After a two-year hiatus, The 75th annual Midwest Clinic will take place this week in Chicago. The clinic and its adjacent activities serve as a celebration of excellence and a reminder of how important music education is.
I love everything about Midwest: the booths, the clinics, the phenomenal performances, the formal dress wear.
I even like the cold! In fact, no matter what the weather, I always take one night and walk down Michigan Avenue and back to admire the sights, sounds, and beauty of this magnificent time of year.
As I said, I love everything about the experience. Well, almost everything.
It may seem weird. And indulge me if you have not experienced this, but I am confident that I am not alone.
Sometimes it makes me feel "small" (insert short joke here). Not small like Ant-Man. Small, like insignificant. Unaccomplished. Underachieving.
Maybe it's the anonymity associated with large crowds. Perhaps it's the travel and new surroundings. It might even be being far away from my family so close to the holidays. Regardless of the reason, the feeling is still there.
But, I think it might be more to do with me than my surroundings.
Sitting through phenomenal performances led by brilliant teachers, I wonder if I could have been a better teacher myself. Listening to brilliant clinicians giving insightful clinics, I can't help but think of how much I still don't know. Listening to great compositions and seeing advances in products reminds me of skills that I do not have.
In short, it reminds me not of what I have, but what I haven't.
This feeling isn't reserved just for Midwest, and I have felt like this at other large-scale gatherings, where the best and brightest are on display.
It isn't necessarily a bad thing, though. It can be motivating and provoke creative thinking regarding myself and this profession. I think it's ironic that I sometimes feel my worst in times and places designed to inspire me to be my best.
Don't get me wrong. I believe I was a good teacher. And, by all accounts, awards, and accolades (not that it is a good barometer), I had a long and successful career. But, sometimes, when I look at it from afar, I see it differently. I forget all the good and sometimes see the bad. I forget the students I helped, but remember the students I lost.
Have you ever experienced this? Do you ever forget success, only to remember when you failed? Do you ever find yourself focusing on where you came up short instead of where you overachieved? In large crowds and packed concert halls, do you find yourself remembering your last bad rehearsal or performance?
If so, you are not alone, and there is a name for this. It's called dysmorphia, a condition where one sees themselves differently than others.
You may be familiar with the medical term, often associated with teens (primarily females) who focus on their perceived physical shortcomings invisible to others. They see themselves as ugly, overweight, or inadequate, whereas others see them as beautiful. It is estimated that up to 16% of teens experience it and 2% of adults.
Now, I am not comparing my last bad rehearsal to a medical condition. But I think the parallels are worth examining.
Let's call it Music Dysmorphia.
As music teachers – we are pre-dispositioned to experience this. We work to hear the wrong notes more than the right. We spend our days ignoring what's correct instead of what's incorrect. We say no more than we say yes, and we quickly forget the concerts that went well in favor of those that were less than stellar.
The parents, students, and administrators? They don't see what we see, nor do they hear what we hear. They certainly don't know what we know. They don't hear the wrong notes or rhythms. They don't hear the flat and sharp instruments or see the crooked lines. All they see is their smiling & happy child making music. And to be clear, we see these things as well, but we also see and hear the warts, imperfections, and shortcomings.
So how do we fix this?
Unlike its medical counterpart, our solution to dysmorphia is a bit less complex. We simply have to BELIEVE.
Believe the kids when they say thank you.
Believe the alumnus when they say you impacted their lives.
Believe the parents when they say how great the group sounded.
Believe your administrator when she says she's proud of you.
Believe in the power of music.
AND BELIEVE IN THE POWER OF YOU!
A skeptical ear and critical eye are essential to being an effective educator, but you might not be the best judge when it comes to your impact and the difference you are making. Just because your eyes and ears are the most trained in the room does not mean they are the best tools for the job. You need objectivity and space. You need someone who has your skills and experience but not your perspective.
So believe me when I say: I BELIEVE in YOU!
Have a great week, and look for one more message from me soon.
– Scott
p.s. You need not worry about me at Midwest this year. After a slight medical mishap, my doctor has grounded me from flying, and unfortunately, I will not be attending the conference. This is causing an equally severe and crippling condition: FOMO! Perhaps you could help me by entertaining me? Send me a note about something you do that you are especially proud of. I would LOVE to hear from you.