Last night, I felt like a failure. Getting up from the piano after playing “Consolation #3” by Franz Liszt, I returned to my seat next to my smiling husband. “You recovered well.”
“You recovered well!” That’s exactly what I did.
I had a momentary memory slip and I couldn’t see the music in front of me without my eyeglasses, I carried on. I played from my heart and finger memory, but again I hit the wrong note once in my left hand, which led to a brief panic, which led to more wrong and cluttered notes in my right hand. This lasted probably fifteen seconds. It felt like an eternity. I immediately realized my mistakes. #1.I should have worn my eyeglasses. #2. I should have practiced more.
“You didn’t take the recital seriously, in fact, quietly casually and even cavalier. When you commit to something, you should practice.” Ken told me after we got home when I was reflecting over a chilled glass of white wine with roasted walnuts.
“I miscalculated. I thought I knew the piece. I’d played it numerous times at BSO (Boston Symphony Orchestra) cafe when I felt relaxed and in control, so I didn’t want to over-practice and feel chained to the music.” I stood by my reasons.
“You practiced a lot and you did very well for your MasterClass recital last December. You’d practiced. A lot.” Ken reiterated his point.
Practice. Practice. Practice.
He was right. I did for MasterClass recital last year, but not for this Interdepartmental Recital last night. Why? What was the difference?
The difference was the presence of “constructive stress” and certain states…the courage of battle” as stated in the William James quote – last December. Last night? Well, I did not view it as a battle or stressful. The absence of a sense of battle or difficulty, made me feel over-confident and I did not rise to my performance potential as I would have desired. The audience I was playing to at a class recital at the New England Conservatory, where students and faculty are trained to be critical listeners, was different from the audience at the BSO cafe who are diners may not be fully listening. I had conflated the audiences in both settings and decided against practice. A mistake.
This morning when I read the chapter on “Stunted Potential” in Ellen Lager’s book “Mindfulness” I felt I’d understood my psyche better and how to make better judgments and to be more prepared next time.
When I told a longtime friend how I’d messed up my piano recital last night, he said: “I bet you’d understated your performance.” He may be right, I kept up the performance, I didn’t freeze and stop. But I’d hadn’t delivered my potential, I could do better, and I want to do better. At the very least, I don’t want to mess up!