This past week has been full of realizations and the challenging of old notions. Although I have been teaching voice for over 18 years and have been practicing seriously as a singer and musician for at least 40 years, I have been confronting some hard truths. For example: what do I mean when I say “practice”? I know what I mean when I talk to my students about it: it’s (ideally) a daily space to check in with your work, where you explore, investigate, experiment without judgment; it’s a place to set daily manageable goals and work towards them mindfully and observantly; it’s not about “achieving” but about “experiencing”. But when I do it myself, I realize how deeply I am married to routines. I constantly judge myself and find myself lacking. I berate myself. I get frustrated, irritated and bored. I have no manageable goals, but rather some weird aspiration to be “perfect” (at which I always fail). After having had the breakthrough related to my fierce desire to Prove and Accomplish a couple of weeks ago (The Bullfight that never was), and having had the realization that I had hoped it would lead to endless Enlightenment as a result (then didn’t: see Life Post-Epiphany), I changed up my practice approach this past week. A big part of this was being SLOW. How slow could I go?
It was a major surprise. I kept wanting to rush through things and get to the “goal” (which was completely vague and amorphous). I found myself frequently “checking out” and not being aware of the process I was engaged in. Again and again I noticed how many judgmental thoughts intruded, how invested I was in some kind of outcome (“be great!”) and how unwilling I was to just be present and feel what was going on–whether that was emotional or physical. But thanks to the meditation I’ve been doing recently, I was allowing those things to happen, and just gently invited myself again and again to return to the practice at hand. I ask myself regularly: what are you doing? why are you doing it? are you going for the result, or are you experiencing the act of doing? And I find that I am getting VERRRRRRY slowly better at it. I also find, extraordinarily, that I quite enjoy practicing in this way. Can I go more slowly? Absolutely. But I am learning that I can go much more slowly than I thought, and that accomplishment is relative and subjective. I can decide what my goals are, why I want them and how I might meet them. And it can all be adjusted at any time. Speed is no longer a factor.