Struggling to be Inadequate

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know that in a moment of madness about a year ago I decided I’d like to learn to play the violin. Well, I want you to know I haven’t given up. Not quite. But the cards are stacked against me. Actually, I need a better metaphor. Something weightier, more aggressive. 

I don’t like to think of myself as too old for anything. For anything I’d like to do, that is. I’m okay with being too old to help roll the heavy stump the tree-cutters left in the yard last week. I’m happy to have someone younger do that. 

Anyway, about the violin. A year ago I quoted an article that described learning the violin as an adult as a combination of kindergarten and physical therapy. That struck a chord, so to speak. More like plucked a string, since I can’t even imagine chords.

At about the same time, I ordered a beginner’s violin book from Amazon and tried not to feel belittled by my struggle with Hot Cross Buns. I did eventually move on, though children’s songs still feature prominently in my repertoire. A few weeks ago, Amazon sent me a cheery little note: Time to order Book 2! Well, not quite. I’m probably three-quarters of the way through Book 1, though my teacher and good friend has gently moved me into another book which I think would be considered a “lateral transfer”. She’s respectful of my fragile ego.

Yesterday, after another practice session when it was even odds whether the bow would glide tunefully or squawk painfully over the strings, I googled again…not “learning the violin as an adult” this time, but “learning the violin as a senior”. (By the way, in case you were wondering, a senior is anyone over fifty. I’m over seventy.) Here’s a sampling:

“As a senior citizen, you should make it a point to do all of the things you always wanted to do in your life… Today, learning to play violin can be as simple as purchasing a series of online video tapes.”

Really? 

“One of the worst things you can do is think that because you’re older, that you’ll have an advantage over younger students.”

Well, I hadn’t really thought that. It goes on to remind me, in oblique terms, that my fingers and arms are less flexible than those of children. Not to mention my brain.

Most of these articles encourage anyone—even those over fifty—to pick up the instrument, acknowledging that it will be a struggle. The violin, says one, is themost difficult instrument to play. Good to know.

Then there’s the article by Liz Payne in the Ottawa Citizen, Learning the violin is a lesson in humility. She doesn’t share her age, but in her picture she looks more fifty than seventy. She shares this:

“Nothing prepared me for the heavy lifting and frequent stumbling that comes with learning to play the violin,” she says. And then, “It’s hard to get around the stark reality of math when you pick up the violin as an adult.”

Here’s that reality: If you practice for half an hour every day, she points out, it would take 55 years to meet Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule, the time it takes to achieve mastery of—well—almost anything. An hour a day would still extend well beyond my life expectancy—not to mention exacerbating my carpal tunnel syndrome.

What about settling for just adequate at, say, 2,000 hours? That would only take eleven years. Or, at an hour a day, five and a half, taking time out for carpal tunnel surgery.

The takeaway from all this is that I’m obviously not tackling the violin with any expectation of becoming expert. Perhaps not even adequate. Why, then? I’m not sure myself. Playing a string instrument is not a lifelong goal. It was one whim among many, but one that I happened to act upon.

But on those rare occasions when the fingers of my left hand do what they’re supposed to do, even when I’m not looking, and miraculously, at the same time, my right hand draws the bow across the strings with just the right pressure, I feel the pleasure of a small accomplishment. So, Malcolm Gladwell be damned, I’ll continue to imagine reaching unrealistic goals for awhile yet.