The Virtue of Being Bad
I am bad at something. It is called the violin. If you know me, or if you’ve read my bio on this website, then you probably know this. I talk about it a lot (and I put that self-deprecating line in my bio) for a reason: the accountability pushes me to keep practicing.
Before I took up the violin, I imagined what practicing might look like: an elegant cup of tea steaming on the table, the muted afternoon light streaming in through the windows of the study, the cat curled up contentedly in the sill. And me—wrapped in a wool sweater, a look of subdued consternation on my face as I study the sheet music, my right arm fluidly sweeping back and forth as my left holds the neck of the instrument perched under my chin. The sweet, fluid notes float out into the street. A neighbor walking by pauses to listen, rapturous. Perhaps a tear forms in the corner of her eye.
This is what it actually looks like: My two cats have developed a Pavlovian aversion to the violin case similar to the one they have with the vacuum cleaner: as soon as I take it out of the closet, they scram. This does not boost my morale, but I carry on. I remove the violin from its case and tune it. I tighten the bow and run it over the rosin block a few times. I pace around and chug my tea. I convince myself that the trash needs to be taken out or the mail checked or the spices organized alphabetically.
I return to the study and stare at the violin. Then I let out a sigh and place the instrument under my chin. I run through some scales (which don’t sound half bad), but this alerts the neighbors that it’s time to either crank up the stereo or run errands. It’s impossible to ignore: my practice is causing fight or flight reactions. But, I resign myself to playing each song I’m currently learning at least two times all the way through. And I want nothing more than the next twenty-five minutes to be over. I want to press the fast forward button so that I can be out of this uncomfortable time—this time of tortured-sounding bow strokes and out-of-tune notes. I want to be the elegant musician, not the frustrated student. But this is a time of learning, and I must accept where I am. So this is what I do three times a week, for what seems like an eternity.
I realized only recently the value of being in this place of learning and discomfort when a coworker inquired about my practice. I admitted I was worried that I might be on the cusp of giving up. I was in the process of learning some challenging new bow strokes and that practicing was painful at times. She expressed her admiration at my willingness to be bad at something. That ability, she said, was one of the most important aspects of practice and seemed like something we lose as adults. And it was in that conversation that I realized: I may not be good at playing the violin yet, but I’m good at being bad. And there’s something to be said for that. The philosopher Amos Bronson Alcott once said, “Success is sweet and sweeter if long delayed and gotten through many struggles and defeats.” Someday, I hope that I can play the violin well, but for now, I’ll excel at playing it poorly. And knowing that I’ll never play well without playing poorly for a very long time, I’m further along than I imagined.
About Raina Hassan
Raina Hassan is the communications assistant (“office optimist, storyteller, reader) at Oregon Humanities.
14 October 2009 | Posted by Raina Hassan in Inside O. Hm. New Ideas
Permalink | Comments? (7 so far)
Raina, I love your piece and wholeheartedly agree with you. For years, I taught beginning jazz dance to adults. Since they were beginners, they weren’t very good (at first). I came to realize how rare and brave they were, because adults are so rarely willing to be BAD at anything. Adults say, “I don’t sing, I don’t snowboard, I don’t book tickets online, I don’t (fill in the blank).” And what they mean is - I don’t even want to try, because I’ll be bad at it, and I hate that feeling. Any adult who takes up any practice they are bad at has my admiration. Bravo! The neighbors need to get out more, anyway….
Celia Scher Wagner | 16 Oct at 08:15 AM
Thanks for this insight about practice—that this is a time of learning and you must accept where you are. I think my life must be perpetual practice. I’ve been writing on my blog about returning to teaching after a year sabbatical and the interesting interface between my yoga practice and my teaching practice. Often for me, it’ not about being good or bad, it’s about having the fortitude to show up each day and try, and then show up again the next day and try, and the next day….
TRISTA | 16 Oct at 09:09 AM
Thank you for the comments, Celia and Trista! It’s nice to read about your experiences.
Raina Hassan | 20 Oct at 08:38 AM
I loved this! Thank you for sharing. I really appreciate your insights, and especially your description of how almost painful it is to put yourself in that position of learning something new. I’m taking a short story writing class and wow, I am not good at telling a story. Every time I sit down to write I’m at that place you’re describing where I just want it to be over, I want to be done writing. I’ve been asking myself why I keep up at it, and I was happy to read your post because you expressed what I’ve been trying to understand. It is so rare as an adult to put yourself in that vulnerable position of learning, of knowing there’s an enormous gulf between where you and where you’d like to be, but yet…it’s good to be engaged in that process, even if it’s frustrating.
Carrie Graf | 02 Nov at 08:52 AM
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Carrie. I think writing is one of the most challenging disciplines. In fact, it was a frustration with my own writing that prompted me to seek the study of music! And then this cyclical thing happened where I started writing about my music practice, and I felt more energy and focus in both disciplines. I wish you the best in your own studies!
Raina Hassan | 03 Nov at 09:26 AM
Will you be writing more about your violin practice? And, will I find it here? I keep thinking of your story. Isn’t there a Zen and/or Buddhist notion of “beginner’s mind”? That as experienced artists (or whatever it is we practice) we should never lose the beginner’s mind? Well, looking forward to the next installment.
TRISTA | 12 Nov at 03:52 PM
Thanks, Trista. I’ve actually considered starting a practice blog (which would be separate from this one) but haven’t gotten around to it yet. If I do, I will certainly let you know! I’m vaguely familiar with the concept of beginner’s mind. I hadn’t connected my post to that idea, so thanks for the insight.
Raina Hassan | 16 Nov at 09:54 AM
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