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April 2015

Role Models and the Spiritual Self

April 20, 2015 12:44

Last weekend vote, there was a poll: “Who is your musical role model?” The choices were: a teacher, a superstar, a fellow student, a colleague, or I have no role model. I had a hard time choosing between my violin teacher and a friend/colleague who passed away a few years ago. But, I went ahead and picked “a teacher,” which both then and today was narrowly the most popular choice, picked by ~40% of the respondents.

It no longer surprises me, but it still puzzles me, that “a superstar” comes in a close second. I have never really understood how superstars are supposed to work as role models: people one doesn’t know, probably will never know, and, unless one is uniquely gifted (I’m not), cannot reasonably hope to emulate. As a spectator or consumer, one can taste and enjoy what they bring to the world on special occasions, but my day-to-day life, at least, flows on without many ripples from superstardom.

Music is “just” a hobby for me though. I didn’t go to music school, and I don’t usually make money at music. I had industrial-strength performance anxiety until at least my mid-20s, and while it has gradually waned since then--after much effort to combat it on my part—it has never fully gone away. To me, performing on the violin, especially solo, is rather like eating quinoa, or like vigorous exercise. I know it’s good for me, and I’m always glad to have done it. But that’s only if you ask me after it’s over.

So maybe I just don’t get the appeal of the superstar role model on the violin because violin isn’t my passion and my everything. By profession, I am a PhD scientist and science educator. I care deeply about STEM education and about a scientifically literate public, and I want to see all students succeed, including students from diverse genders and cultural and economic backgrounds. So, what was my reaction when I saw this article this morning?

“Virginia student earns admission to all eight Ivy League schools, and others”

After reading and mentally processing the article, I am filled with admiration for this young woman. It’s a short article, but in it she appears to be gifted, hard-working, and humble. A woman of color and the daughter of immigrants, she has made the most of her opportunities, and she demonstrates an uncommon level of maturity and generosity. She’s clearly a superstar, and deserves admission to any top college in the country or in the world.

But my first reaction was still, “yikes!"

The yikes don’t have to do with this brilliant young woman herself, but rather specifically with the idea of her as a role model. Her principal calls her a “STEM superwoman.” Her guidance counselor is quoted as saying that the senior is “dedicated to pushing herself in the classroom . . . 'she’s taking the hardest courses, the most challenging we offer' . . .” And, her decision to apply to all 8 Ivy League schools is “not typically what we advise.” Some commenters say that we “need more” of students like this. Others want to know “how she did it.” Either way the implication is that others should read this article and emulate its subject. This superstar can be their role model.

Yet, I already know entire high schools worth of kids, kids from all different backgrounds and cultures, some privileged and some less so, who want, and who try, to be like the student described in this article. Who overload themselves with too many AP classes and too little sleep in order to gain that precious Ivy League acceptance. I have a teenager in one of these high schools now. Thirty or so years ago, I was one of them too (but back then the acceptance rate at my alma mater, Princeton University, was around 17%, not the 6.99% it was in 2015). There isn't a shortage of teenagers trying as hard as they can, to be super. It’s just that most of them don’t succeed, at least not by this definition.

A few spaces in my Facebook feed down from the article about the Ivy League-bound student, I saw this one: Why kids who believe in something are happier and healthier. A little put off by the title at first, I read it anyway when a friend summarized the contents. The author, Lisa Miller, a clinical psychologist, sees a lot of unhappy teens. She claims that over the past decade, up to 65% of teens have been shown to struggle with intrusive depression symptoms at some point, and often with anxiety and substance abuse as well. And this is especially a problem for the kids who should, theoretically, have the easiest chance for happiness: those who are economically well-off and whose parents provide them with opportunities and choices.

Her theory to explain this paradox is that “an increasingly narcissistic culture and the constant reward for achievement, whether on the playing field, the music stage or the math test, creates what I call in my book the unbalanced “performance self” of the child; a child who feels his or her worth is founded on ability and accomplishment."

Her antidote to the unbalanced "performance self" is the development of the "spiritual self,” which she says is neglected in our culture. The spiritual self is not connected to any specific religion, or even to religion, per se. It is measured as a deep spiritual connection with a sense of a sacred world. It can be encouraged and fostered by steps such as meditation, prayer, or long walks in nature, and modeled by such traits as caring for others, empathy, and optimism.

