Nans and the Nocturne
When I was younger and first starting off playing the piano, both my grandmothers taught me various tricks, tips, do’s and don’ts of ivory tinkling. One grandmother taught me hymns and classical pieces, the other taught me blues and improvisation.
On one occasion, I started learning Chopin’s Nocturne Op.9 No.2 in E flat major - if you don’t know it by that name, you’d know it if you heard it. Playing the small part of it I could handle for family was a uniquely exhilarating feeling. Being able to piggyback off the emotional impact of a musical genius in a way that made people feel like you were somehow complicit in it, was intoxicating. I later learned that the piece I’d been playing was not in fact that piece, it was an easier version, Chopin for beginners or dummies. It was deflating. Before that realisation, I was happy. Afterwards, I wasn’t.
The legendary pianist Oscar Peterson once told a story about quitting the piano after hearing the even more legendary pianist Art Tatum play for the first time. Both are similar in their styles: virtuosos full of technical brilliance and musical acrobatics that seem impossible at times. Tatum though, was legally blind, which gave him an otherworldly magic that Peterson, despite being acknowledged as one of the greatest pianists of all time, could never quite replicate. Before comparing himself to Tatum, Peterson was happy. After it, he wasn’t. Comparisons can be deadly.
Two Types of Piano Student
During my years as a piano (and guitar) teacher, I noticed that kids have certain advantages over adults when learning. These are not related to neuroplasticity, the increased time and energy kids have to spend on learning or the lack of responsibilities that youth often unburdens you from - it’s because they don’t compare themselves to others.
Adult students would so often rebuke themselves for how far what they were playing sounded from how it “should sound”. They’d instantly compare their playing. Children on the other hand almost never did this (partially because they might not actually know the pieces they were learning). The difference in the rate of disillusionment was sharp. Young students struck me as very much being “on their own path”. Learning the piano was a new experience for them, something to be relished. They rarely lost momentum.
Being Content on Your Own Path
That night after I’d learned I was playing a simpler version of the Chopin piece I decided to listen to the original on YouTube. The original version was orders of magnitude beyond what I’d been playing. I couldn’t take my status as a budding pianist seriously anymore. Similarly, I had an odd disdain for anyone who was impressed by hearing that dumbed down version of what was a masterpiece. It wasn’t that I’d decided to quit playing the piano that night, but rather that I no longer even saw myself as a pianist at all.
As time went on I gradually forgot about that moment and the passion persisted. In other words, I became content on my own path again; I enjoyed what I was learning and playing without feeling the need to compare it to anyone around me, especially not to the greats. Some people can play the most technically masterful piece and leave you feeling cold, others can light a fire in you with only a few notes. When you focus on the intangible individual things you bring to your craft - and therefore get out of your craft - comparison becomes redundant.
“Too many options may kill a man”
Whether it’s the overwhelming amount of career options, our ability to see the most adventurous lives on social media to measure ourselves against or the abundance of options for romantic partners, it’s hard to retain a sense of focus let alone contentment in the modern age.
I could never knowingly advocate ignorance as a life strategy, so I’m forced to concede that I simply don’t have the right words to describe this concept yet. The tunnel vision and intense absorption that come from being excited by each step or challenge that lies ahead of you on your own path, is a large ingredient in the secret source of excellence, artistry, success and yes, contentment.
Time spent standing still staring over at other people’s paths is time horrendously wasted.
Well said, Bernadette and Nathan! I think when we compare ourselves to others we eventually tire of feeling hopelessly second-string, so we decide to take it to the other extreme and feel smugly superior. You have probably heard this type of behavior described as "an egomaniac with an inferiority complex." Both types of comparisons of course, make us feel terrible. I think that is because the cost of comparison is connection.
Anyhoodle, thanks for another stimulating post! It reminded me of the Zen parable where the moon wants to be the sun. Keith Knapp explains it like this, "How arrogant, the doubt will say, that we consider ourselves to be more than this one body, this one person. "
Loved reading about those precious memories with grandmothers. I have returned to this thought a few times: it might have actually been easier to enjoy the path when it was chosen for us. For instance, in the past when am you were going to take over the family farm or business. The restrictions placed on our lives are the constraints within which we can be creative. Once the world expands, its something we seem to be slowly learning to sort out and comprehend. This overwhelm can be good in the sense that there is so much to do with this life, but can also lead to despair when we become aware of our own limitations. The consequences of being born conscious. So many things to do and see and learn but so little time to spend