We Learn What We Do

Is that the good news or the bad news?

We try to learn to play the piano or to play tennis. Both involve complex physical motions that comprise many component parts. Both are expressive large-scale gestures that need to fit into a rewarding emotional and/or competitive experience. Each minute segment requires relaxing here, exerting there, moving this way, looking here, thinking there. Lots of moving parts. But without the overall context it’s dry as bones.

So how do we practice?

If we take a strictly analytical approach, we break down each large piece (tennis forehand, piano scale, etc.) into multiple segments and we practice them (focus on them) separately and slowly. By breaking it down, the number of moving parts becomes manageable. We can devote conscious attention to each of them, and we have at least a chance at getting it right by lavishing conscious attention on the mini-movement.

But by breaking it down into tiny parts, we miss the whole. We miss the meaning, the joy, the purpose, the fun. But if we go for the meaning when we practice, we’ll screw up some of the details.

Unfortunately, we learn what we do. Play a difficult passage at the piano up to tempo over and over before you've mastered it? You’re just learning to be sloppy and inaccurate. Play it very slowly or in tiny chunks and focus on the small technical details? You’re missing the overall meaning and learning to be unexpressive.

It’s possible to hide the overall meaning from yourself through excessive attention to the technical details. It’s also very possible that many important technical details will never be mastered if the larger context is not at least temporarily sacrificed.

There just isn’t an easy answer. That’s why people with an extraordinarily high level of natural talent have such an advantage. The details fall into place for them without thinking about it. What an edge! The ultimate “Just do it”. But for us mortals, we have to practice. We alternate between focusing on the details (and sacrificing the overall meaning) and letting it fly (go for the overall effect even though the execution of the details will be flawed). Both are fatally flawed.  But we do them.  And we learn what we do.

If we’re lucky, there’ll be a moment when the two come together.  A spark, a leap of faith happens.  It's like a welder’s arc that suddenly connects two points.  Somehow the meaning-deficient yet perfect details and the meaningful overall gesture with sloppily executed details come together in a truly magical moment. I’ve experienced it countless times myself and with students. For me, it’s the essence of learning.

Reminds me of breeding dogs. You breed together breed A and breed Z. You’re hoping for the best of breed A to combine with the best of breed Z in the offspring, and you make your selections for breeding accordingly. You’re also hoping that the worst of breed A and worst of breed Z will be suppressed in the offspring. When that welder’s arc moment happens, you make progress towards your goal. Of course, there’s no guarantee that the best of the two breeds won’t be suppressed and the worst preserved in the offspring.

We learn what we do. So do it slowly and get every damned detail right. Then do it at pace and learn about the overall meaning, even if the hygiene of the details is suspect.  Do both over and over and hope for the spark. If you’re lucky and skillful it will happen. The two experiences will come together to produce a real ‘ahaaaa’ moment. It’s the ultimate reward for both student and teacher. It’s learning at its best.