The Mindfulness of "Thank You."

I love technology.  And I don't even mean "modern" technology.  I love old pocket watches, typewriters, and vacuum tubes.  I have radios from the 1920s and 30s.  My collection of metronomes spans three centuries.  I especially love anachronistic technology, like my 21st century tube amps and LED "Edison" bulbs.  I have an iMac, an iPad, and an iPhone.  I also have a chromebook, which I am using to write this blog post.  I love technology.

I use lots of technology in my teaching.  The Tonal Energy app on the iPad is absolutely vital in my studio.  I run the iPad through vintage JVC integrated amplifiers, Tannoy monitors, and a Dynaco A50 as a subwoofer.  From the cardboard standing desk to the 1920s saxophone-as-umbrella stand, my office is a well curated museum of technology.

About a year ago, I realized that my first interaction with my students in their weekly lessons was me staring at the computer (I keep their lesson records on Google docs).  To say that it was impersonal is an understatement.  It made me feel horrible, so I decided to make a change.  I vowed to begin each lesson by looking the student in the eye, giving them my full attention - asking them "How are you?"  It seems like a small change, but it has had a big impact on the way that I connect with my students.  I want to begin our work together by actively engaging in our relationship.  I want them to know that I care about how they feel.

In the process of practicing mindfulness and presence in my teaching, I started to notice things that I had been taking for granted.  At the beginning of this semester, I noticed that my students say "thank you," a whole lot.  The more I noticed, the more I tried to respond with a sincere "You're welcome."

For the last two weeks, I paid careful attention to the end of each lesson and coaching.  Literally, 100% of the time, my lessons, coachings, and office hours ended with a student saying "thank you."  Every single time.  This Friday, as I was leaving the building, I encountered a student in the stairwell and I wished him a good weekend.  He responded with a "Thank you!"  

As I exited the building, I held the door for a student that I had never seen before.  She looked me in the eye, smiled, and said "Thank you."  I almost burst into laughter.

Obviously, I am grateful for these wonderful students.  It is all too easy to complain about the young generation, glued to their phones, lacking in curiosity.  Perhaps my recent experiences are a direct result of actively engaging with the people that I encounter, or maybe it's been happening all along, but I was too glued to my phone, too lacking in curiosity to notice.

Either way, I feel greatly rewarded for my efforts in being more present in my work.  Connecting with people is a habit well worth cultivating.  If you took the time to read this post, I can only say "Thank you."

10 Rules for Being an Artist

If you write for long enough, you will eventually read something that you forgot about writing in the first place.  Here are ten rules, taken from my Saxophone Journal column in May/June 2013.

1.  Never immediately discount anything, ever.  Give it a chance, or put it away for future exploration.

2.  Study with a master teacher for an extended period of time.  Then, find a new master.  Repeat as necessary.

3.  Transcribe [copy] one artist until you gain deep insight into his style.  Then, find a new artist.  Repeat as necessary.

4.  Respect the tradition, study history, and get the oldest [artist] in town to tell you her stories.

5.  Don't lie to yourself, and don't quit.

6.  Have a notebook.  Fill it.  Get a new notebook.

7.  Be confident, but always assume that there is a better player in the band, and an even better player in the audience.

8.  Be generous . . . and share the spotlight.

9.  Regularly read all sorts of books, magazines, and newspapers.

10.  Teach!  You will nurture the future . . . by helping young artists, and by building new audiences.  You will also learn unexpected things from your students.