Practice, practice, practice

Earlier today I was out taking a walk in a park. Today is a particularly beautiful early fall day here in North Carolina, not a cloud in the sky, birds chirping, a whisper of a breeze, and a hint of crispness in the air. Oh, and the park I go to is gorgeous. I attempt to get out at least once a week during a break. I’ve always found that I do my best thinking when I’m walking, specifically when walking outside when there aren’t many (if any) people around.

I was enjoying the day and trying to get my mind into gear. I was trying to get my arms around a whole bushel of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that have been collecting over the past week or so. Unfortunately, I was growing frustrated that I couldn’t focus in on one or two ideas amidst the larger crowd to which I also wanted to give attention. The situation was further exacerbated in that I was trying to focus on a decision with a long-reaching impact that I just became aware of yesterday. In the midst of my frustration I had a distinct recollection of another weekly experience from my adolescence.

The recollection was from a discipline I attempted in my youth: learning to play the piano. The specific memory was the feelings associated with weekly piano lessons. For the first year or two I loved piano lessons. The concepts and skill came easily; that is, they required very little effort. Then I came to hate piano lessons. I abhorred them. I was terribly afraid of piano lessons. Why such a dramatic change? I really liked my piano instructor. He was a really great guy! I loved the piano and enjoyed playing it. So what happened?

What I did not like was practicing. Ugh! I hated practicing. So, I didn’t. That's right, I did not practice. Very seldom did I ever commit more than 5-10 minutes a day (and usually I simply skipped multiple days) to the discipline of practicing. I managed to not concern myself with this throughout the week, but by the day the lesson came the storm had built to a Category 5, and I could no longer avoid the ivory. When the dreaded day came I attempted to learn all my songs and exercises in about 1 – 2 hours before the lesson. I attempted to master in a short period material that can only be mastered through repetition over time. I’d like to say that I grasped this insanity and altered my course. I didn’t. I simply came to hate the lessons, and ultimately the piano, more and more with each month and each year. Eventually, I abandoned the pretense altogether and stopped playing. As a result, I never really learned to play the piano.

That’s a pretty cheery memory for a beautiful day isn’t it? It came to me because my frustration over trying to master the discipline of focused thought is similar to the discipline of learning an instrument. It takes practice. More to the point, it takes daily, routine practice. So, while I love walking and thinking, I find that I can’t make the most of the opportunity, or even much of it, because I fail to regularly lay and maintain the foundation for insightful, focused thought.

I think that’s one of the purposes of this blog. Even if no one reads it, putting my thoughts down puts more thoughts in order and builds the discipline for future insight. Practice, practice, practice.

To reference my last blog: Pay now, play later. It is indeed easier said than done.