DAY 2: You're Being Graded
Wednesday, January 18, 2023
WFIW of the Day: Nothing yet.
I’m operating on autopilot so far this morning…
Got out of bed with my husband. He started making more rice balls for our daughter’s breakfast, which was so nice to see.
But then, like my stupid default self, I couldn’t just let him go on doing it on his own. I started giving tips and he started asking me questions and maybe the rice balls turned out a tiny bit better with my input, but I could sense that it was also turning into a graded exercise for him.
You know, that instant when something turns: from an EXPERIENCE you get to enjoy in life, to a PERFORMANCE that you have to do right… otherwise you’ll get a metaphorical B- on it.
>>>>>>When do actions go from a PURE EXPERIENCE to a GRADED EXERCISE?
I’ll always remember my very first piano competition. I was 12 years old and I had been taking classical piano lessons since I was five. (I wasn’t allowed to quit until I was 18, but that’s a story for another day).
I had played in small, comfortable recitals packed full of encouraging parents and fellow students. Those were a little nervous-making but doable.
This competition was different. I had to go into a dark room with a single piano in it and play in front of a judge, sitting at a very official-looking table with an official-looking pen and clipboard. There was no sheet music allowed, so I had to rely on my memory and I only had one shot to get it right.
But I did it.
Somehow, I sailed right in there and sat down and played the piece I had practiced for so many hours at home. I felt only the slight tingling of nervous excitement - a “ooh, this is a challenge but you totally got this” kind of feeling. The muscles in my fingers knew exactly what to do and I finished with a flourish, smiled with relief, and exited the room.
A few hours later, I waited with my piano teacher in a big auditorium while they announced the winners.
“And first place of the entire damn competition… SHINAH CHANG!”
(This is honestly how I remember it going).
I turned absolutely astonished toward my teacher. She was young, just starting her career, and she was absolutely ecstatic. She jumped up and gave me a big hug.
And then, I had to go down to the stage and play my piece again, in front of that whole huge auditorium full of disappointed fellow competitors and parents and teachers and judges.
No problem. My muscle memory kicked in again, my brain stayed in the zone, I performed like a champ.
But the next year at the same competition… things were different.
This time, I was coming in as the reigning champion from the year before. I knew what to expect: everyone else’s expectations. And under the threat of alllll those expectations, my brain started to generate desperate, unhelpful thoughts:
“Well, you better do just as good at last year…”
“Your teacher will be so disappointed if you don’t win again…”
“Don’t make a mistake… this part’s really tough, make sure you place your ring finger correctly…. but remember to make it look like you’re a passionate young prodigyyyyy!!!”
My fingers fumbled, my brow furrowed, my playing became hesitant and cautious.
I trudged out of the big auditorium along with the dozens of other kids clutching our “honorable mention” certificates.
I never won another piano competition again.
That’s exactly what I was doing to my husband as he was dutifully making rice balls for his daughter’s breakfast. I came in as the “expert” and started watching him and giving him “helpful” advice. Which of course, turned me into the TEACHER, the JUDGER, the GRADER… and all my expectations pushed the fun and learning and creativity right out of his brain.
Suddenly, he had to meet a certain standard (mine.) Instead of just experimenting and discovering his own magnificent way of making rice balls, he had to do it the RIGHT way.
And I think that might just suck the joy out of any experience.
With Curiosity,
Shinah
P.S. - I’m proud of myself for writing two days in a row. But I also haven’t felt any “Whatever the f*** I want” energy…. so maybe I’ll put on some Dua Lipa and go make breakfast now. See ya tomorrow!