Good & Bad Perfectionists

We need good standards, but...and... well, read on!

Perfectionists are everywhere.  In fact, without them, not very much would get done, or at least, not done well.

But there are good and bad perfectionists.  Neither is ever satisfied — for the good ones, this is because they always find something to improve.  For the bad ones, it's because they always find a mistake to fix.

This difference in approach is very real, and in music, it has a noticeable impact on how people learn, how they perform, and how they play with others.

It's not so hard to turn a bad perfectionist into a good one.  The "cure" became clear to me when I heard about a theater game taught by an improvisation instructor.

One of the stumbling blocks for bad perfectionists is that, while they may believe that "practice makes perfect", they often don't know which things need to be perfected, or how, or when.  As mentioned in another post, cognitive scientists have found that "learners are very poor judges of when they’re learning well."  If students' priorities are not on target, judging themselves harshly may only be getting in their own way.

Jack, for example, was so wrapped up in getting every note right that he didn't stop to realize how weak his bowing was.  We focused on making his sound more confident, on bowing to match the timing of the tune, on finding the right ratio of bow speed and pressure to make a clear sound, and Jack made a lot of progress.

I complimented him on this progress and encouraged him to keep it up and pay attention to it when he played.  But all he could do was frown and look at me as if I was crazy.  He pointed out each of the notes he'd missed, especially one of them that had been way out of tune.  I explained why his new bowing skill made all the notes sound much better and more in time, even the notes that weren't perfect.  He looked askew at me as if I was either deaf, or lying in order to make him feel better.

This was when we talked about the improv exercise.  Here's how it works:  The improv teacher has students pair off and create an imaginary conversation together.  First, one student makes up a story about a fictional experience.  The other student has to listen and respond, starting with "Yes, but..."  Then the students take turns keeping the conversation going, always starting with "Yes, but..."

For example:

"I had the most amazing time standing on the New Year's Day float and waving to all the cheering crowds."

"Yes, but then it started to rain, and you had to stand under the tarp with just your head and hand peeking out."

"Yes, but you weren't even there, so you don't remember that it cleared up and was sunny again."

"Yes, but by that time the crowds were all gone."

And so on. Somehow, this kind of conversation always tilted into a downward spiral, starting out fun but sliding toward tentative, then insulting, and ending up quite desolate.

Then the teacher had everybody do the same exercise while simply replacing "Yes, but..." with "Yes, and ..."  The difference was amazing.

"I had the most amazing time standing on the New Year's Day float and waving to all the cheering crowds."

"Yes, and then it started to rain and you kept on waving even from under the tarp.  That was hilarious."

"Yes, and then it cleared up and everybody stood cheering and laughing and soaked to the bone."

"Yes, and we all dried out pretty quickly in the hot sun."

And so on.  The conversation bounced the opposite way, in an upward spiral, making things better and better.

As simple as this exercise may seem, it is a powerful tool.  When I discussed this with some of my more perfectionist students, they began to realize how differently they could view their practicing.

After working on his bowing, Jack was able to make a better sound, and when I pointed that out, he tried thinking in the new way.  Normally he would have said something like "Yes, but I can't stand that last note."  Now, he could say, "Yes, and if I fix that last note, it will all sound even better."

His usual pattern was to take for granted what he'd done ("Yes") and look for something to criticize ("but"), as if practicing was only about fixing mistakes.  But now he was trying to actually appreciate what he'd done ("Yes") and look for something to improve ("and").

The difference has been remarkable.