Confidence

I’m going to talk about a tough topic for me. I am by no means an expert on this topic; in fact, I wouldn’t even consider it to be one of my strong points. However, as the expanse of winter break has opened up before me, I have had time to think and formulate some theories on the following topic:

Confidence.

A look at that word sparks some interesting feelings in me. On one hand, it makes me want to cower in a corner, because confidence means opening myself up to vulnerability, and that can be frightening. On the other hand, I feel my sense of self reach out for it with curiousity, wondering, “Where could I go if I had that? How far could my potential stretch?”

What does confidence even mean? Dictionary nerd time:

“a feeling or consciousness of one's powers or of reliance on one's circumstances <had perfect confidence in her ability to succeed> <met the risk with brash confidence>

b :  faith or belief that one will act in a right, proper, or effective way <have confidence in a leader>”

(www.mirriam-webster.com/dictionary/confidence)

Confidence isn’t necessarily a quality one has or doesn’t have. It is something that must be developed. It is a “feeling,” “consciousness,” “faith,” and mostly, a “belief.” Confidence, simply, is belief in yourself. How could one lose this belief?

We live in an imperfect world. Humans tend to not understand other humans who think or act differently. I know in my life, I have been met with doubters. I was bullied growing up, and in this way, I felt my passions be undermined. I loved the things I did, but I started not to love myself. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am weird, too self-absorbed in these things, and even crazy. After all, I’m not like the rest of the people I see around me. There must be something wrong with me.”

These feelings eventually changed into something else. They became a deeply rooted fear of criticism. I began to work really hard, constantly fearing failure. Confidence? I didn’t really have it. I was really good at working hard, but my sense of self would crumble under even the idea of failure. 

I carried doubt with me as I went forward, but deep down, I always had this small voice. That little voice whispered possibilities and passions. It was responsible for me continuing on and doing things the outside world didn’t understand – flute playing and long distance running, what a combination!

I have been blessed with a gift that is a bit of a dual-edged sword. I have the gift to sense the internal worlds of people and to see injustices of how the world works – the small ticks of events that just don’t seem right somehow. Because of this, I am able to open my heart with big words of encouragement to people. There is one problem.

For the longest time, I wasn’t able to show this compassion to myself. Lately, with help from key individuals, I have turned this skill inwards. I saw how several thoughts in my head didn’t match up with the small voice deep down. I now know that the small voice is my confidence. I do have it after all. It has been buried under a deep blanket of memories, injuries, insecurities, false beliefs, and fears. The wounded side of my sensitive self put a barrier over my confidence, because if I didn’t have confidence, if I didn’t show my expectations outwardly, I couldn’t fail, and therefore, I couldn’t let the world hurt me.

My adult self is really getting annoyed with this coping mechanism. The internal voice of endless possibilities and positivity calls to me. It says, “You have a message to share. Please stop shoving it down. Someone really needs to be inspired by you!”

I believe this same wrestling match goes on inside every human being. We fight between conforming for acceptance and therefore being “safe,” or jumping off the cliff of risk and releasing our true selves. I look around me and see a one-sided approach to life. I see many fighting this same internal battle, but the solution they receive from others for their fears is a one-size-fits-all solution. Afraid of performing a piece of music? “Practice more. Your unease must stem from being unprepared.” 

In truth, I believe fears run much deeper than simple solutions. I believe many need to find the small voice of their true selves hiding under their primal defense mechanisms, invite it inside for a cup of tea, make it nice and comfortable, and then interview it.

“Who are you?”

“I am the true you. I am confident and strong.”

“Where have you been?”

“I have been waiting for you to let me out. I love you and see your potential. We’ll probably get a few bruises along the way, but we are going to have a lot of fun!”

This process, I can tell you, is not all rainbows and butterflies. It is deeply painful. It requires a person to look every fear straight in the face and reckon with it. No wonder it is difficult to overcome. It is a lifelong journey of self-discovery.

I am beginning to accept all the things about myself I thought were “weird.” There even are some qualities about myself I find downright annoying, but I know all of it contributes to my gift of an introspective nature. Confidence slowly peeks out of its cage as I realize I am who I am, and nothing anyone says or does can change that. I will fail a few [or several] times, and that is OK. My best contribution to this world comes from releasing my inner self.

“Hello, Confidence. Make yourself at home. Would you like a cup of tea?”

A song to check out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj5fMIKe47w

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

My first semester of graduate school has definitely been an adventure. Two days from the writing of this post, I will play my jury and turn in my final draft of my first graduate term paper. No matter how those things turn out, by Wednesday, I can say that I made it through!

I have been challenged by school here in ways that I never have been before. When I overcome each challenge, I find that there are infinite more aspects of my playing to improve. This has both been really frustrating and really enlightening. I am a person who likes things to be good now, and when I see the vast expanse of necessary improvements open up before me, I often get overwhelmed by all there is to fix. I am not very skilled at breaking down challenges one-by-one. A look at how I attempt to "organize" my house will show you this. I put things away, and they stay put for about a day or two. Then, things start to slowly expand and end up all over the house - especially shoes....oh my goodness, migrating shoes...

