A lot has changed since I first started my derby journey. I passed my level 1 assessment and moved into contact skills. I was told I wouldn’t pass minimum skills. I didn’t pass it the first time around. But I kept skating in any way I could: with a men’s league, with wReck derby, with my hometown’s league, and I eventually moved across the country where I gave myself one more try at fresh meat 2. And finally, in December, I passed.
I’ve experienced a lot of “failure” in roller derby. Two rounds of fresh meat 1, two rounds of fresh meat 2. I’ve had a lot of “failure” in music as well. I can’t tell you how many auditions I haven’t won. I’ve had a million bad practices, in both music and derby, where I watched myself progressively become less able to nail a skill while my peers got more and more consistent. Eventually, it gets so frustrating that you’re not sure whether to scream or cry. But it’s at that point when you’re learning the most.
I’ve come to a realization about practicing as a time-strapped, overcommitted grad student: it’s not about how much you practice, but the quality of your practice. It’s more important to spend one hour drilling that one measure you can’t play than to spend three hours playing the sections you can play already. Of course, it’s important to put things back into context, but perhaps it’s not the best use of your borrowed time to play what you already know.
The same goes for skating. Why waste time with your dominant side when what needs work is your bad side? Sure, you look a lot cooler during open skate time when you practice things you can already do, but wouldn’t that time be better spent drilling the things you can’t do yet?
When you’re falling, you’re learning. Just as Thomas Edison found 1000 ways not to make a lightbulb, I’ve found 1000 ways not to do a hockey stop. I’ve found 1000 ways not to play Pasculli. I’ve found 1000 ways not to jump the apex. I’ve found 1000 ways not to make a reed. I’ve probably found 500 ways to go into something with the wrong mindset.
If you freak out about the 32nd notes, chances are you’re going to botch them. If you panic before jamming, chances are you’ll get stuck somewhere. If you’ve practiced the passage, at some point you have to turn off the analytical part of your brain and just trust yourself. You’ve practiced this. You can do it. Don’t let your own fear of failure prevent you from success.
You’re not learning when you give a perfect performance; that’s the product of all those days when you practiced something a thousand times and couldn’t get it up to tempo. You’re not learning when you’re nailing every drill on the track; that’s the product ofevery fall while you were learning something new.
Falling isn’t failing. It’s just another way to learn.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Practice.
I took my derby level one skills test today.
I didn't pass. In fact, I skated just about as poorly as I ever have. But as I warmed up and got past the frustration of not being able to do a proper knee fall...or baseball stop...or anything that I'd had perfect about ten minutes ago, I got to realising something kind of big.
It's all about attitude.
That sounds really stupid. That sounds like something cheezy that you tell young kids who just lost a kickball game. But it really is. It's also about consistency and confidence, but both of these things stem from attitude.
I've been struggling a lot in my playing with consistency. It's really hard to come in pianissimo and in tune on a low Ab 100% of the time. It's hard to do that 80% of the time, much to the chagrin of my orchestra director. Some things are just hard to get every time. But that's what the conductor and the audience expects. I'm learning that really knowing a piece of music means being able to do it under extenuating circumstances. I also played Dvorak 9 mvt. 2 with a cracked reed and played it in tune. If I can do that, I can do basically anything. But it's those situations, the ones you can't plan for, that prepare you the best for performance. Even though I didn't play my best, I feel like I accomplished something.
That was mostly because of the confidence I had in my ability to play the piece. I'm learning that you don't truly know a piece of music until you've spent an entire hour on four measures worth of half notes. It also makes you slightly insane.
But that's nothing new.
I'm finding that confidence on skates is a huge factor in doing basically anything. Every time I feared making a jump or messing up a fall, I messed it up. Every time I felt the pressure of being watched and judged, I messed it up. It's all about knowing you can do something and not taking yourself too seriously if you fail at it. Actually, not taking yourself too seriously and allowing yourself to fail paradoxically allows you to succeed.
Not taking yourself too seriously, along with confidence, makes up your attitude. Though I didn't pass level one testing today, the first things my trainers said to me was that they really admired my attitude and how I took criticism. For me, this goes hand in hand with doing roller derby purely for fun and allowing myself to be bad at roller derby. All of this results in me not taking myself too seriously and just allowing myself to learn.
Wouldn't it be incredible if I could do that in music? Wouldn't it be amazing if everything weren't so tied up in stress and the pressure to perform? Taking away the pressure allows you to become consistent and confident. But both of those aspects are only possible if you have an openness and a good attitude toward what you're trying to accomplish.
