Every day is a call to adventure: a chance to practice, to get better at something, to make a better life for yourself in some way. Many people hear and feel this calling, but most do not truly answer it.
If talent doesn’t exist, why doesn’t everyone sprint for world-class performance as a songwriter, or an instrumentalist, or whatever they feel called to do?
I suspect it’s because:
- Most people still believe in talent.
- They’re too distracted by what’s going on in the rest of their lives.
- They’re too busy with TV and other entertainments, and practice seems too boring by comparison.
- They’re complacent. Somebody told them once that they’re talented and awesome and perfect, and the poor sap believed them.
- They’re too impatient. Mastery doesn’t come quickly to them, and they take that to mean it never will, or that the effort isn’t worth it.
- They’ve reached a level of performance that they find acceptable, and they’re unsure of how to proceed. They haven’t identified the next step.
- They’re a bit afraid to make a sincere effort at something.
- They don’t enjoy the work.
Why Practice?
Maybe curiosity drives you on. What’s around the next corner? What will it feel like to be able to understand or perform this technique flawlessly?
Prestige might also drive you on—not necessarily in the form of popular acclaim and fame, but just the pride of being able to craft music and lyrics that are truly well-made. And hopefully having those efforts appreciated.
The desire to create can spur you on. Maybe you crave the new tools for self-expression that practice brings.
Maybe you crave the feeling of self-assurance, power, and freedom that comes from flexing well-developed musical or writing skills.
Maybe you simply love practice: the workmanship, the pleasure of discipline, the feel of the pen scratching into the page, the weight of the rhyming dictionary in your hands, the guitar’s steel wire digging into the soft pads of your fingers.
And finally, maybe you’re afraid of playing badly, of being just another mediocre songster in an ocean of mediocre songsters. Maybe you’re driven ahead by a fear of having regrets.
That may seem a touch morbid, but the fear of someday having deathbed regrets over how I spent my time has helped me find motivation on many a day when I didn’t feel like practicing. I remind myself regularly of the consequences that await me if I neglect the craft.
But above all, please remember: showing up is a skill and even an art unto itself, and it’s one that you can improve on over time. If you fall off the wagon, you can always climb aboard again. Don’t call yourself any awful names because of it; just climb aboard again.