myself.

Proselytizing vs. Equipping

I've been thinking today about why I want to introduce mentoring and life coaching into my career path. At various points in life, I have been so taken with a practice or belief that I have wanted everyone to know about it. I wanted to win them over in a certain sense. On some level, I think now that there was some external validation to be gained from another person buying into the same things I believed. I've seen this same behavior in other people quite a bit as well, sometimes more gracefully or subtly exhibited than others.

Proselytizing now seems to be a strange way of expressing fear. Fear that what I have isn't real, that what I believe isn't true. That I have somehow been duped. If I can get collusion from someone else, then I won't feel quite so stupid. If they believe it too, it must be at least somewhat reasonable. And if someone challenges this belief, that fear of being wrong can lead right into defensiveness. "How dare you question this valuable thing that I'm trying to share with you!?"

And yet, sometimes I learn something that really is useful for other people too. It feels different when I share those things, though. Not so attached to the outcome, but excited that I know something that can benefit someone else. I don't need what I know to be validated by someone else's belief. I can believe it without anyone else's approval. And even more interesting: whether another person believes it or not, I don't need to defend anything from this space. I can be open to someone else's point of view without feeling threatened. And I can even change my mind, if I choose to do so.

So, one of my favorite types of conversations now is sharing the things that have been of benefit to me with other people when the opportunity presents itself. And being able to listen to what other people have found meaningful to them. Not so either of us can convince the other, but so we can mutually equip each other with the knowledge we have gained. At the very least, I walk away understanding a little more about someone. And that's just fun.