In short, my brain has a tendency to "cast a wide net," leading me into multitasking, attempting to work out solutions to everything at once, getting frustrated when I can't quickly find a solution, and feeling bad about myself when things aren't as good as they can be (which really, they never are! There's always ways to improve.).

Also, I have learned how average my playing really is. I am another fish in the flute-playing sea. A tough lesson I'm learning is, not everyone will like my playing. Even if I practiced and practiced for years and became a "flute master" (think ninja with a flute), some people wouldn't like my playing, not because I wasn't "good," but maybe because they prefer a different sound or style of playing.

I have been getting down about my playing lately. I have lost all the competitions I've entered. Confession: I HATE LOSING. I think it's my inner athlete. And the fact that, well, I don't think anyone likes to lose. I woke up one morning, still bummed about it, and then I got contacted by someone who wanted to pay me to come play for them. And then it clicked:

Some people won't like my playing at all, some will think it is ok, and others will like it.

Realizing this opened up a small place of freedom in me. Just because someone doesn't like my playing or I lose a competition doesn't mean I should throw my hands up and say, "I'm terrible!" (That would cause me to drop the flute, among other things. ;) ). It means I am neutral. It means the outside opinions will always vary, but as long as I believe in what I am doing (and keep practicing), I won't be "terrible," I shouldn't "quit playing," and I'm definitely not a "failure." I am a musician who shares a part of me with those who care to listen. Music makes me happy (I forget this when I am stressed out). 

I will admit, when I came here, I started out a little fast. I came out, guns blazing, saying "I'm going to practice hours and hours every day!!!" .... I accelerated my practicing really quickly, leading to a bit of a practice burnout by the end of the semester. I still played every day, but the quality of practice started to suffer. I am in recovery from this and thinking, "What can I do differently to make next semester better?" I have come up with a few activities that could help:

1) Don't feel pressured to play "x" amount of time a day. Play as long as energy allows, as improvement comes. If I'm feeling a little down energy wise, attempt to power through it. If the wall persists, don't force anything. This makes overcoming the wall worse. Embrace the wall. Play something fun for a little bit. Or walk away and do a restorative activity. 

2) Add some meditation into my practice. I once asked a teacher, "What is one thing I can do to make my playing better?" The teacher said, "Lie on the floor for 20 minutes a day." Off and on, I have tried this, but not succeeded, as it actually is more difficult than it sounds! I'm going to start using my yoga mat over break and do some mind-calming exercises.

3) Don't think about everything at once. Break practice up into sessions, and keep the goal of the session ONLY on one piece or set of pieces at a time. Ex. 1) warm-ups, 2) 1-2 pieces of rep, 3) orchestra excerpts, 4) piccolo. Let the mind be focused only on each session's activities, and bring it back if it tries to wander off into other music or daily worries.

4) Re-incorporate restorative, healing, "me time" activities back into life. For me, this especially includes running. I am an introvert, and the activity of running allows me to reconnect with myself, set non-flute-related goals, feel proud of myself, and release the "feel good" chemicals. I focused on the graduate school / living in a new place adjustment in the last several months and really let running go by the wayside. I've picked it back up in the last month and have remembered why I love it so much. Last week, I ran 5 days, and yesterday, I ran 8 miles on the treadmill. My goal over winter break is to keep it at a consistent 6 days a week.

5) Keep speaking positive words to myself. Somewhere along the line, I got in the cyclical habit of negative thought patterns. I have been working to re-train my mind. I notice that, whenever I stray from the path of speaking positive words to myself, my mind travels back along the well-beaten path of negative thoughts. Positivity is a miracle cure and creates a happy life!

I have come a long way in the last few months. I am a lot better flutist than I was when I got here, but I also see the huge gap between where I am and where I want to be. Sometimes, perseverance is really difficult. I remind myself that, as long as I keep practicing and moving forward, the only way to go is up! 

"One of the commonest mistakes and one of the costliest is thinking that success is due to some genius, some magic - something or other which we do not possess. Success is generally due to holding on, and failure to letting go. You decide to learn a language, study music, take a course of reading, train yourself physically. Will it be success or failure? It depends upon how much pluck and perseverance that word "decide" contains. The decision that nothing can overrule, the grip that nothing can detach will bring success." 

Maltbie Davenport Babcock (1858-1901)

Thanksgiving Post

With the Thanksgiving holiday coming up soon, I want to take the time to mention some things about my flute playing experience that I am thankful for this semester:

I am thankful for...

*the ability to come to OSU at all. Without the help of my assistantship, I wouldn't have been able to afford to study for my masters degree right now.

*the opportunity to learn from someone new. It is always good to hear information told in a new way.

*the music students here. There are many intelligent, talented, and dedicated young musicians here.

*the transformation my tone has begun to take this semester. I finally have developed my "home base" sound, something I have been striving after for years. The new goal is discovering ways to vary the color of that base sound.

*drastic technique improvements. I picked up a piece of music yesterday and realized the notes weren't a huge obstacle. I've had maybe 3 practice sessions on the piece, and the notes are mostly there. The same piece would have scared me away a year or so ago.

