It all started on 2 January last year. Scrolling idly through Instagram, I came across a post from the American violinist Hilary Hahn with the hashtag #100daysofpractice.
She had explained in a previous post, ‘Last time, in January 2022 — which feels like years ago! — we embarked on a gentle 100 days, and it was really rewarding. This time, it feels right to explore the intersection of self-motivation and self-compassion. What do you think? Might you join?’
I had taken my violin out barely two or three times all year
Not normally one to hoist my decisions to hashtags or crazes (‘I did sit-ups for 17 days and this is what happened!’; ‘I drank beetroot juice for three weeks and look at me now!’), I had a strange impulse. It was nearly three years on from lockdown, during which I had taken my violin out of its case barely two or three times over an entire year (I still haven’t worked out whether through sadness or laziness).
I was back to my amateur orchestras and chamber music with friends, and had enough form to participate, but not enough to feel on top of my game. My hands felt sluggish and my musical focus slapdash. Could this be the nudge I needed? ‘Yes, Hilary,’ I thought. ‘I think I might.’
Fearing my own talent for procrastination, I decided to ease myself in gently – slowly, slowly, catchy monkey. Day one, I foozle around playing bits of concertos and pieces I learnt when I was young (still embedded in my memory, when most names now are beyond instant recall). I enjoy it. My fingers know where they’re going and it doesn’t sound too bad, does it?
Like any muscle, the ears need exercise
Well, the first thing to note about picking up the violin after a lapse is that it always sounds much better than one expects. This is an illusion. It might be a helpful illusion, to stop one from putting the thing down instantly, but it is nevertheless not an accurate perception – it’s just sloppy listening. Like any muscle, the ears need exercise. Still, I allow myself to enjoy the feeling of the violin in my hands and some semblance of competence, and put the violin down after half an hour feeling like I’ve reconnected.
Having thus consciously lured myself into Hilary’s trap, I set my course. The second day, I start about the basics: trying to make a nice sound, in tune. (It’s like the old joke: you only need two things to play the violin well: a good right hand and a good left hand.)
I play long notes on open strings, holding each bow as long as possible, listening for every bump in the texture that muddies the sound. More than being a technical fix for the hands, this is about setting one’s attention. It's very similar to the way one tries to become aware of one’s breath when meditating, attempting to ignore conscious thoughts about dinner plans or work issues (some might call it mindfulness).
An antidote to scrolling mindlessly through social media
With this hyper-focus, I move on to intonation exercises from Simon Fischer’s Basics book. I play the same note sequences in every position on every string, trying to make them as identical as possible, and making sure they resonate maximally with open strings to check they’re in tune. There’s something strangely calming about this exercise – the focus of it and being forced to remember patterns and precisely where the fingers fall are an absolute antidote to scrolling mindlessly through social media.
Fischer’s instruction for this exercise is that it doesn’t have to be played straight through perfectly, just ‘with care’. This is a relief. There’s an old adage that an amateur practises to get something right, whereas a professional practises until they never get it wrong. This explains why I’m happier as an amateur than when I once thought I might become a professional.
Things seem to get better all by themselves
Now, as I practise, I’m not planning to audition or sell tickets – I’m here for the fun of the process, the feeling of improving. As a student I might have spent an hour desperately practising just two lines of a Kreutzer study; now I play through the whole thing, trying to be aware, but not perfect – and even enjoying the music that I never realised was there.
The strange alchemy of #100daysofpractice is how things seem to get better all by themselves. If you play something through a few times carefully, focusing intently on the result – just noticing rather than negatively self-talking – and then leave it, coming back the next day and the next, the chances are it will be better. Consistency is everything. This is a lesson it’s taken me too long to learn.
As a teenager I would not pick up my violin all week and then expect to catch up by practising three hours on a Friday night before my lesson at Junior Guildhall the next morning. Tears and tantrums ensued, not to mention frustrated teachers. Of course, it’s not that they didn’t explain this to me, but youth is indeed wasted on the young, and I wasn’t listening.
I don’t necessarily know what I’m doing, but I know I’m at the start of something
With the wisdom of age, I now understand the idea of ‘trusting the process’ – especially through knitting and Couch to 5k. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by goals and to overthink problems to the point of paralysis.