“In contrast to the performance self, the spiritual self is sturdy and resilient, happy at a win, but not dependent on it to feel worthy as a human being."

Miller is writing generally here; this is her life’s work, and she has book coming out. But I couldn’t help but think specifically about music, the violin, and the role of the performance self vs. the spiritual self. Historically people came to music through the church, and music served a spiritual function, first and foremost. This is especially true for what we call “classical music” today, and for large parts of the violin, symphonic, and choral repertoire. Personally, its spiritual meaning is what drew me to this music, and is why I play the violin in the first place. Although I have been through several marked changes in religious and spiritual path along the way, the constant thread has been music. Music still makes me cry in embarrassing moments, mortifying my performance self.

It has actually taken me a long time to develop any kind of real performance self at all, and that which I do have is still fragile and easily injured. I regularly like to give the performance self a rest. Maybe it’s the introvert in me. I feel pretty content in this approach, at least for myself. But I still wonder, especially as I look at the suffering this imbalance between personal and performance selves seems to create in our culture, how music can help it heal.

From blog

Also on my word press blog, at Role Models and the Spiritual Self

4 replies

Talent Show Preparation

April 14, 2015 09:29

I was never in a talent show as a child. I’d heard about them, and even attended a handful, but overall I had a rather negative impression of talent shows. What I believed was that either the performances weren’t very good (if you were in the audience), or the experience was anxiety-provoking (if you were one of the performers). Why would anyone want to do that?

Then, as an adult, I joined the church I attend now in Watertown Massachusetts. Every year there is a talent show. It takes place around the time of the Annual Meeting, at the end of the fiscal year, in the sanctuary. What we call the sanctuary now was the social hall when the church complex was first built, but the churchier-looking building was torn down in the 1970s, leaving only the current smaller building. It’s a nice stage, warm and pleasant, and the acoustics are good. We sometimes rent out the space for professional concerts. Looking back, it’s remarkable how much of my adult musical life has played out on that stage.

From blog

As I am wont to do with a lot of meetings and almost anything having to do with budgets, I skipped the meeting and the talent show too several times running, even as I became a more involved church member.

And then I started playing the violin and viola again after a long break from playing anything. The music director at the time was supportive and accompanied me on some simple pieces during worship services. I remember in particular playing “Fantasia on Greensleeves” as my first public violin performance in many years. But it wasn’t until later when I was investigating new pieces on the viola that I finally felt inspired to try the talent show. I played a solo viola piece that I’d transcribed from the original cello version, a Ciacona by Colombi. Reading my blog about the performance from back then is a little painful—rushing, bad intonation, blown shifts. At least the video seems to have (mercifully) disappeared. And the next year, following a tradition of performing obscure viola music that no one had heard of before, I played the first movement of a viola concerto by Karl Stamitz’ younger brother, Anton.

In those early years of playing, I felt like I really didn’t have anything to lose. The pieces were short, so, even if they were painful, it would be over soon. I got far luckier than I deserved in the piano accompanist department. And I pretty much announced to everyone who would listen, “I didn’t play for a long time so I’m new at this and what’s more, I’m playing the viola now, which I’m a total beginner on!” Contrary to popular belief, I find that low expectations can be a good thing.

But now, more years into my violin/viola journey, that introduction doesn’t hold much power anymore. I’m feeling an urge to experiment, to try something more challenging, to make a musical statement above and beyond the worthy but limited notion that yes, even adult students following their dreams in midlife have something to say.

Last year for the talent show I played a fiddle piece, Ashokan Farewell by Jay Ungar. This performance was a reprise of the same piece that I had done before for a summer lay-led worship service, and my friend Nick was assigned to be the pianist for that service. So, in the pianist department, I again got far luckier than I deserved. During the service, we played the piece as a Farewell, in honor of friends who are no longer with us.

So over this past year, Nick and I have been messing around a bit with different possibilities. We’ve tried Ave Maria (played at Christmas), Schindler’s List (still looking for the right mood), and now Negro Spiritual Melody by Dvorak as arranged by Kreisler. That and The Pyramid Song by Radiohead. That should be an interesting combination.

I’ve totally changed my mind about talent shows. Whether I attend the meeting or not, the talent show has become something to look forward to every year.

Author's note: I've enjoyed blogging at on violin, viola, and other music-related topics, and I will continue to do so. For non-violin content (geocaching . . . neuroscience . . . parenting . . . science fiction . . . life in general!), please visit my blog at

3 replies

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