*piccolo excerpts! I have never studied them before, but diving in has definitely made me a better piccoloist.

*learning how to practice. I used to play, get frustrated, and leave the practice room in a bad mood frequently. I notice I have more tools in my belt to use and have more good practice days.

*fantastic ensembles. The large ensembles here are wonderful.

*teaching. I always love helping other people.

*a better trained ear. I thought my ear was pretty well developed during my undergrad, but I hear things in much higher detail now. It is like I am beginning to truly hear music for the first time.

Some of the things I am thankful for are much deeper than mere practice discoveries. I am learning more and more that I am here for something much more profound than learning the intricacies of an instrument. I am here on a journey of self-discovery. I am getting to know myself and understanding what has made me "tick" as a person. I am learning what has made me afraid to perform and what I can do to change the neural pathways to more positive thoughts, attitudes, and beliefs.

The more I learn about myself, and the more positive thoughts I foster within myself, the more I get a feeling that this is all bigger than me. I have a sense that I am meant to untangle obstacles I once accepted as truths and restructure myself so I will be able to help someone else someday. I keep hearing an inner voice that says, "Someone out there needs my help, and I will need the skills I am learning for myself in order to help that person when they need it."

I would like to end with a word of gratitude to YOU! I have received meaningful messages of support from readers of my blog telling me that my words encourage them. These messages have been largely unexpected, but very much appreciated. They uplift me and remind me that the work being done here is bigger than me and valuable. So thank you, thank you, thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving to all. Find gratitude and peace in the joyous moments, the confusing moments, the easy and difficult moments. There is work being done in every occurrence in life. We just have to take a step back and look at it all in a new way. :)

Practice Days of Rest?

Opinions on "days off" in the music world are varied. I still haven't settled on a concrete way that I gauge my practice v. non-practice time. Some people swear by practicing every day, others need time off. How does one know when it's time to push through a low-energy day or when it is time to truly rest?

I haven't fully gauged the answer to that question, but I definitely have been doing some thinking on the topic. Some musicians (myself included) feel compelled to practice because there is a creeping sense of guilt about not practicing every day. After all, perhaps someone across the country is putting in 6 hours every day on their solid 14k gold flute while I take a day off of my sterling silver one. Maybe if I take a day off, that will be the "edge" someone else needs to "become better" than me.

It is easy to fall into flawed thinking about this topic, when really, everyone's body and mental stamina are different. When I think about the internal pressure I feel to constantly practice, part of me wants to go to the practice room, no matter the time of day or how my body feels. Lately, some running memories have trickled across my mind, and these have put me a bit at ease about taking a day of rest:

I was a freshman in college. It was my first year of doing the year-round, long distance training thing. In high school, I never ran cross country, so it was volleyball and basketball until track rolled around. I adored track (and still love the concept). In college, coach would email the team weekly spreadsheets of workouts. I noticed that my mileage was a lot lower than others on the team. Every Sunday, he has the 5k-type runners doing 3-5 mile "easy" days, while my training plan said "0". In my head, I wasn't doing enough work, so I started going on 3 mile runs every Sunday, no matter what my training plan said. It seemed innocent enough - 3 miles was a drop in the bucket compared to the week of workouts and 8-10 mile long runs. 

However, what I didn't take into account was my running background and body type. In high school, my longest training run at once was 2 miles. My high school coach trained me like a sprinter, with 200s and 400s being key workouts. I was built as a middle distance runner - someone who can run decently fast for between 800-1600 meters. Anytime I pushed my mileage too high, I would end up with my trademark injury: tendonitis. Tendonitis wasn't anything too serious, but always put me out of commission for a couple days.

The truth is, I would have been a lot better off by taking the day of rest. Eventually, I did learn that my  body was designed to train hard during the week - as long as I let it recover. I wasn't made to run 70 mile weeks. When I finally learned this, my workouts and races became more successful, because I gave my body time to heal and be prepared for those sharp bursts of energy on the track or cross country course. 

It is easy to look at those around us and say, "They practice X amount of hours X amount of days, so I should, too." But I am learning that my body isn't someone else's. It is designed to give me the energy it needs to learn if I allow it to do so. Pushing my body and mind past this point will lead to deteriorating practice sessions in terms of focus and quality.

Yesterday, I took a day off. All kinds of thoughts jumped through my mind, like "You're a graduate student - you should be practicing way more!" I ended up feeling a twinge of guilt inside for most of the day. Yet, when I woke up today, I noticed my body felt different. The pain I have been having in my shoulders, neck, and arms is gone. It turns out my body really did need that rest. 

I believe I have learned the difference between taking time off practice simply because I am frustrated with a perceived lack of progress and taking time off because my body is legitimately tired. I encourage my readership to pay attention to your own body and mind. Learn to monitor your own energy levels and find the amount of practice that works for you. Consider your practice time not in hours, but in quality of work accomplished. For me, this leads to a greater sense of achievement than comparing t practice time to someone else and pushing myself beyond my limits. Be a good coach to yourself!

