Today when reading the chapter on “giving an A” in Rosamund and Benjamin Zander’s book The Art of Possibility I unexpectedly began to cry. Zander was discussing the importance of approaching people with the assumption that they are A students rather than waiting for them to prove that they deserve an A grade.
I was moved by his recollection of a dress rehearsal in which he was conducting Mahler and one of the violinists was disengaged. He wrote that he approached the violinist after the rehearsal and asked what was wrong, he heard her response and, rather than dismiss it out of hand, went back to his hotel to restudy the score. He made a few small changes to his tempo, slowing down certain sections in order to help the violin section with some technical issues, and after the concert realized that it was the best performance of the piece he had ever done.
Zander approached someone who, by all accounts, was disengaged and uninterested. He spoke to her with the assumption that she was invested in the music, the assumption that she was just as capable as the others of playing the music, he gave her an imaginary A. Then he responded to her statement by honestly considering how he could incorporate it into their performance that evening and later called her at home to thank her for her feedback. She was struck by the gesture and they became better acquainted.
This short story made me cry as I sped home on the train. It was such an unexpected emotion that I actually had to ask myself why I was crying.
During the majority of my musical studies I was distraught with performance anxiety. I have distinct and powerful memories of various performances that left me crying and shaking with excess energy and shame. The fight or flight response of a failed performance.
But the worst feeling I had, in the early years of my Bachelor’s program, occurred while one of my ensembles was preparing for a concert. I had finally been given the opportunity I craved – I got to play the principal flute part for one of the major pieces, including a solo and an exposed duet with another player (a senior player that I had always admired, from a distance). I was going to show the whole group that I, too, was a good player and that I deserved to be there as much as the rest of them. .
That last sentence alone is telling and I’m sure you can imagine how it turned out.
It’s not a question about how my mindset was warped, my low self-confidence, fixed mindset, and competitive nature. All of those things impacted the rehearsals, undoubtedly. No, the thing that made me cry while reading Zander’s account was the memory of an interaction I had with the conductor concerning the piece. After the second or perhaps third rehearsal we had a discussion. I don’t remember if I approached the conductor, if (s)he called me over after a rehearsal, or if it was just a casual conversation in the hallway. But it went something like this:
Conductor: I noticed that you are having troubles with the duet in the piece we played today.
Me (relieved): Yes, I have been having troubles with performance anxiety. I get really nervous and I don’t know why. It’s not technically difficult but I’m having troubles tuning to Musician X*.
Conductor: I see, yes I’ve noticed that. Have you considered taking beta blockers? Musician Y* has been taking them for the last few years and (s)he has been very successful.
Me (taken aback): Oh, no. I don’t really know much about them but I’d rather find a way to manage it on my own without medicine.
*Naturally I have not named anyone from this exchange, leaving out genders as well.
Later I was taken off the part due to my problems performing the exposed passage. I was hoping that the conductor would have faith in me, perhaps give me some advice on how to manage my performance anxiety. I had assumed that by giving me the part in the first place, (s)he had confidence that I could do it, that (s)he had given me an A. But instead I was given the advice to take beta blockers and, after I resisted that idea, I was later taken off the part. I was effectively told that I couldn’t be counted on, that I wasn’t able to do it consistently without the help of drugs, and that for the greater good I shouldn’t be given the opportunity.
Now, about ten years later, I can tell you that I still have difficulties with performance anxiety. But I can also tell you that there are so many books, methods, and techniques out there to manage and understand that anxiety. That countless musicians struggle with this problem from the earliest beginners to the highest professional musicians. I know that some people do take beta blockers because it works for them, but I also know that they wouldn’t work for me and that I would rather work on the mindset and personal beliefs that contribute to my own anxiety to slowly solve the problem.
I can also tell you that this exchange, this minor speed-bump to that conductor’s ideal concert, dramatically impacted me for years. Every rehearsal and performance after that was riddled with the fear of failure. Every recital I had lacked an invitation for Conductor, even though I admired his/her musicality and opinion. (S)he hadn’t believed in me and for the rest of my working relationship with him/her I felt that I didn’t deserve his/her trust. For years afterwards I believed that I didn’t deserve to be in almost any of the musical groups I found myself in.
Today I am learning to believe in myself again. I am understanding the necessity of giving myself an A before every performance, every lesson that I teach, every rehearsal I attend. I have always intuitively given my students an A, I support them and encourage them to love music making and the wonderful opportunities that come from studying the flute, but I have continued to doubt and judge myself harshly.
I can say now, with honesty, that I am an accomplished, professional musician with years of valuable teaching experience with students from all ages, abilities, and walks of life. I am by no means perfect but I am constantly striving to be better, not only in terms of my playing ability but in terms of how I teach, how I support people throughout my life, and most importantly in how I treat myself.
~Krystle Giddey