Recently, I had a slight crisis about my intonation. I realized that while I don’t have cringeworthy intonation, and while many non-musicians may assume that I am in tune most (Or all of the time), I’m actually not sure I’m EVER in tune– at least not perfectly. After this realization, I started practicing almost everything with a drone (Or a pedal note) underneath. Scales, etudes, concertos, sonatas, Bach and my chamber music parts. Let me tell you, listening to a drone 5-7 hours/day every day is a really good way to feel like you have no idea how to play your instrument. However, I tried taking the drone away, and my ear had still learned a new way to listen. One of the trickiest things about getting better at practicing is that it means we hear more mistakes. What we sometimes forget though is that if we are hearing more mistakes, we are fixing more mistakes.

I have been working on hearing my mistakes, and working patiently through them, without judgement or anger towards myself. After all, if I wait until I play perfectly in tune to enjoy my own music, I may wait until I’m in a retirement home or have passed from this life. I say that actually without humor, Yo Yo Ma used this anecdote:

A cellist walks on a beach and picks up a bottle. A genie pops out and says, “I give you two wishes.” 

The cellist says: “Wow, I’d like to have world peace.” 

The genie thinks for a second and says, 

“That’s too hard! What’s your second wish?”

The cellist says, “Well, I’m turning 60 and I want to play in tune.” 

The genie thinks for a second and says, “What was your first wish again?” 

If Yo Yo Ma still works on intonation, we’re all going to have to work on intonation for the rest of our lives. What we can learn from him though is he didn’t wait to feel his intonation was perfect to pursue music as a career, to create interesting chamber ensembles, to use music as a means for sharing messages of love and peace and understanding with the world, and in short to change the world quite measurably with his music.

Yes, of course, he’s also one of the most exceptional cellists to ever live. But maybe he’s so good because he is patient with himself in the process, and because he finds ways to laugh. This summer I’m trying to learn some very difficult viola repertoire: the Walton Concerto, Bach’s 3rd Partita transcribed, and a sonata (Rochberg or Rebecca Clarke). I’m taking on a lot as someone that’s new to the viola, and it’s easy to get impatient with myself. But what I’ve been learning is that the kinder we are with ourselves as we are improving, and the more slowly and patiently we work, the faster we actually improve. Angrily and hastily scrubbing away at the viola or the violin gets me literally nowhere, and eventually ends in tears.

Today I was thinking about the things I want to change about myself as a person. I want to be more understanding and empathetic, more patient, more loving, more responsible, more diligent, more intelligent, better with money, better with my words… the list goes on. But maybe getting better as a person is just like practicing with a drone for intonation… it takes patience.

This morning it occurred to me that God wants me to be able to find joy now– in my present moment–just as I am. God doesn’t want me to wait until I can play perfectly in tune or elegantly love everyone to be happy. Nor do I want to wait for such a far off day of perfection ! There’s beautiful things I am doing already that I can be proud of. There’s people I am helping. There are phrases that are lovely. Life is beautiful already. And so am I. And so are YOU.

We’re not perfect! But beautiful doesn’t have to be perfect. In the words of Leonard Cohen:

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”