Scales Again (Part II)

I remember the first time I played a scale on the violin. It was scratchy and slow, but I had played a scale, from start to finish, and each note had its place. It wasn't a playful piece of music, or anything that warranted applause. But I knew it was opening the door to notes I could begin arranging in a different order. To speak a new song.

Years later, scales were the start of every two hour practice session. Some days I would spend half an hour on scales alone. Listening to pitches, willing my fingers to go in their correct places, starting over when I hit a stray note.

My senior year I played a solo at State Solo and Ensemble. But this time, I didn't just have to play a piece of music. I had to play multiple scales (the hard ones with five flats!) and sightread too. I remember the week before the big day, I stood in front of the large mirror in front of the stairs. I played every scale, three octaves, fluidly without stopping. I paused to wonder at the way my fingers knew exactly where to go. I loved watching the violin and my hands in the mirror, almost as if they were disconnected from me... watching them do what they were expected to. Because of years of disciplined practice. Of mundane ten-minute scale exercises up and down the violin. Because of starting every orchestra rehearsal with five to ten minutes of scales. Eventually, scale times became a larger portion of practice time. They laid the foundation.

As I've been reflecting on the importance of discipline in learning an instrument, I am finding connections between a renewed focus I have taken on spiritual discipline, along with life discipline.

Somewhere between graduating high school, starting college, graduating college, and starting teaching, I have lost many of the disciplines I was brought up with.

Daily times in the Word

Memorizing Scripture

Regular times of prayer

Writing to process

Time management and time constraints on leisure activities

Limits on media and entertainment

Regular bedtimes

Healthy meals

Regular Exercise 

Reading for pleasure

Practicing musical instruments

In an effort to make myself appear in control and "all grown up," I began to throw out some of the disciplines and parameters that had been set up for me as a child. Of course this is natural, and I had to find my own course. At one time or another, I have thrown some (or all) of these out.

But as time has gone on, I realized that the balance and the structure and the "technique" with which I execute the next "concerto" of life is beginning to dwindle. Because I have neglected my scales. I have neglected what is most important. To ground me and give me a foundation to work with.

These past weeks, the six women in my Bible study have been reading and studying Ephesians. And each week we face a set of challenges (essentially, disciplines) that we want to work toward. For each one of us, they are different. But the accountability, the victory, and the celebrations are unanimous.

I've been focused on being steeped in the Word each day. I've been working to memorize larger chunks of scripture. I've been limiting my time on social media. I've been limiting my time with movies, trying to stay healthy by exercising several times a week, spending my extra time reading for fun, and keeping a gratitude list each evening, exploring new musicians and new music.

I used to be annoyed with people that would create the parameters and limitations for me. But now I am thankful for those who taught me to practice scales, to memorize scripture, to eat healthy so that now I know where to pick up. Just like my fingers remember their place after months of no practice, so my life is remembering what it's like to have discipline. What it's like to set boundaries and keep them: between work and play, pizza and salad, study and entertainment.

I'm so thankful for the challenge to go back to the basics -- the necessary scales -- of my life so that I can continue growing as a musician, a teacher, a learner, to become more like the way I was created to be.

Scales Again (part I)

I have been teaching violin to a few students this past year, and I'm beginning to realize something. Something that shouldn't have taken me this long to realize.

Discipline takes time. 

My violin journey began as a four year old on the shores of Lake Balaton in Hungary. A small fiddle band was playing some energetic music under the lights. The mosquitoes and moths danced to the jigs and reels. I remember looking at the performers and knowing I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to play the violin.

That dream continued, quietly under the surface, during years of piano lessons and frantically completed theory assignments on Wednesday afternoon before 5pm lessons.

Then, finally! I was in the large home of a well-known violinist in our community. I was clutching my very first rental violin, a half size, learning what it meant to hold it, take care of it, rosin the bow, and place it on my shoulder.

I remember when I first started taking lessons: when my 17-year old violin teacher played me songs at the back of Book 2... she highlighted fourth fingers and was relentless with making me play, even when it hurt.

Then she graduated and I had the Discipline Man. He almost made me quit. I lost my love for violin under piles of scales, Schradieck exercises, etudes, and shifting. "Can you articulate that?" "Turn your wrist in," and "Show me your bow hold" were regular and frustrating parts of my violin life. I would go home and practice until the notes blurred on the page, and still my fourth finger refused to stay in position, my wrist still touched the violin where it shouldn't, and I was miserable. I hadn't even learned to play one real piece of music during that painful year.

But something was changing. I had a foundation. So the following year when I took lessons from a masters student, I flew through three books in six months. Fourth finger was no longer torture. I could execute a shift without overshooting. I could place my fingers exactly where they needed to be.

After she left to continue her studies, I took up lessons with the man I still think of as my violin teacher. He showed me the metronome. And he knew I despised it... so he brought it to lessons. He knew that even though I tried to practice at home with it, I would get frustrated. So he hauled out his enormous ticking metronome, plopped it on the table, and played each piece, each exercise with me. And I heard my mistakes and corrected.

My scales were mostly perfect, my shifts were clean, and my articulation was clear.

My freshman year of college I was back to more scales, a different school of thought, but more practice than ever before.

And then, my violin journey came to a screeching halt. The closure of the music school brought an abrupt end to my music minor. And to music as any sort of continued career. I quit violin lessons, eventually dropped out of community orchestra, and stopped practicing.

But now as I teach my students, I have had such a hunger for learning. For scales and arpeggios, etudes, and working toward a goal. I even miss my obnoxious metronome.

So Friday I came home from school. I dropped my bags by the door, headed straight to the back room for my music stand, and played scales and etudes and arpeggios until my fingers remembered their place, until my shifts were clean again, and the pieces I was working on were once again recognizable. I have a long way to go.

But discipline must start somewhere.

My lack of practice burnt me out. It made me unhappy. It felt like I was wasting the talents and skills I once had. Every day I left my violin at school, knowing I was forsaking the opportunity to practice, and to get better.

I don't want to have regrets about wasted lessons, wasted money, and wasted talent. I want to continue to learn, grow, and work toward becoming the best player I can, with or without lessons.

As much as I hated practicing scales and etudes, I realize that I have the skills literally at my fingertips, waiting to be summoned again because of the years of intense, rigorous practice. Of years of violin teachers who refused to let me just play the fun stuff. Of years of tears, and anger, and threatening to quit.

Because anything worth having is worth working for. 

Because discipline is hard work.

Because discipline takes time.