Does part of you jump toward New Year’s resolutions as a solution, and does another part resist and rebel against them?
Hope says: “Maybe this is the year I’ll allow myself to try the thing I’ve been curious about and quietly putting on the back burner.”
With hope, we’re leaning into the social and cultural support for initiation.
Doubt says: “Yeah, but I always say these things and never follow through.”
With doubt, we might be subconsciously hedging against future disappointment and turning away from the nudge once again.
Out in the world, when I share what I do, I hear two common responses over and over:
I wish I never stopped playing.
I’ve always wanted to play…
In both cases, I’m struck by how helpful it is to have other people alongside our path of playing music. Even if it’s parallel play, knowing that other people are putting in the repetitions and following their interests opens a pathway for me to practice too. Instead of will power in isolation, which has a limit, belonging with a group stands in as a motivating force. Sometimes not even a group, but just one other person can provide the relational side of learning. Being seen. Remembering that we don’t have to figure everything out on our own.
What kind of support do we need to pursue our craft?
What would make the learning conditions feel doable?
What do we need to remove to create the space to allow for ease and simplicity?
What would help us feel drawn toward the challenge instead of repelled?
One drawback with New Year’s resolutions, especially when they’re layered on top of past frustrations, is that they tend to act like big sweeps without asking those ground-level questions. I don’t think resolutions are flawed by design. Making a commitment is an important tool. I personally love working with containers, time horizons, and temporal markers for making intentions.
Here’s a prompt:
What can I do today to gently move toward the life filled with the things I care about most?
Even a brief pause to consider what that might look like counts as an action.
Let’s engage in a loving conversation with doubt, that voice inside that is ultimately there to protect us. As we talked about in a prior post, doubt seems to be a required companion on any creative journey, we appear to be wired this way. In young students, it may not always be voiced, but it can still be detected in hesitation. With adult learners, it can be especially helpful to give doubt a little air time, to really hear what it’s bringing up, so it can be acknowledged and then put in perspective.
What if I’m not good at it?
You might not be, at first. Taking on something new is often a mix of exhilaration and defeat. Not seeing the results instantly is to be expected. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth it or it’s not for you. It simply might mean that the satisfaction and reward you’re looking for will come in time. It may also mean that the quality and specificity of the goal could use some recalibrating.
What if I make a great start but don’t follow through?
You’re in charge of what’s in your reach today. Tomorrow is an unopened package you will get to open up and look into when it arrives. Gestures count. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Showing up and sitting on the bench. Picking up the guitar, even if you put it down again. Approximating and affiliating with your routine is the way to progress.
What if my dreams don’t come true?
Hindsight often reveals remarkable gains. When we put in efforts that seem dull and flat, but are present, they amount to more than we can imagine over time. We build our musicality like learning a language: halting and vague at first, fluid and free eventually.
Whether you are refreshing your musical aims from a seasoned practicing lifestyle, contemplating a return to music, or planning a brand new beginning, I encourage you to let music do for you what it does so well. Let it remind you that creative work can’t be rushed, mastery can’t be forced, and skill building doesn’t respond well to pressure.
Music has taught me like a wise guide:
Take your time. Be aware. Feel it. Hear it. See it. Say it.
Music weaves many threads together, it's a canvas as rich and vast as we want to explore. And if that feels overwhelming, I encourage you to remember this: you are the one who animates it. Music doesn’t exist without our bodies and minds working together to create something real.
In an era of rapid technological change, the basic truth about being human, that we are inherently creative and expressive, feels more relevant than ever. It can be helpful to view our daily practices as serving our well-being first, allowing outcomes like sharing and producing to come in time.
If you’re called to practice music, we celebrate that, and we’d love to walk side by side.
Thanks so much for reading,
Sadie