Happy practicing! :)

The "Flute Win" Book

This past week has definitely been on filled with learning experiences. I found out the results from two competitions, neither of which I won. My first (and natural) reaction to these events is to be terribly disappointed. It is difficult to invest your heart into something and then have someone tell you, "No."

However, the difference between now and when I have previously been declined from auditions and competitions is that there is another voice fighting for its say within me. It is saying, "Wait a minute...something isn't right here."

I performed in this same competition one year ago. I remember not sleeping the night before, tossing and turning in bed because I was so nervous. I got out on the stage and felt terrible. For 30 minutes, I didn't feel like I was performing at all, but simply trying not to panic. After that competition, I felt so terrible about myself and my playing that it was difficult to get myself to play at all. I took my graduate school auditions in January and hardly touched my flute until April.

This year, I was nervous, but it wasn't a crippling nervous. It caused a couple stumbles early on, but I still feel like I got my message across. I even performed a piece from memory without slips! Instead of my comment sheets being filled with details like intonation and technical problems, I actually received a lot of compliments. Simply receiving comments to improve more "mature" musical aspects like phrasing is definitely a step forward.

I have been doing quite a bit of reflecting since on what causes ebbs and flows in my desire to practice and my perception of myself as a player. I realize I have been taking most of my feedback from other people and treating it as face-value truth. In the music world, compliments are rare and like diamonds: musicians treasure them when we get them! No wonder I sometimes feel like I am not a very good player! I play, fishing for those compliments and competition wins; in the meantime, I never stop to check my own experience.

The truth is, no one knows my musical journey except for me. A judge who listens to me play for 30 minutes doesn't know that I grew up 140 miles from the nearest professional flutist, that I didn't take a single flute lesson until I was 16, that the only "flute literature" I played before college was a Handel sonata and part of a Mozart flute concerto, that I didn't know how to play my minor scales until I came to college,  and that I didn't own a professional model flute until three years ago. The judge doesn't see my performance anxiety struggles I've gone through, and all the help I have sought out to finally see some freedom in my performances. No one knows the hard work I had to put in the last couple years to improve as much as I have: except me.

I don't expect anyone listening to me to care about any of these things. However, I need to remember and give myself credit for my progress. If I wait for others to give me a "good job," I will probably be waiting quite a long time.

As I was thinking about these things yesterday, I had a sudden desire to go to the bookstore. I wanted to buy a new practice journal. I have one already, but as I thought about it, it is filled more with things to pay attention to and practice than credit for the many improvements I make along the way. I am very detail oriented and good at hearing the things I am doing incorrectly; yet, I often forget what I am doing well.

I bought what I am calling the "flute win" book. In this journal, nothing but positive thoughts can be written. As I fill this book with positive thoughts, I can continually go back and see the positive progress I have made along the way. This is not meant to be some sort of self-gloating exercise, but simply one of credit - the credit that only I can give to myself. Instead of waiting for a competition or audition win, I can track the small "flute wins" that happen on a daily basis, small improvements that are easy to gloss over in a desire to be better.

My "Flute Win" practice journal.

I want to have a happy, fulfilling life in music, and it starts by speaking kind words to myself.

Happy practicing!

The Importance of Positivity

This week, I really have been caught up in the concept of positivity, asking "the big questions":

"How important is it?" "What is the power of positive thinking?" "How can I embrace positivity in my life, and how will it positively affect my life?"

I have always been someone who approaches life in a two-fold way. The part that usually comes across is  tentative, exacting, cautious, and "just-so." The other part of me is adventurous, curious, outgoing, a big dreamer. I have often described myself as an "extrovert disguised as an introvert."

Just like my personality types, my thought patterns are often at war with each other. I have experienced some rather loud negative voices, but underneath...

I have a voice that I imagine lies deep within me, somewhere in my lower abdomen. This is the one voice that, while often trumped by negative thoughts, at times comes out. And when it does, something fantastic in my life always happens. This is the voice that represents the best part of me. It feeds my imagination with big dreams, positive visualizations....and it tells me the truth about myself. It gives me images of who I am apart from anyone else's opinion. It shows me my inner artist, happy person, and my inspired, faith-filled side.

I have gone through many bouts of severe negativity in my life. However, that inner positive voice has always has been there telling me that life should be different, that a grand potential lies within each life and I was missing mine somehow.

I believe I am not alone. All of us have voices of negativity and positivity. Humans are naturally wired to look at the negatives, because prior to civilized life, we needed that heightened sense to merely survive. The problem is, we have carried over that "survival instinct" into our modernized lives. This instinct, unless "tamed" and retrained, will consume our potential for progress. 

The music world is full of people who love their art, but also full of negativity. Competition for spots in colleges, performing groups, and other auditions can leave many players feeling anxious. I know I have often felt like I need to "play better" in order to be "good enough." I have felt competitive pressure against others and I have felt others start to push back at me from the same pressure in their own lives.

The negative person starts kicking in the survival instinct and playing for approval rather than for creating a beautiful work of art. This leads to the many negative voices trumping the positive voice with thoughts like: "I'll never play well enough." "I have to be better." "What if I'm never good enough for people to want to hear me?" "What are they thinking about my playing right now?" "There are so many notes on this page, how will I play them correctly?" 

