Exploring connections between music, mindfulness, and the body. 

ocal vision is associated with increased activation of the sympathetic nervous system (the GO! branch of the autonomic nervous system). This can be a good thing when we need to focus on something specific for a certain period of time since autonomic arousal can boost our ability to pay attention. But if we remain locked in this high-focus mode of visual perception for longer than our nervous system can tolerate, we may experience feelings of stress, anxiety, tunnel vision (or “one-track mind”), and hyper-vigilance. But there’s good news! Panoramic or peripheral vision is associated with a decrease in autonomic arousal, or the activation of the parasympathetic nervous system. This decreased arousal may be experienced feeling safe and calm and with having a broad yet flexible awareness of your surroundings.

Here at MUN, and at music schools all over North America, we are ramping up to jury and recital season. It’s an exciting time of the academic year and also a time when many musicians get stuck in that awkward place where their repertoire is pretty much learned, but not quite at the level they want it to be, whether technically, musically, or both. In this place, the intended result seems so close and at the same time inordinately difficult to reach. Maybe we can image imagine what we want but can’t quite get it to come out. Or, we know what we’re doing isn’t exactly what we intend, but we struggle to find clarity in our interpretation. It is easy to fill this gap with a lot of grinding of gears and spinning of wheels in an effort to just get. it. right. It seems like if we just play it enough times, it should get better, right? Well, sometimes repetition does the trick. But there is often a cost that is paid in frustration, wasted time, and physical tension and we inadvertently cultivate the opposite of the kind of freedom and authenticity we ultimately want on stage.

It occurs to me that rather than trying to normalize the performance experience, we could try to live more fully -- to actually experience more of our lives -- everyday. I think we often flatten out our experience so that it appears to align more closely with our preferences and expectations. But what if we actually sought out and learned to be okay with more texture, more nuance, more drama? Might the performance experience seem less fraught? 

Playing sloppily is undignified, yes. But, in my opinion, so is the rigid striving of perfectionism. Perfectionism is a rejection of the full expression of our humanness. As a recovering perfectionist, I know this all too well! And, in a sense, we can’t reject our own humanness without also rejecting others’. But when we embrace our our shared humanness — our capacity for greatness along with our foibles and failures — we enter into a different sort of relationship with ourselves, the music, and the audience. Through our sincere effort, clear purpose, and receptivity to the moment, we dignify each other.

The way our autonomic nervous systems assesses and respond to threat vs safety is highly individual and is conditioned by many factors including genetics, family dynamics, trauma history, experiences in educational systems, overall physical and mental health, social supports, etc., etc., etc. Another way of saying this is: Situations and events are not in themselves stressful (or not) or relaxing (or not); they are not threatening (or not) or safe (or not). It is the nervous system’s response to a situation or event that determines whether it is experienced as stressful, exciting, enlivening, relaxing, threatening, etc. One of the cool things about working with the nervous system is that we can learn to sense and, with practice, shift which how our own unique systems respond to experience. We can learn to give ourselves the support we need — and to be skilful about seeking support from others — to excel and meet our goals.

I think it’s high time we de-mystified the body. Is it complex? Yes. Is it rocket science? No. If we can handle post-tonal theory, we can definitely handle a little anatomy, biomechanics, and neuroscience! And the pay-off, I believe, is improved technical fluidity, greater expressive power, and more confidence and connection on stage.

It’s true: Getting in touch with what is really going on for you — the bodily sensations that usually fly under the radar, the thought patterns that repeat so faithfully that we take them to be who we are — can be overwhelming. And not just in a “How fascinating: I had no idea I was so judgemental!” kind of way, but in more of a “I literally feel like I am drowning/I think meditation might be causing a panic attack” kind of way.

If this is you, fear not. You aren’t broken or doing it wrong. You’re not “too stressed to meditate” or doomed to remain at a distance from your embodied experience. But, your nervous system might, for any number of reasons, be on high alert and you may have to begin by taking a “touch and go” approach.