Perhaps this is a good way to go into my next lesson, orchestra rehearsal, coaching, whatever. As for derby, most of my problems can be overcome by spending more time on skates. But it's the same in basically every aspect of life...practice, practice, practice.
I didn't pass. In fact, I skated just about as poorly as I ever have. But as I warmed up and got past the frustration of not being able to do a proper knee fall...or baseball stop...or anything that I'd had perfect about ten minutes ago, I got to realising something kind of big.
It's all about attitude.
That sounds really stupid. That sounds like something cheezy that you tell young kids who just lost a kickball game. But it really is. It's also about consistency and confidence, but both of these things stem from attitude.
I've been struggling a lot in my playing with consistency. It's really hard to come in pianissimo and in tune on a low Ab 100% of the time. It's hard to do that 80% of the time, much to the chagrin of my orchestra director. Some things are just hard to get every time. But that's what the conductor and the audience expects. I'm learning that really knowing a piece of music means being able to do it under extenuating circumstances. I also played Dvorak 9 mvt. 2 with a cracked reed and played it in tune. If I can do that, I can do basically anything. But it's those situations, the ones you can't plan for, that prepare you the best for performance. Even though I didn't play my best, I feel like I accomplished something.
That was mostly because of the confidence I had in my ability to play the piece. I'm learning that you don't truly know a piece of music until you've spent an entire hour on four measures worth of half notes. It also makes you slightly insane.
But that's nothing new.
I'm finding that confidence on skates is a huge factor in doing basically anything. Every time I feared making a jump or messing up a fall, I messed it up. Every time I felt the pressure of being watched and judged, I messed it up. It's all about knowing you can do something and not taking yourself too seriously if you fail at it. Actually, not taking yourself too seriously and allowing yourself to fail paradoxically allows you to succeed.
Not taking yourself too seriously, along with confidence, makes up your attitude. Though I didn't pass level one testing today, the first things my trainers said to me was that they really admired my attitude and how I took criticism. For me, this goes hand in hand with doing roller derby purely for fun and allowing myself to be bad at roller derby. All of this results in me not taking myself too seriously and just allowing myself to learn.
Wouldn't it be incredible if I could do that in music? Wouldn't it be amazing if everything weren't so tied up in stress and the pressure to perform? Taking away the pressure allows you to become consistent and confident. But both of those aspects are only possible if you have an openness and a good attitude toward what you're trying to accomplish.
Perhaps this is a good way to go into my next lesson, orchestra rehearsal, coaching, whatever. As for derby, most of my problems can be overcome by spending more time on skates. But it's the same in basically every aspect of life...practice, practice, practice.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Butt, meet floor. Floor, butt.
I never thought that I would learn life lessons from a pair of skates.
I never thought I’d relish the thought of having a bruise roughly the size of my face. And most of all, I never thought I’d be able to be a “skater girl.” But the fact is that I love it. I love everything about roller derby, to the point where I want to add it as a commitment to my already overcommitted life. Because that’s a word that describes me pretty well: overcommitted.
I’ve always wanted to be the best at everything, or at least really, really good at it. Everything but math came easily to me when I was in school and I was always outspoken in classes, which made me appear smart. I competed on the literary team because I was good at it. I did layout for the school paper because I was good at it. I had done martial arts since I was nine, and it came pretty naturally to me. I was, pretty much, good at it.
The only thing I wasn’t particularly good at was playing the oboe. And I think that’s why I decided to stick with it. It was hard. Anything I achieved I had to really, really work for. And that draw of actually achieving something was intoxicating. Everything I am is a product of the countless hours of work I have put in to becoming a better oboist, and ultimately, a better musician. And I’ve made choices for my life that keep me pursuing this crazy dream of being a professional musician. I’ve improved exponentially as a result of the expert teaching, but what it comes down to is that my willingness to learn comes from a willingness to conquer the world of classical music while maintaining my integrity as an artist.
The classical music world focuses a lot on perfection and details and getting everything right the first time. Perhaps the most stressful part is the constant expectation to perform your best. We know everyone has bad days, but in an audition, no one cares if that’s not how you normally play it. We strive for consistent excellence in everything we do, which is derived from hours upon hours upon hours of practice.
When you’ve been playing for eight years and are planning on becoming a professional musician, it’s hard to accept being bad at something. And as of right now, that’s what I am at derby: bad at it.