I have gotten to a point in my life in which I am simply tired of suffering on stage. I'm tired of feeling this ball of energy in my abdomen and having it stay stuck there. I'm tired of seeing beautiful videos of my flute potential playing in my imagination and then being drowned in fear on stage.

I no longer want to play to impress others. While I want them to enjoy my music, I want to enjoy it as well. I want to release the ball of energy and share all the pent up musical emotion I carry around with me on a daily basis.  

I decided this week to be positive. 

I started to speak positive words to myself. "I am good enough, just as I am."

I took my iPod to the practice room with me. During every practice break, I turned on a positive Christian song to remind myself what I was doing here in the first place. 

I looked around me and noticed the small blessings in my life, which, cumulatively, added up to very large blessings. 

I channeled my attention to focus on what my body was doing. I discovered what was causing my neck pain, and many of my technical and tone problems (I was tightening at the base of my neck, which channeled tension throughout my body). I found that flute playing should feel easy and free, not difficult and forced.

The more I immersed myself into this positive mindset, the more I enjoyed my practice session. I started enjoying playing my instrument. I became more thankful. And it is beginning to translate into my performances...

Today, I was able to perform without feeling very nervous at all. My music released and sang.

In a fallen world that often seems consumed by the negative, we must choose to take an active role in embracing positivity. Feed it to yourself as much as you can. Don't worry about doing things "right" or to please anyone else as much as to release your gift freely.

"What is the power of positive thinking?" 

It changes everything. 

"I think it's critical that we begin to dismantle the word 'performance,' because somehow it implies perfection or some ideal - or doing something for someone else. When I perform, I don't know how it's going to turn out. And even with a piece of music, I must stay open to the nuances that change it each time and make it present. It's never going to sound like it did yesterday again. Right is - big deal. Beautiful sounds are - big deal. But contact. Real human contact, through music, is rare." 

~ Susan Osborn vocalist

Pacing

I remember my first cross country race. It was the fall of 2008 at the Kearney Country Club. There was a cool breeze on this morning; the weather was perfect for racing. I looked around me as I arrived at the course and saw rolling hills all around me. My teammates were chatting about the course, reminiscing about running here for high school state cross country. I had heard this was a fairly difficult course, but I had never ran it before - not because I wasn't a fast enough runner to be in the high school state meet, but simply: my high school was too small to have a cross country team.

So what was I doing here anyway? How could my first cross country race be with a college team?

I went to a very small high school, the smallest classification of high school even for the agricultural state of Nebraska. We barely had enough girls go out for the track team to make a team. Somehow, we made it work.

And somehow, I had ran a fast enough 800 and 1,600 meter that here I was. Recruited to run middle distance? Cross country came with the package.

How fast was I supposed to run a 6K (3.75 mile) race over grassy hills? I had not a clue. So I did what came naturally to me - I ran fast. I came through the first mile in a little over six minutes, and I was running with our team leader. Something was wrong here.

Cue in THE HILL.

I was about 1.5 miles in when I reached the base of the notorious hill on the course. It was quite steep. I remember making it to the top of the hill and realizing my race was over. About a mile or so later, I was running through the trees, utterly alone. A spectator pointed at me and said, "That girl was at the front at the beginning!" This was one of the most embarrassing moments I would ever experience while racing.

I crossed the line in a fairly slow time. It was then that I realized I couldn't race a 3.75 mile, hilly cross country race the same way I ran guts-out around a track.

When track rolled around, I continued to struggle with the same concept. I always had been able to do well if I tried really hard and ran as fast as I could. Eventually, my coach began to talk to me about a concept called "pacing." He told me I needed to leave a little "in the tank." We began doing paced workouts, in which my coach banned me from going faster than a certain time per repetition.

It took until my sophomore year track season, in February of 2010, to really be able to pull off the "pacing" thing. What happened when I figured it out? I lowered my mile personal best time by 20 seconds.

Recently, I have been doing some thinking about this story and how it applies to me now. I tend to approach all of life in this gutsy, hurried, "go-all-out-all-the-time" way. It worked up to a point. However, expending a lot of energy all at once will eventually lead to fatigue.

I am at the mid-term of my first semester in graduate school, and I have noticed the mental and physical fatigue begin approaching me once again. Yet, this time, I stopped to evaluate. I caught the correlation between my 23-year-old flute playing self and my 16-year-old track runner. Here I am, continuing to push really hard without taking the time to see the value in calm pacing. My body has gotten sick twice this semester already, forcing me to rest, when I would have been better off taking things slowly, one day at a time.

The correlation extends beyond general life. This semester, I have been experiencing some pain and tightness in my neck and right arm. I have been getting chiropractic and massage treatment for it, but couldn't quite figure out the source. This week, I believe I found the culprit. My teacher pointed out that when I take a breath, I dip my flute down and move my head, destabilizing the flute for the next pitch. In the practice room, I discovered this is not an isolated experience, but something I do almost every time I take a breath. My neck pulled in the exact place I have been experiencing pain. All this happened because I was thinking too fast and going ahead mentally to the next phrase before I arrived.

