Dear Reader,

I hated practicing the piano when I was a kid.

Practicing the piano was stressful. Agonizing. Miserable.

It felt like torture! 

(I was only 7 years old and slightly prone to exaggeration but that’s how it felt.) 

And I avoided it at all costs.

I endured piano lessons during which Miss Cathy was always disappointed in my performance (or lack thereof). I participated in recitals (and fumbled every time). I even once mustered up the courage to get up on stage and play for the big music festival that was held each year in our town, and I still remember the burning in my cheeks as the adjudicator handed out our evaluations, orally, in front of the crowd: In my nervousness, I had played the entire piece in the wrong octave. It was mortifying.

And not one of these experiences – not a one! – gave me any further incentive nor added an ounce of joy during those hours in which I was meant to be practicing that piano. These collective experiences were not inspiring to me. They were not motivating. I felt no inner drive or passion well up from inside in the face of these defeats. If anything, they made me loathe that piano all the more.

I wanted to quit. 

And so I did.

Miss Cathy, my teacher, was clearly relieved.

Me? I was overjoyed. 

But my mom, who loved having music in the house, wasn’t so keen.

And then…

My mom met Mrs. G..

Mrs. G. was a retired lady who lived alone in a quiet house down the street. And Mrs. G. was a piano teacher. But not just any piano teacher. No, Mrs. G. was something else altogether. Mrs. G. was so much more.

Mrs. G. made tea for her students. And Mrs. G. let us pick out songs from popular music that we wanted to learn alongside the requisite Beethoven or Bach (“One song for me this week, Rebecca, and one for you!”) She had a room full of handmade dolls and a cupboard full of cookies, but best of all she had a ping-pong table and boy, she loved a good game! So piano lessons became “tea and cookie” time. They became “watch Mrs. G. close her eyes while I pound away at some concerto and see her smile while I play that song from the radio” time. And they also became “who could best the other at ping pong” time.

And it was glorious!

And then something fascinating happened: I started not to loathe practicing the piano quite so much.

I wasn’t just practicing now because I had to or because I was supposed to. I was practicing because I wanted to learn. I was practicing because I wanted to see that look on Mrs. G.’s face when I played for her. And I was practicing so she would let me keep coming back for lessons because, let’s face it, it was the tea and the cookies and the camaraderie and the ping pong that I was really there for anyways.

And I learned through all of this that I am not the sort of person who practices something like the piano because I am told to do so, or because I am driven to succeed in the face of adversity. My motivators are different: Being seen. Being heard. Good conversation (preferably over tea and cookies). And the joy of being in the presence of another human being who loves a good laugh.

Flash forward some 40+ years and here I am now, steeped in a life in which I relish practicing. I love learning and trying on new skills. And I love the idea that everything I do in my coaching and consulting work is a practice – everything from the managing of my inbox to the way we schedule our days to the interactions I have with clients and their teams. I am ever-practicing, ever-growing, ever-experimenting…ever the “humble beginner” even as I cross into my 23rd year in business. And ever-grateful, of course, for the experience of learning the joys of practicing at that old black upright at Mrs. G.’s house down the street.

You can find more from Rebecca at Plaid For Women or connect with her on her website.