I think a big part of the journey of being an artist is taking responsibility for the stewardship of that thing inside us — whatever it is — that makes us want to create art. According to Merriam Webster online, stewardship refers to “the careful and responsible management of something entrusted to one’s care.” What would it be like to carefully and responsibly manage what feels most true, essential, and valuable to you? It’s an interesting question. There is often tension between what we feel inside and what appears to be expected of us. Resolving that tension — or, more realistically, dancing with that tension — can be tricky. But it is in the midst of that dance that creativity and agency flourish.

In this post, I'd like to introduce you to one of my favourite metaphors for unhelpful reactivity -- the second arrow. The concept of the second arrow comes from a Buddhist parable, the gist of which is this: If you got shot with an arrow, it would be bad. It would hurt a lot and could be life-threatening. There are certain actions you would likely want to take immediately such as get the arrow out, stop the bleeding, go to the hospital, etc. 

What would NOT be helpful would be to get, say, angry -- either with the person who shot you or with yourself for being stupid enough to get shot. If you did get angry, you would be in physical pain (and possibly mortal danger) AND, on top of that, you would be...well, angry, which generally doesn't feel good. So, not only would your discomfort have increased (pain of arrow + pain of being angry), but your anger would likely to distract you from taking the actions that would be most helpful.

In effect, it would be like shooting yourself with a second arrow. 

It occurs to me that rather than trying to normalize the performance experience, we could try to live more fully -- to actually experience more of our lives -- everyday. I think we often flatten out our experience so that it appears to align more closely with our preferences and expectations. But what if we actually sought out and learned to be okay with more texture, more nuance, more drama? Might the performance experience seem less fraught? 

Playing sloppily is undignified, yes. But, in my opinion, so is the rigid striving of perfectionism. Perfectionism is a rejection of the full expression of our humanness. As a recovering perfectionist, I know this all too well! And, in a sense, we can’t reject our own humanness without also rejecting others’. But when we embrace our our shared humanness — our capacity for greatness along with our foibles and failures — we enter into a different sort of relationship with ourselves, the music, and the audience. Through our sincere effort, clear purpose, and receptivity to the moment, we dignify each other.

In this post, I'd like to introduce you to one of my favourite metaphors for unhelpful reactivity -- the second arrow. The concept of the second arrow comes from a Buddhist parable, the gist of which is this: If you got shot with an arrow, it would be bad. It would hurt a lot and could be life-threatening. There are certain actions you would likely want to take immediately such as get the arrow out, stop the bleeding, go to the hospital, etc. 

What would NOT be helpful would be to get, say, angry -- either with the person who shot you or with yourself for being stupid enough to get shot. If you did get angry, you would be in physical pain (and possibly mortal danger) AND, on top of that, you would be...well, angry, which generally doesn't feel good. So, not only would your discomfort have increased (pain of arrow + pain of being angry), but your anger would likely to distract you from taking the actions that would be most helpful.

In effect, it would be like shooting yourself with a second arrow. 

I have observed over the years that many students return to school slightly less “in shape” than when they left in the spring. Lots of music students, including those who are otherwise dedicated to their development as musicians, practice all year, perform their final jury or recital, and then put the instrument in the case for the summer.  

In my very first post, How I Got Hooked on Mindfulness, I talked a little bit about a weird paradox that I encountered when I started practicing yoga and meditation. In both of these practices we are taught to focus on the quality of attention and presence we bring to each moment and not so much on the results of our efforts. This is called non-attachment and at first I thought it was for suckers. Focusing on process rather than product seemed to me to be, at best, inefficient and, at worst, a surefire way to encourage mediocrity. 

One of the big goals of mindfulness practice is to learn to accept what is -- whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. (Another goal is to stop categorizing experience as good, bad, or indifferent...but we'll save that for another post...) But the whole idea of acceptance -- particularly the acceptance of mistakes, practice ruts, or poor performances -- can be a tough sell among classical musicians. After all, we attain mastery by refusing to accept anything but the very best, right? Well, that depends on how we define acceptance. 

Quick recap: In Part 1, I described how I came to mindfulness practice and in Part 2, I talked about what mindfulness is and isn't. But you may be asking yourself why you should care. Great question. In this post, I'll talk a bit about how mindfulness works and why I think it can be so helpful for musicians.