Know Thyself

"The world wants to assign you a role in life. And once you accept that role, you are doomed."
                             -Robert Greene

In the 1999 philosophical sci-fi film The Matrix, Keanu Reeves' character undergoes an existential crisis. Throughout the film, he's trying to discover his true self: is he Thomas Anderson, respectable computer programmer, or is he Neo, underground hacker and savior of the human race in the coming war with the machines? The tension of Neo's self-discovery drives much of the film, as we follow him deeper "into the rabbit hole" in search of his true identity. Is he really The One, the messianic individual prophesied to save the human race? The only way to know for sure is to consult The Oracle.

In a pivotal scene in the film, Neo visits The Oracle, who turns out to be a folksy, grandmotherly woman baking cookies. Above the door to her kitchen is posted an aphorism in Latin: Temet Nosce. The Oracle asks Neo if he knows what this means. She tells him: "Know Thyself". She then asks him if he believes that he is truly The One. When he hesitates and asks, "I'm not The One?", The Oracle merely replies, "Sorry, kid. You got the gift, but it looks like you're waiting for something." Neo leaves The Oracle, discouraged. But later in the film, we discover that he really is The One; it was only his uncertainty that had prevented him from realizing his true self.

As choral leaders, we'll inevitably encounter people with conflicting opinions about us and our work. We'll come across those individuals whose sole purpose seems to be to tell us that we're not really as good as we think we are. Temet Nosce is an admonition to avoid placing too much stock in the criticisms of the multitude (in contemporary parlance, "haters gonna hate"). This is not to say that we should close ourselves off to constructive criticism; on the contrary, we should regularly solicit feedback from individuals who know our work and our values, and with whom we share mutual trust. But we also need to have enough sense of our own self that we're able to withstand and disregard criticisms that we don't agree with.

Stephen R. Covey has a wonderful term for this: "the social mirror". The social mirror is the reflection of ourselves given back to us by society. Covey likens this to the warped funhouse mirrors found at carnivals, in which our reflection is shifting, twisted, and out of all perspective. The social mirror is by its very nature inaccurate, because it reflects back so many disparate and conflicting biases. One critic may hail us as a musical genius, while another may denigrate us as a complete hack. The point is, the social mirror will invariably give us a skewed vision of ourselves. Therefore, we must cultivate our own identity from within, an identity that is not subject to the caprices of society.

Music is a competitive business, and we'll all experience setbacks in our careers at one time or another. During those times, it's particularly important that our basic identity and self-worth remain intact. Doubt may creep in, but we must resist the temptation to "throw the baby out with the bathwater" just because we receive a bad review or are passed over for a job.

The bestselling novelist Jodi Picault tells an anecdote about picking up a job application at Home Depot after she had already published several novels. She didn't crack the New York Times bestseller list until her fourteenth novel; before that, Picault went through a long spell where her work simply wasn't sustaining her financially.  It would have been easy for her to take the message that the world was giving her: "You're just a second-rate novelist. Don't quit your day job." Her belief in her own value as a first-rate novelist superseded the warped reflection that society was giving her.

This is one of the inherent problems with master classes. A conducting student may spend years cultivating a technique that is clear, efficient, and suited to his or her unique physicality, skills and shortcomings. Then along comes an "expert" who has never seen that individual conduct, who has no investment in the student's development, and that expert proceeds to dismantle the student's technique. We've all seen master classes like this, and they tend to be more about the "master" than about the student's individual needs. Yet the student, who is more often than not a respectful individual sincerely interested in constructive criticism, feels obligated to completely reinvent his- or herself in the model of the visiting expert.

Again, there is much to be said for receiving feedback when it is given with an awareness of your needs, your aspirations, and your limitations. But only by knowing yourself can you efficiently apply what a one-time teacher is giving you. To try to do otherwise is an exercise in futility; you'll be forever re-training yourself, chasing the impossible goal of pleasing everyone.

All of us have areas of psychological vulnerability, and when someone out there in the world touches one of these deep wounds, whether intentionally or inadvertently, it can be particularly painful and difficult to bounce back. Those of us who were middle children in our families may have struggled to overcome the feeling of being unseen or neglected; it can therefore be especially hurtful if we're made to feel that we're not valued in a professional environment. Elder children, on the other hand, may have grown up with the crushing weight of expectations, feeling that nothing they did was ever good enough. These people may find themselves driven to despair in professional situations where their Herculean efforts are greeted with criticism or apathy. We must also remember, then, that our interpretation of criticism and feedback is colored by our own biases; all the more reason for us to be able to accept criticism for what it is: merely one person's opinion.

As we advance in our careers, we're bound to encounter resistance, both internal and external. Developing confidence in our own basic self-worth as musicians and as human beings will help us remain undeterred by the vicissitudes of our profession.