Like a Machine
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I began programming my practice routines and executing them like a machine. I figured out how to slice my time between the horn, the piano and my visual training. The visual work helped to mitigate the physical wear and tear of practicing all day.
I spent a lot of time listening to music, not casually, but seriously. I budgeted my time into different blocks for different skills I needed and I did them like they were my work.
I used meditation to avoid thinking about my time constraints; the vice. I wanted to be aware of time to stay motivated to practice, but unaware while doing it. Fear of time, and death, makes it hard to practice correctly.
I attached all of my attention to my practice routine while the big goal of becoming a professional musician remained in the background, guiding me. I continued to suck relative to my peers the whole time but I was gaining steady ground.
I believed there would be a day when all of my practice would acquire a sort of critical mass and I would just sort of burst onto the next level of musical greatness alongside my peers. But it wouldn’t stop there. My discipline would enable me to continue compounding my skills to the point where I could surpass them all and secure my spot amongst the great jazz musicians.
That never happened. Instead I got better little by little. It didn’t feel like I was making progress at all. Other people would remark on my improvement but I always assumed that they were saying nice things out of pity.
Over the course of several years I learned what it felt like to play jazz at a high level. I had a few good moments. I never actually created any great music, but I learned about the process of learning and the feelings that go with it.
I was making progress.
