The Mistakes Only the Musicians Heard

This was one of the many lessons I have learned in life, so I thought I'd share it with you all. Here is a little backstory. 

My partner and I sing in the church we attend on Sunday's. It was never anything I wanted to do because that meant much of my time would be taken up with practice meaning downloading sheet music and learning the melodies to the songs I was being asked to play on guitar. My partner Angeline once caught me playing and singing a beautiful song in my bedroom, and that was all it took.  I had no idea she was standing in the doorway listening to me.  That was when she told me that I really needed to share my talent with others.  I did not want to and I told her every excuse in the book which only delayed the inevitable. 

So this has been going on since late January and I could never understand why they kept writing us into the following week's program because I can only remember two songs I played perfectly. Here is the rest of the story:

A few weeks ago, before church services began, I was sitting with my guitar going over the sheet music one last time.

Marlene, our 92-year-old church pianist, came over and asked why I always seem so nervous before playing.

I told her the truth.

"Because I make mistakes."

I explained that I want to play the songs the way they're supposed to be played, and I worry about getting something wrong.

Marlene smiled and told me she makes mistakes too.

I remember thinking that was easy for her to say. She has been playing piano for most of her life. If she makes mistakes, they are few and far between.

A few weeks later, Angeline and I were singing a song we had practiced many times.

The problem was that I know so many gospel songs now, sometimes they get mixed up in my head. I can play them perfectly at home and even at practice, but if I lose track of how a particular song begins, I can find myself standing there waiting for my memory to kick in.

That's exactly what happened.

The song started, and suddenly I couldn't remember the melody. I knew I knew it, but it wasn't there. Angeline started singing, and I stood there listening, hoping the wheels would start turning, in my head.

Finally, by about the third line, my memory kicked in. I remembered the melody and joined in.

To me, it felt like a mistake.

After church, I was still thinking about it. Angelene was too. We both knew I had missed the opening.

A few days later, Angeling visited Marlene, at her home.

During their conversation, Marlene mentioned that she had made a lot of mistakes during Sunday's service.

Angeline looked surprised.

"I didn't hear any."

Marlene explained that another musician would hear them because musicians know which notes belong in the key. Then she added something that made me smile.

"Bob would hear them."

That was when it finally clicked.

Marlene had heard her mistakes.

I had heard mine.

The congregation had heard the music.

Then Angeline told her about my forgotten entrance.

"Bob didn't join in until the third line. That was a mistake."

Marlene looked puzzled.

"Really?" she said. "We thought you were singing a solo opening and Bob joined in later. It sounded beautiful that way. We thought it was by design. Maybe you should sing it that way more often."

When Angeline told me this, I laughed so hard I was nearly in tears.

For days I had been carrying around what I thought was a mistake.

The audience had experienced it as beauty.

What struck me was how different our perceptions were.

I knew what was supposed to happen, so I judged myself by the plan.

Everyone else judged the performance by what they actually heard.

The congregation wasn't sitting there with a checklist looking for mistakes. They were simply listening to the music.

The experience reminded me of a story I once heard about a performer who froze on live television. He forgot what he was supposed to do and improvised instead. The audience loved it because they didn't know anything had gone wrong.

How often do we do the same thing in life?

We focus on what didn't happen.

We criticize ourselves for not being perfect.

We replay our mistakes long after everyone else has forgotten them.

Meanwhile, the people around us may be seeing something entirely different.

Maybe they see courage where we see fear.

Maybe they see effort where we see failure.

Maybe they see beauty where we see mistakes.

The lesson I took from that Sunday is one I hope I remember.

Sometimes we are the only ones listening for the wrong notes.

Everyone else is listening to the song.

And sometimes what I call a mistake becomes part of the music.

Thankyou all for reading this.