My other discovery reminded me even more of my hurried runner self. I hadn't practiced my concerto with a metronome in awhile, and I turned it on to the given tempo. The tempo felt ridiculously slow under my fingers...yet, it was the exact tempo marked. I remember that same tempo feeling fast and frenzied this summer. I have learned the notes to the point that the marked tempo felt easy, yet I have been continuing to push myself to faster and faster tempos that feel uncomfortable without even realizing it.

I reflect back to the repeated workouts my coach put me through. Time after time after time, perhaps hundreds of times, we practiced pacing. As much as I wanted to "take it to the well," as coach would call it, he pulled me back and reminded me to pace. Once I learned this skill, what happened?

I became faster. My big improvement jump came when I learned how to conserve my energy so my body felt better for longer.

Here I am, my sixth year into training with a professional flutist, and I now am learning how to pace myself with my flute. I now know that the speed my fingers are comfortable pressing the keys is exactly the pace I need to be at during that time. Speed will increase with training, all without going "to the well" and tightening up faster.

I wish I had learned this sooner. It would have saved me a lot of energy, stress, tears, friendships (I'm not exaggerating on any of those).

How many years was it from my freshman year in high school to when I made my running jump?

SIX.

It's going to be a great year.

Running high school track "guts out," on the way to a 1,600 meter gold.

Running a cross country race in 2011, after learning what it meant to "pace."

Stage Presence/Personality Presence

I recently got back to Stillwater after a 4-day excursion to Southwest Nebraska for a friend's wedding. I drove between 3-7 hours each day to make it happen. That's friendship dedication!

I woke up this lovely Tuesday morning with a headache, stuffy sinuses, a general feeling of tiredness. (It also feels VERY warm in my apartment...usually my apartment feels cold in the morning so I think I have at least heated up some.) Apparently, my body had just enough "oomph" to make it there, look pretty for my friend, and come back. Since my body is very slow moving and not-so-good feeling this morning, I decided to take a little extra time sipping my coffee and waiting for my cold medicine to kick in before going to campus. Meaning - time for a new blog post!

I performed in studio for the first time last week. It was nice to perform a solo piece again. With student teaching last semester, my performance opportunities were very limited, and they continued to be limited over the summer.  I played Robert Dick's Lookout for solo flute. The piece was written for high school students as an introductory piece of extended techniques. I enjoy it, because I haven't played multiphonics (2 or more pitches sounding at the same time) before, so this piece has been a great learning tool for me.

In studio here, everyone writes comments to each other about what they liked about the performance and also what aspects could be improved. I really enjoy this open forum and exchange of ideas! The studio here definitely is open to making each other better musicians, which I appreciate.

A recurring theme on my comment cards I received this week was stage presence. One comment really caught my attention. It said, "I'm not sure if it is because you have student taught, or because you are a graduate assistant, but your stage presence is nice to watch."

As an inquisitive person who likes to think about the "whys" of everything, I put some thought into this comment. Why do I have the stage presence I do?

I started by thinking about student teaching and being a teaching assistant here. I realized that, yes, having that experience speaking in front of people definitely helped, but it wasn't the sole reason for my stage presence.

I enjoy researching random topics that come to mind. Lately, I really have been doing some digging into what makes me "tick" as a person and why I am the way I am. I have noticed that I don't process information in quite the same way as most people, even among musicians. It has been my personal quest to figure out why.

I was watching some YouTube videos last summer that were created by Tim VanOrden, a professional masters distance runner. I think I stumbled upon his channel because I was looking for videos on healthy eating and some of his videos popped up. He posted a series of videos labeled "Getting Started" that talked about the day-to-day struggles in training for a race. In one of his videos, he talked about a character trait called "Highly Sensitive Person." I remember being interested at the time, but didn't research further.

As I have noticed continual differences between me and many other people, the HSP term returned to mind. I researched it, and was surprised to find something that explained everything about my personality. This character trait has been shown in research studies to be found in 15-20% of the population, and is characterized by a tendency to process information deeply, feel emotions deeply, have high empathy for others (caring), and increased sensitivity to their environment in comparison to those without the trait. I found a video by the leading psychologist on this subject, Elaine Aron, and she even mentioned giving recitals. People with this character trait often practice a lot but are more easily overwhelmed on stage due to high sensitivity to lights, crowds, etc.

Back to stage presence: I have found that I relate music to emotions, pictures, etc., easier than many that I have met. I have often been confused that connecting emotion and musical performance is something many have to work at, when to me, it is like breathing - involuntary and natural. Sometimes, I can't describe the emotion in words, but it is strong and fills my body with expression.

After my performance on Thursday, I confirmed how I can overcome my stage fright! I have discovered, that if I take my concentration and channel it completely into the musical feeling I want to project, the nerves can't get in as easily. And when I say completely, I mean completely. As soon as I think about which notes come next, or the dynamics on the page, or the people looking at me, or anything else, that is when the mistakes come.