There’s a certain calm to surrendering to a plan – not necessarily understanding the point of each step or even having a clear belief in the outcome, but nevertheless following instructions, whether that’s a pattern or diet or exercise regime. And so, with the far sight of 100 days, I don’t necessarily know what I’m doing or what the outcome will be, but I know I’m at the start of something that will take me somewhere if I just hang in there and enjoy the moment.
I build up a smorgasbord of exercises from various books (Dounis, Kreutzer, Fischer, Dont) – strength, speed, trills, vibrato, bowing at the heel, at the tip, arpeggios, double stops. I mix and match, trying to do at least three different things in any session, moving on fairly quickly. If I’m learning an orchestral part for a concert with my group Corinthian Chamber Orchestra, or I have a rehearsal, I count that.
I don't feel guilty... it's all about showing up
Sometimes, if I’m out late and have no time, I’ll pick up my violin and do five minutes of silent left-hand practice. And that’s all fine. Hahn herself includes score study and reading, so I don’t feel guilty if my engagement is minimal. It’s all about showing up. More often than not, once I’ve forced myself begrudgingly to open the case and do one exercise, I find myself still there an hour later.
The power of the hashtag and the commitment is that there comes a tipping point, where it would be more upsetting not to pick up the violin in some manner. It ceases even to be a decision. Indeed, there’s a certain peace in not being allowed to have a decision to make. I bypass all the usual excuses (‘What’s the point?’, ‘My poor neighbours’, ‘I don’t feel like it’, ‘No one wants to hear me’, ‘I’m too busy’, ‘It’s too cold’ etc etc) on my way to my violin case.
Playing for pleasure
Paradoxically, I don’t study music. Occasionally I’ll get out Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas – the holy grail of violinists – and read through movements reverentially, double-backing over tricky bits to improve them, but generally playing just for pleasure. I might take out a Wieniawski or Sarasate showpiece I learnt as a teenager to check my progress.
What I don't do, however, is set out to learn new music or perfect anything to performance level. Maybe that’s a throwback to the pressures of being a student, or fear of failure – I clearly still have work to do (or maybe therapy!). In the meantime, I enjoy the combination of focusing on violin playing and dipping into music.
Life itself is, essentially, constant practice
Among the fraught conversations about music education and government policy, some people make the argument that we shouldn’t instrumentalise music education. Music should be an end in itself, they argue, rather than something mobilised to make people happier, more clever, or better capitalists. I understand this and believe in music for music’s sake.
But also, life is essentially a constant process of practice – of trying to be better; taking on new challenges; understanding and repeating the good things and dropping the bad; learning to listen and to actually hear; balancing humility and objectivity with self-esteem and pride. Or, as Hilary puts it, the intersection of self-motivation and self-compassion. There are so many transferable lessons and skills one can learn from the processes of music, whether alone in a room or in a group. It may sound like a cliché, but the world would be an infinitely better place if everyone had access to these possibilities.
My attitude has fundamentally changed
So, the burning question: did I make it to #100days? Well, no. I went on holiday six days short. When I got home, I went back to my usual sporadic bursts of activity. But my attitude has fundamentally changed.
Sometimes I pick up my violin for five minutes just to futz around. I know that’s better than doing nothing, even if it’s not as good as doing an hour. And as I write, I’m on day nine of a new streak, building up again. If you have an instrument in your attic or a piano gathering dust in the corner, why don’t you see where the hashtag takes you? You can thank me in 100 days – and Hilary Hahn, of course.
Six benefits of practising an instrument
Music-making and finger-training aside, practising an instrument demands and exercises qualities that stand one in fine stead for life:
Awareness and honesty
Whether listening to one’s sound and intonation or observing any slight physical tension, one has to focus absolutely, honing in closely to isolate issues. Initially, it’s enough just to notice – often just doing so makes the problem go away.
Problem-solving and creativity
If a problem persists, one learns to analyse the possible causes. These are often not simple or obvious – a shift three bars back might cause a problem in the current bar. One experiments with solutions or alternatives to bypass the problem.
Conscience and responsibility
Once you are aware of a problem, it’s up to you whether you want to fix it – your choice.
Humility and self-sufficiency
Alone in a room with a violin, there is no one else to blame or impress. Arrogance serves no purpose.
Self-worth and positivity
That said, you have to believe in yourself and what you’re doing. Very often, the sheer faith that you are going to hit a high note is enough to make it happen. Negative self-talk costs success.
Consistency and patience
Improving is largely about showing up every day, knowing that if you put the work in, things will get better.