The paradox of effectiveness

It’s interesting that parents put pressure on their kids to excel at some things and not others. (Image by Ryan McGuire)

Nobody talks about this book anymore, but The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua made a big impression on me when I read it back in 2011.

At the time, I was a full-time music teacher and the director of a music school that I had founded. I read Chua’s accounts of her daughters’ brutal six-hour classical music daily practice regimens with horror.

Horror at how badly she apparently treated them and made music a misery.

But also horror at how embarrassingly ineffective her methods were.

Above all, I want my students to feel good about themselves. Those who have a more aggressive approach misconstrue my methods as being soft.

However, that ignores the fact that we feel good about ourselves when we’re accomplishing things that are meaningful to us.

Therefore, my carefully constructed, gentle pedagogy is actually designed to be as effective as possible, ideally in as short a time as possible. I’m fighting the same battle as the “tiger mother” with a totally different strategy. I’m seeking the ultimate victory: a student who wants their own success for their own reasons and is utterly assured of their own capacity to achieve it.

If a parent came to me wanting my help to make their child a top violinist by the time she was a senior in high school, I would send them away because such a status-oriented goal runs counter to my philosophy as an educator. But let’s run a thought experiment and imagine that I took them on, managing the project.

I would tell the parent to take up the violin herself. I would encourage her to play for fun and listen to classical music for fun — to make music part of the family culture.

The child would begin lessons at age three. We would make them as fun as possible. Practice sessions would not begin and end with tears and frustration — they would be short and frequent, always asking the child to do something that’s juuust the right level of challenge to keep her engaged, but not so difficult that it triggers resistance.

That’s where I’d use the early childhood music curriculum I developed a few years ago, one that incorporates singing, keyboard instruments, percussion, ukulele, and more into a single session. We would sing and play folk songs together, switching activities before boredom has a chance to occur.

As the child grew in capacity and capability, practice sessions would get longer and more in depth. As she gained confidence, we would give her more challenge so that she could experience a little frustration and learn the tools to resolve it. However, the “dose” of challenge would be carefully managed.

Along the way, the child would learn practice techniques to make her as effective as possible. No meaningless repetition, no trying over and over to get it right. Instead, we’d incorporate slow, mindful, precise work along with light, fast, intuitive play. Trying too hard would be anathema to our aims.

At a certain point, the student would begin to have her own goals for her musical development. We would make space for these and encourage her, even if they seemed out of her reach. Such a motivated, self-directed learner can overcome significant obstacles as a result of their determination and drive.

By the time this child was in high school, she would be a capable player and an effective learner. Best of all, she would derive joy and satisfaction from her playing. There would be no sense of obligation. Her success would be her own.

There would be no need to browbeat this violinist into hours of practice. There would be no need to introduce threats, fear, or intimidation. There would be no reason for guilt or shame.

And when she did practice, it would be an exercise in mindfulness. It would be a meditation. It would be ease upon ease, unless she were to decide that she wanted to push herself to the edge of her ability. That decision would be hers to make, with no interference or pressure from the adults.

We do our best work when we’re feeling good, and our young violinist is no different. Her self-made enthusiasm for violin would help her to rise far beyond the heights that shame and coercion could ever reach.

Of course, this freedom and sense of self could backfire relative to the aims of her mother. If this violinist has nothing to prove, she might just walk away from the opportunity to, say, become first violin in her city youth orchestra or participate in competitions. She might decide we want to pursue some other interesting challenge or develop another skill. She might decide she wants to do nothing at all and just take a break for awhile to think about what’s next.

All of that can happen when there’s been a light touch. When we give up control, the other person is free to make her own decisions that may conflict with the goals we had for her.

But the control we think we have over others is an illusion, anyway. We are only stewards of the children in our care, guides on their path. We don’t own them, and if we coerce them into doing what we wish for them, our reward will be their resentment and a dimming of their light.

So even though my methodology would be very effective for getting a kid to the top tier of musicianship, that goal is beside the point. I want to see her have mastery over her life, not just an instrument. That requires autonomy and self-belief along with a sense of competence. And it helps if she has trust in others to match her trust in herself.

All of the work that I would put into helping someone be great at something is for nothing if they don’t feel great about who they are becoming. That’s the part that really matters. Of course, when we have that feeling about ourselves, it’s easier to be great. But it’s a by-product of a positive experience of learning and the resulting faith in our own ability. From there, we might not care so much about external markers of success. But if we want them, they’re ours to pursue.