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I remember the first time I saw a performance at Lincoln Center in New York City. I was taking my husband to the New York City Opera’s production of La Boheme, for a birthday surprise. As new opera lovers, we’d never had a chance to attend a live, professional performance. To be at Lincoln Center for the first time took our breath away.
Even now, some 40 years later, whenever I’m at Lincoln Center Plaza, I feel the anticipation. Music students buzzing around with tremendous purpose, instrument cases firmly in hand. I wonder where they are off to: a master class? A rehearsal? Lunch? Who knows?
Although I recognized it was far too late in my life to “be” a musician, I’d become a very good audience member. Living in New Haven and working in New York City for most of my career — both within walking distance of so many performing arts centers — I had many chances to see and hear great music. And our home was full of the sound of music lessons — my husband and kids were constantly practicing and I was an enthusiastic presence at music school recitals. I had chances to play music myself, but I could never find the time.
About seven years ago, there came a time that the goals I’d set for my working life had been met as best as I could imagine. My children had become independent adults. I had more time, and more awareness of how many in my family of origin died before ever reaching their 50s.
I recognized a longing for more delight in my day-to-day. How could I fill the next thirty years with as much joy as possible? What if I embraced “beginning” the way I did as a child? I remembered the life I dreamed about as a little girl, before any sad stories were written for her.
I remembered how I had always wanted to play music; this hadn’t changed. Decades ago (and at a performance at Lincoln Center) my husband asked me: “If you were a musical instrument, which one would you be?” I answered “A cello, for sure,” not realizing how that flippant answer had hovered around my consciousness for decades.
I thought about all the things I wanted to do as a kid and still longed to try as an adult, and I made a decision to become a beginner.
I would have to let go of a lot of the defining ideas that had propelled my life to far. This is not easy — and I can still be pretty stuck on them. A first step in my “beginner-hood” was to give up ambition and mastery. The harder step was to let go of competence, the core value that had always helped me feel strong and useful. To be a beginner, I had to let it go.
I started cello lessons. And although I’d temporarily “let go” of competence, I forgot how long “mastery” takes. Because I had been a successful student throughout my education, I figured I’d be a pretty good cellist in a few years.
I struggled. I discovered the path to competence was pretty arduous. I thought I was making time for my new commitment to joy and delight through music making. In fact, I found myself less joyful and more self-critical — which was not part of the plan.
Where was that competent woman I had always admired? Where was the musician who could delight in playing Bach’s Suites for solo cello? My efforts had become an unsatisfying chore, no joy whatsoever. Clearly, I’d forgotten my childhood delight in learning. I’d forgotten that beginner status was joyful and in-the-moment. My attachment to a “future me” was clearly not the joyful path.
So I thought about quitting. The drumbeat of dispiriting messages began: “I’m too old,” “It’s too hard.” Even worse, “I’m not good enough… skilled enough… smart enough.”
Somehow, I hung in there and didn’t quit. I started to find my mistakes funny. I tried to find an audience who could celebrate my heartfelt desire to be a good beginner. I started noticing small victories.
This summer, I found myself at “String Camp” playing alongside other musicians who were all objectively more skilled than I am. Not only did I learn a lot, I actually had fun. Unbelievably hard — and amazingly joyful.
So here I am. Still committed to my love of competence, but no longer frozen by my fear of the incompetence that comes with beginner status. I recommit daily to the joy of being a beginner. At age 65, it spills over into my everyday life in so many delightful ways.
To reach Laura directly: laura.berry@snet.net
Thank you, Laura Berry, for an important message…so glad you enjoyed Camp and I hope to hear you play soon… much love and appreciation
Thank you, Alice. So lovely to see you here in this connection space. CLP 4 made a difference in my life and I loved sharing it with you