Baby Steps to Success
I read a very good quote from another all-star athlete just this morning on a basketball camp flyer. (Two great "sports quotes" in two days -- serendipity!) This time it's Boston Celtic legend, Larry Bird, who's got the good word. He says:
First master the fundamentals.
Boy. Doesn't that sound waaaaay obvious? But for those of us with little patience, low tolerance for boredom, and dimished capacity to delay gratificaton, it's a tall order.
Makes me think of my whole experience with the flute...
I was a freshman in high school when my older brother (a splendid trombonist) said at the dinner table one night, "Linda, why aren't you in band? You already know how to read music (I sang in the church choir). You oughta be in band."
I shot back, "Because I don't want to play the clarinet." I had played the family clarient in fourth grade and that entire year I wished I were playing flute instead. The clarient and I just never "clicked", and I hadn't told anyone the reason why I dropped out of elementary band.
Happy to learn that I really wasn't down on band, just didn't like one particular instrument, my brother offered to bring home a loaner flute that weekend for me to "try out". By Sunday evening, I was sure the flute was my instrument. The next day I signed up for beginning lessons at school, private instruction being beyond our means. My recollection is sketchy, but it seems that the "lessons" consisted of the flute section leader meeting with me weekly in a practice room to review my progress. He was not an apt teacher and I was often confused, but I enjoyed playing anyway and signed up for band the next semester.
I was assigned third chair flute and played my parts well enough, I suppose, picking up what technique I could from the first and second chair players as well as the method book. I was just happy to be in band, even though I was basically self-taught. The following year I moved up to second chair and continued loving it.
Upon arrival at college, however, the game changed. I auditioned for the stage band, which was augmented with flutes, clarinets, an oboe, and a french horn. I was thrilled to somehow have made it, but mortified to learn of a requirement that I have a private lesson with the assistant band director. I didn't want to bear the humiliation of having my homegrown technique exposed, especially in front of a teacher. Even though I felt I had progressed fairly well under the circumstances thus far, I knew my skills weren't going to pass muster now. Thankfully, my desire to play in the band outweighed all self-consciousness, and I showed up for the lessons.
Having a real instructor (who was very encouraging and affirming, by the way) to insist that I correct my poor form and poor technique set me on a path for growth. He, like Larry Bird, understood that I needed to first master the fundamentals. Since no one had been monitoring my progress in high school, I made the rather immature decision to skimp on scales and other drills, breezing on to the more "fun" melodies. After all, the fundamentals were boring. But my failure to really master them severely limited how much I could accomplish as a flutist: I had inadvertently put a ceiling on my potential. I'm so glad someone intervened and insisted that I revisit the basics so that I could really take off. I so enjoyed playing the more challenging pieces, and I'll be forever grateful to that teacher.
And so it is with other aspects of life. Taking the time at the beginning of the process to go over the drills, to practice the basics, to really master the fundamentals without yielding to the temptation to skip the early stages of an endeavor, cut corners and go straight to the "fun" parts, the "melodies", if you will. Focusing on and allowing time to integrate these baby steps actually positions us to take flight.
So slow down and repeat those beginning steps until they flow naturally. Then build on that foundation. You'll never regret time spent mastering the fundamentals. It's the only way to really soar.
First master the fundamentals.
Boy. Doesn't that sound waaaaay obvious? But for those of us with little patience, low tolerance for boredom, and dimished capacity to delay gratificaton, it's a tall order.
Makes me think of my whole experience with the flute...
I was a freshman in high school when my older brother (a splendid trombonist) said at the dinner table one night, "Linda, why aren't you in band? You already know how to read music (I sang in the church choir). You oughta be in band."
I shot back, "Because I don't want to play the clarinet." I had played the family clarient in fourth grade and that entire year I wished I were playing flute instead. The clarient and I just never "clicked", and I hadn't told anyone the reason why I dropped out of elementary band.
Happy to learn that I really wasn't down on band, just didn't like one particular instrument, my brother offered to bring home a loaner flute that weekend for me to "try out". By Sunday evening, I was sure the flute was my instrument. The next day I signed up for beginning lessons at school, private instruction being beyond our means. My recollection is sketchy, but it seems that the "lessons" consisted of the flute section leader meeting with me weekly in a practice room to review my progress. He was not an apt teacher and I was often confused, but I enjoyed playing anyway and signed up for band the next semester.
I was assigned third chair flute and played my parts well enough, I suppose, picking up what technique I could from the first and second chair players as well as the method book. I was just happy to be in band, even though I was basically self-taught. The following year I moved up to second chair and continued loving it.
Upon arrival at college, however, the game changed. I auditioned for the stage band, which was augmented with flutes, clarinets, an oboe, and a french horn. I was thrilled to somehow have made it, but mortified to learn of a requirement that I have a private lesson with the assistant band director. I didn't want to bear the humiliation of having my homegrown technique exposed, especially in front of a teacher. Even though I felt I had progressed fairly well under the circumstances thus far, I knew my skills weren't going to pass muster now. Thankfully, my desire to play in the band outweighed all self-consciousness, and I showed up for the lessons.
Having a real instructor (who was very encouraging and affirming, by the way) to insist that I correct my poor form and poor technique set me on a path for growth. He, like Larry Bird, understood that I needed to first master the fundamentals. Since no one had been monitoring my progress in high school, I made the rather immature decision to skimp on scales and other drills, breezing on to the more "fun" melodies. After all, the fundamentals were boring. But my failure to really master them severely limited how much I could accomplish as a flutist: I had inadvertently put a ceiling on my potential. I'm so glad someone intervened and insisted that I revisit the basics so that I could really take off. I so enjoyed playing the more challenging pieces, and I'll be forever grateful to that teacher.
And so it is with other aspects of life. Taking the time at the beginning of the process to go over the drills, to practice the basics, to really master the fundamentals without yielding to the temptation to skip the early stages of an endeavor, cut corners and go straight to the "fun" parts, the "melodies", if you will. Focusing on and allowing time to integrate these baby steps actually positions us to take flight.
So slow down and repeat those beginning steps until they flow naturally. Then build on that foundation. You'll never regret time spent mastering the fundamentals. It's the only way to really soar.
posted by Linda at
3:08 PM
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