What I’m learning to accept is that it’s okay to be bad at something. I don’t have to be good at everything in my life. I don’t have to mentally punish myself for failures. In fact, calling them failures doesn’t accurately depict them. They’re setbacks. Or, really, they’re just part of the process of learning.
I fall a lot, but I’m falling less. What’s better is that I’m now falling correctly; I’m falling small and getting back up quickly to skate again. I think that’s what really matters, the getting back up. I know I’m not very good at derby, but it’s something I want to do for myself. It’s empowering to try something new. And I’m learning that it’s okay not to be good at something. It’s still discouraging when I can’t catch up to other skaters and I feel like I’m holding them back, but what keeps me from losing my enjoyment and becoming frustrated is that it’s actually okay that it’s taking me more time than other skaters to find my “skate legs.” For most of them, this is their second time through level one training. I’m improving a lot. I’m not so far behind; I’m right where I should be for having skated once a week for four weeks.
I don’t know if it’s my insatiable desire to conquer difficulties or if it’s the desire to be an athlete again or what else is running through my subconscious, but I really love roller derby. I want to succeed at it because it’s something that I want to do--that I made the decision to do completely independent of other people’s opinions. Maybe it’s that I just want to do a full-contact sport again and have that camaraderie that comes with training together. Maybe it’s that I’ve never been a part of a team. But I want to do this and I want to succeed.
Maybe because it’s something I’m allowed to be bad at. I’m allowed to mess up sometimes, and that’s okay.
I never thought I’d relish the thought of having a bruise roughly the size of my face. And most of all, I never thought I’d be able to be a “skater girl.” But the fact is that I love it. I love everything about roller derby, to the point where I want to add it as a commitment to my already overcommitted life. Because that’s a word that describes me pretty well: overcommitted.
I’ve always wanted to be the best at everything, or at least really, really good at it. Everything but math came easily to me when I was in school and I was always outspoken in classes, which made me appear smart. I competed on the literary team because I was good at it. I did layout for the school paper because I was good at it. I had done martial arts since I was nine, and it came pretty naturally to me. I was, pretty much, good at it.
The only thing I wasn’t particularly good at was playing the oboe. And I think that’s why I decided to stick with it. It was hard. Anything I achieved I had to really, really work for. And that draw of actually achieving something was intoxicating. Everything I am is a product of the countless hours of work I have put in to becoming a better oboist, and ultimately, a better musician. And I’ve made choices for my life that keep me pursuing this crazy dream of being a professional musician. I’ve improved exponentially as a result of the expert teaching, but what it comes down to is that my willingness to learn comes from a willingness to conquer the world of classical music while maintaining my integrity as an artist.
The classical music world focuses a lot on perfection and details and getting everything right the first time. Perhaps the most stressful part is the constant expectation to perform your best. We know everyone has bad days, but in an audition, no one cares if that’s not how you normally play it. We strive for consistent excellence in everything we do, which is derived from hours upon hours upon hours of practice.
When you’ve been playing for eight years and are planning on becoming a professional musician, it’s hard to accept being bad at something. And as of right now, that’s what I am at derby: bad at it.
What I’m learning to accept is that it’s okay to be bad at something. I don’t have to be good at everything in my life. I don’t have to mentally punish myself for failures. In fact, calling them failures doesn’t accurately depict them. They’re setbacks. Or, really, they’re just part of the process of learning.
I fall a lot, but I’m falling less. What’s better is that I’m now falling correctly; I’m falling small and getting back up quickly to skate again. I think that’s what really matters, the getting back up. I know I’m not very good at derby, but it’s something I want to do for myself. It’s empowering to try something new. And I’m learning that it’s okay not to be good at something. It’s still discouraging when I can’t catch up to other skaters and I feel like I’m holding them back, but what keeps me from losing my enjoyment and becoming frustrated is that it’s actually okay that it’s taking me more time than other skaters to find my “skate legs.” For most of them, this is their second time through level one training. I’m improving a lot. I’m not so far behind; I’m right where I should be for having skated once a week for four weeks.
I don’t know if it’s my insatiable desire to conquer difficulties or if it’s the desire to be an athlete again or what else is running through my subconscious, but I really love roller derby. I want to succeed at it because it’s something that I want to do--that I made the decision to do completely independent of other people’s opinions. Maybe it’s that I just want to do a full-contact sport again and have that camaraderie that comes with training together. Maybe it’s that I’ve never been a part of a team. But I want to do this and I want to succeed.
Maybe because it’s something I’m allowed to be bad at. I’m allowed to mess up sometimes, and that’s okay.
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