Fridays with Lorrie

In my violin teacher's living room this morning, I was fumbling through a rhythm exercise I had executed perfectly just hours before in the the privacy of my own home.

"I just want you to know" I said, "That I sound so much better when I'm practicing by myself and doing it ass backwards. But then I come over here and by the time you've corrected my hand position and bow hold and reminded me to relax my neck, everything just goes to pot!" I said. By way of a joke.

My teacher considered this, but did not let it roll. "I will always be correcting you," she said. "That is my job. You can't come in here, no matter how hard you've been practicing, and expect to play perfectly. It's not like one day you'll show up and I'll say, 'That's it! You're done! On to the symphony with you! There is always room for improvement, and I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't point that out."

I was dying to interject that No! that's not it at all! I just wanted to tell you that I only suck when I'm with you! (Even though in my heart of hearts, you know I'm always sort of hoping that one day she'll say, "You know . . . you have REAL TALENT.")

But she continued: "Being so hard on yourself is no way to live. When you expect perfection of yourself, it spills over into your relationships with others. You expect them to be perfect, too. And no one wants that."

She had imparted this wisdom with no hint of malice or judgment, but still my jaw dropped to the floor. Was my violin teacher lecturing me about personal relationships? The last time anyone besides my mother had offered up unsolicited advice was in 1997, when my friend V counseled me to quit the job I hated or stop bitching about it, already.

And then my teacher brought up my old nemesis, the adorable eight-year-old violin student.

"I think I've mentioned him to you before" she said. "He can barely get through one measure without me adjusting something, but do you know what he does? He just laughs, shrugs, gives me the cutest little impish look, and keeps on going! He is totally unfazed! And SO JOYFUL! I wish we could all be more like him!" she said, sunbeams shooting out of her ears and reflecting off her dangly silver zen earrings.

And I was like, "Is he also writing you a weekly check for $25 directly out of his allowance?" but I kept that thought to myself. Because what she said had really struck a chord with me. Especially that little part about perfectionists demanding that others be perfect, too.

I thought about my kids. And my husband. And everyone else who had let me down at any point in my life for coming up short in the Department of Excellence and Precision.

Had she been at our breakfast table today when I was yelling at J-Dog and V-meister for smearing Nutella all over their white school shirts first thing in the morning? Was she a fly on the wall when I was having an aneurysm because of the way the P-Dawg loaded the dishwasher? Was she there when I fired that one tech writer who did sloppy work? Or when I told my study abroad housemate in France that no one could understand him because his accent was so bad?

My violin teacher has seen right through me, and I think she's on to something. While I have to say that being neurotic has served me well in life in many ways, I don't know that I would want to live with me, or have me for a mother.

So. I went in for a violin lesson today, but left with a sparkly nugget of zen wisdom.

And I think I'll keep it.