Two Years In

On New Year’s Day 2022 I began learning violin, committing to thirty minutes a day. I began weekly lessons in February, taking elementary exams that June and again in December. I thought I’d got off to a great start.

One motivation was that it was a project I could keep up with even when everyday life was very busy. I could make thirty minutes a day. By persisting, I would see progress. I did feel some guilt, because it was thirty minutes not doing more worthy things. However, I wished I had learned as a child, and I’m trying to avoid wishful thinking. If I wished I had learned as a child, why not learn now?

I had scrambled through Grade 3, so for 2023, I thought I would take some time to prepare, kicking my next exam into April 2024 — the last period when the old ABRSM syllabus is still valid.

In the meantime, my target was to be able to post a video of me playing my favourite carol competently by Christmas Eve.

But when I tried videoing myself, I realised I would miss the ‘competent’ bar. My daily practice had become less deliberate, and then dropped off.

My lessons paused last term, but my excellent teacher was optimistic I could manage a break from classes — my practice routine seemed to be going well.

But in October, I first missed the odd day, then days, then it fell apart completely. I couldn’t make the time.

I know that progress depends on small improvements compounding over time. There are many aspirational YouTube videos of people making unnerving progress — who make learning look extremely easy. The underlying message is that you, too, could be quite as good if you only had the talent and self-belief.

I thought I was enlightened — I had seen through the myth of effortless accomplishment!

But it became harder to find a few minutes every day when I was getting less immediate satisfaction out of improving.

Why was I bothering in the first place?

I was spurred into action by a great Twitter interaction — one I can’t find again but remember clearly. An Irish mandolin player wondered whether he might be able to make a switch to fiddle. The singer-songwriter Eleanor McEvoy, who trained as a violinist, responded warmly. She advised he make sure he never put the fiddle away — so that it was always out, prompting him to practice. She described practising in hotel rooms with a mute when on tour. She was so encouraging, and made it seem entirely possible.

The longer-range motivations are harder to explain. If I mention my violin learning project to people I know less well, I see a flash of judgement: it’s the wrong sort of self-improvement. I don’t know why, but it’s perhaps because I’m too old to ever get passably good, and it seems monumentally self-indulgent.

I should instead be developing a project that would progress my career, or my children’s education and interests. Or I should exercise properly. Or go for the type of relaxation that makes sense: spa days, slivers of yoga.

Instead, I picked a hobby which was both selfish and not relaxing. Worse than that, I rely on the music exam system to stay motivated. Like my five-year-old, I want a sinntificate.

It’s hard to say what the appeal is. It provides a mental workout, calms my mind, and helps keep other life and work projects on track. It makes me feel like I’m still capable of learning. The daily process, not the destination, is the point.

These rewards are interior, and not really a route to pleasure or new friendships, which is fine.

The main problem is that sometimes it’s a slog.

I see similar struggles among the people I teach. It seems simple on the teaching side: we design the programme of learning to be straightforward so long as students follow the template.

But ‘the template’ is experienced as a slog. Some students hope that ingenuity and flair will allow them to shine, while skipping the dull requirements. Others want to find their study gratifying, rather than a means to gratification later on. This is a difficult sell.

When grading, I occasionally get frustrated for students who have made a heroic but badly-targeted effort. My violin teacher has undoubtedly had the same experience — occasionally looking baffled at why I am doing something the long way round.

I eventually learned to trust her judgement. From that I learned that when teaching we should focus on building trust, and keep reassuring students that if they follow the method, they will see progress.

Watching the video back, I realised that my bowing has not come on for a few months.

I was disappointed, because a passable Wexford Carol was my target for 2023. But the violin pedagogy guru Simon Fischer has said something that has stuck with me: ‘If you want to change the way you play, you have to change the way you think about your playing’.

Clearly, my mental model isn’t right. So it’s back to practising in front of a mirror. And regular lessons will begin again next week.

Realistically, I won’t be ready for the exam by April, and will have to begin all over again with a new syllabus.

But I’m still further on than two years ago, and I’m holding onto that.

This learning project is a test of my ethical optimism. I do believe that training works, and that it’s possible to improve, even if you get stuck, or the rate of improvement slows down. There is an Enlightenment principle that there is no special mystery involved with learning technique: skill can be acquired.

Which skills and which long-term projects, though? We have so many pressures drawing us away from meaningful long-term projects. It’s hard to tell in the moment whether the immediate alternative to constant daily practice is the better thing to do, or is self-defeating.

But since it’s hard to tell, we can also reframe lapsing. It might often be reasonable to hit pause on a long-term project, even if it holds up progress. There are other important things — like sleep, sometimes. And even if it turns out we were just being lazy, commitments can be renewed.

If we don’t have a clear signal as to which it is, we’re probably doing pretty well. We should worry more when we’re very clearly over- or under-committing.

So I’m getting back on track. The best time is now, since rewinding to October is not possible — building up my focus again, bar by bar.