I had a lot of time to think about the topic of stage presence on my drive back from Nebraska yesterday. What creates a strong, convincing performance? I believe good stage presence is one that shows the audience the performer's personality. It could be called "personality presence," in a sense. It comes from reaching deep into ourselves and opening up the depth of our personalities and experiences.

I have often heard other music majors say that they need to practice more and more and more. I believe this is true to an extent, but gathering life experience is also important to a convincing performance. By opening up perception to a variety of experiences and human emotions, the performer can store those emotions and call upon them for future musical expression.

I realized Thursday, after testing the theory of completely focusing on the one message I wanted to project, I felt more in control and confident in my performance. I recognized this feeling as the same one I used to get while competing in high school speech. I used to think I was putting on a confident persona and assuming an acting role. However, after discovering that my best musical performances feel similar, I no longer believe the outspoken role is a "persona." I believe this confident person is my uninhibited self I occasionally set free from my socially acceptable, quieter part of me. Now that I know that the confident person is my true self, I can layer X expressive emotion over that and create a strong message.

My high sensory perception has been mislabeled as many things over the years due to misunderstanding - even my own misunderstanding of myself. Now, I realize I have been given a gift and am accepting the increased sensitivity to emotions and pictures as the greatest expressive tool I have. I will never struggle to find the musical message I want because of this trait. The key is in becoming so mentally enmeshed in that message that my high sensory awareness forgets the eyes watching me or the worry about the notes. I have found if I can dwell and breathe and completely live in my musical feeling and message, all my hard technical work from the practice room comes out easier.

To enhance your stage presence, think of it as personality presence and let the best you shine!

Patience

I'm typing this post from my iPhone. I've never written a post from a cell phone before, so if you're reading this, I guess I made it work ok.

Why am I typing this with my thumbs instead of with all of my fingers on a keyboard? Well, my MacBook died. I guess I did something to it (who knows what) that corrupted part of the hard drive. Oh joy. Thankfully, it is fixable and will come back soon.

...Which brings me to my topic. I think I have discovered my biggest weakness, and it isn't hand-eye coordination (of which I don't have much, but that's a different story).

Patience.

Another blog post confession: I am really terrible at being patient. I always want things to work out just so, in the perfect-picture-I-imagine-in-my-head way. Anything less leaves me very frustrated.

Mistakes? Curve balls? The unexpected? They don't belong in the picture!

I have had many people say to me over the years, "Brooke, you're such a great student!" I assume this is because I do my work well and get it done on time.

Wait. I don't get my work done on time. I get my work done WAY ahead of time. Why? I have no patience for deadlines. I have no patience to let life come in its own timeline. Nope, it all needs to get done ASAP!!

I have this annoying voice in my head. This voice is very, very impatient (and often, quite rude). I explain it to people this way. Think of a voice in your mind. It is told you have a job to do by such-and-such a date. But, instead of hearing the deadline as the amount of time you have to get something done, it starts ticking an inner voice time bomb alarm. From day 1, the brain starts stirring with thoughts. By a month out from the project/event, the voice starts pushing alarm buttons ("You really should start working on that; it will be here before you know it!!")

By 2 weeks away, the voice is starting to slam a few guilt trip/panic buttons ("What are you doing?!?! You should be done by now!!").

By 1 week away, the voice starts screaming: "OH MY GOSH, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN DONE LAST WEEK!!!"

If you had an inner mind gremlin doing this to you, wouldn't you want to get your stuff done early, too? Thought so.

I am taking a graduate research class this semester, and our big project is to research a topic in our field, write a prospectus (basically, a dissertation proposal) with a 30 source annotated bibliography, and give a 15 minute oral presentation from a separate typed script. My teacher has scheduled various deadlines to get all the students in the class done by the end of the semester. The first deadline was to choose a topic. I got that done and now am on phase 2: completing a proposal for the prospectus (2-3 typed pages, and a 20 source bibliography.

Two weeks out, my inner voice started yelling at me, so I went to the library to nail down some sources. I had a good list of 17 sources typed into a Word document. I found a treatise written by my main "character," Theobald Boehm, and read some of Nancy Toff's "The Flute Book." Within these two sources, I found enough information for a basic premise to prove my point.

I worked ahead on my homework so that, starting this past Wednesday, one week away from the deadline (inner voice says, "AAAHHHHHHH!!"), I could check out my sources and get my bibliography converted to Chicago style format. I turned my computer on, and the screen started getting all jumpy. After a couple manual restarts, I realized it wasn't coming back to life very easily. After 3 hours of TLC, all my boyfriend could get it to do was show a screen saying it couldn't connect to its hard drive.

Inner voice hit all panic buttons.

:&;&3&;@;;!2!!!!!!!!!

I took the computer to the shop, and just found out today it is fixable! And, I will get it back in time to work on my paper over the weekend. Phew! 

Do I like the fact that I have 5 days to finish my project? Not at all. But now, I can just wait for my computer to come back.

...which leads to my point about patience. This roadblock seems like God's way of showing me that I can accept a deadline, meet it ON TIME (not in advance), and be perfectly fine.

