The Most Important Question You Can Ask Yourself

I feel for my students sometimes, I really do. No sooner have they accomplished a task -mastering a specific articulation, say, or getting a tricky ornament under their fingers- than I’m giving them a new one, possibly while yodeling “the reward for good work is more work!” in my most obnoxious teacher voice.

I’m sure at times it feels like I’m Lucy, forever snatching the football away from Charlie Brown as he kicks. But the thing is, with music, there are no touchdowns. There are no field goals. Instead it’s about yardage- constantly moving forward. Maybe you move laterally for a while, or backward for a minute or two, but always, ultimately, you’re headed forward toward the end of the field. Only, as you draw near, you realize there’s another field waiting for you after that.

I try to explain the scope of this, the awesomeness of the endeavor to my students. I’ve been working to improve my playing very steadily for 30 years and there is no end in sight. The day I stop and think “right, that’s it. I’m as good as I’m going to get,” is unimaginable to me at this moment. It may be the day I die.

And do you know what? That’s OK. It’s more than OK. There’s something both beautiful and empowering about a commitment with a very long horizon, a journey with a receding, chimerical end. It forces you to revel in inches, to celebrate centimeters. It makes you grateful for every step.

Which brings me to the most important question you can ask yourself as you approach any given piece. It’s not “am I done?” It’s not “how can I perfect this.” It’s not “am I good yet?” No, the question is simple, but powerful: What’s the next step?

Note that you don’t have to ask this question right away. If you’ve worked hard at a piece, you are entitled to rest on your laurels for while; your labor deserves acknowledgment. Nor can you never leave a piece. But the fact is that there is always, always something left to work on, and that infinitude is, if you think about it, pretty darn glorious.

Asking what the next step is doesn’t mean you’re bad, and it doesn’t mean your’re good. To be honest, whether you’re “bad” or” good” (imprecise words that are almost useless in this context) has zero interest for me as a teacher, unless you are contemplating pursuing a career in recorder. I’m much more interested in whether, as a student, you are moving forward- or not.

And make no mistake: everyone (anyone!) CAN move forward. Some do it faster than others; some do it more evenly than others; some start 10 yards ahead; some start 10 yards behind. But no matter how old you are, or when you start, or what you bring to the musical table, if you consistently ask “what’s the next step?” you WILL keep moving down the field.

I’ll see you out there.