I noticed this patience theme again while practicing with my pianist. I was playing a page of black 32nd and 64th notes. I realized the piano part made it easier, that brilliant Franz Schubert built in some give and take between the flute part and the piano part that gave me room to breathe and relax. The impatient panic voice tried coming back, telling me that surely, I needed to work harder! "You need to get done faster!" 

I didn't listen, and guess what? I enjoyed my music far more.

I went back to the practice room, and my impatient inner voice started yelling at me about how my concerto isn't sticking in my memory. I ended up getting mentally overwhelmed and went home.

Apart from the practice room, and multiple thumbs-deep into typing this blog post, I realize that all of these perceived problems stem from my lack of patience. I am running through the field of roses pretty fast, but I haven't stopped to enjoy the smell of any of them. After briefly feeling what music should feel like when playing it, I want to smell them. 

Shut up, inner impatient voice.

Keep on Pushing Back the Dark

Yesterday, I had a case of the "blahs." I dragged my feet a little in the morning, did my warm-ups, and went to orchestra rehearsal. Around 4 p.m., I realized I still had these "blahs" in my system. I knew I needed to "de-tox" my mind, so I went home.

And I ran. Never mind that it was 97 degrees out. I needed to inspire myself, to show myself I could break out of this ho-hum feeling. After 10 minutes of direct Oklahoma sunlight, I was starting to overheat. Thankfully, the lake by my house has strategic water fountains placed around it. I took a break and kept jogging.

There is a stretch around the lake that goes straight for a good half mile or so. It is right by the road, and no shade is available whatsoever. I managed to make it through the straightaway and around the corner before stopping for shade. I then made it to another water fountain. By this point, I was sweating profusely and starting to feel very dehydrated and dizzy. However, I managed to make it home!

The run definitely helped shake the "blah" feeling, and around 7 p.m., I headed back over to the music building to get some practicing in.

As I was driving across town, a song came on the radio. It was amazing, because it addressed every doubt in my head, every worry. The link to Josh Wilson's "Pushing Back the Dark" can be found here.
The song speaks about how we often doubt ourselves, or feel like we aren't qualified to be doing what we are doing. It then goes on to say, "Don't underestimate the God you follow," that we are attacked by these dark thoughts, but we need to keep pushing forward, because "Someone needs the light you have."

God was wrapping me up in His arms in that moment. He was saying, "Chin up, Buttercup! Now go to that campus, and you do what I brought you here for!"

Confession Interlude: I have performance anxiety. Over the years, it grew to the point in which I even got nervous to practice with people outside the room. Anytime I play my metal stick for anyone but myself, I get that dark feeling.

Practice actually has been going better lately. I have been working with a performance anxiety therapist, and she has been helping me transform those many negative thoughts into a couple positive ones.

She warned me that things would get worse before they get better. During practice, the negative voices have finally begun to shut up, which is incredible. However, I did a fake performance for my video camera, and the thoughts definitely were worse. Every tiny dark thing that has ever tried to stop me came back.

Normally, an experience like this would absolutely shred me. I would get discouraged, and it would ruin my day, my week. This time, I used my new tools. I repeated my positivity statement on the way to my car, and played my newfound song three times on the way home. My performance anxiety coach said to be persistent, and eventually the thoughts will diminish.

This morning, I looked up the "Pushing Back the Dark" song online, and I found the story behind it on Josh Wilson's website. I am going to copy/paste it here, because it is so phenomenal:

"I was in seventh grade.  It was five minutes until our Wednesday night youth service, and I was hiding, sitting on the cold tile of a bathroom in a dark corner of our church.  They were about to start the worship music, and I was supposed to be playing guitar.  I told them I was sick and couldn't go.

 I wasn't sick.  I was scared.

I was scared of what everyone else might think of me.  What if I messed up?  What if I failed miserably?  God had given me a talent and passion for music, but I was afraid to use it.  To this day, the darkness of doubt pushes me to avoid my calling.  

Last year, as I was working on this album, that darkness became tangible as I began to struggle with anxiety and panic attacks.  At one point, I thought I might have to quit music altogether.  But God promises to never leave or forsake us, and He kept that promise.  As he carried me through the rest of the record, I realized that there will always be darkness pushing me to hide.  At some point, though, every Christ-follower has to realize that we carry a sacred, burning light that is infinitely more powerful than the lies of the enemy.  Your light might seem small, but even the smallest act of love can illuminate the shadows.

 To every single mother, every missionary, every doctor and poet, every seventh grader who is scared to sing in youth group, every truck driver, politician, and school teacher, anyone who is rich, poor, young or old: someone else desperately needs the light you carry.  I think it's time that we each take that light and start pushing back the dark."

It is so encouraging to know that this man struggled with some of the same things as me, and God led him to a future in music anyway. I can feel deep within me that what I am doing right now is leading me toward something great. I know someone out there needs my "light," so I keep fighting for my freedom.

Push back the lies and darkness in your life until you are filled with light.

"Let your lights all shine when you feel like you're too small to do any good at all. Let your lights all shine like a sunrise through the window, like a symphony crescendo."