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It’s not the mountain we conquer but ourselves

This quote by the renowned mountaineer Sir Edmund Hillary speaks to the internal journey one embarks on when pursuing a challenging goal.

Hillary used this metaphor in the context of climbing Mount Everest, but it applies equally well to musicians. The art of music is not merely about mastering an instrument, performing in front of an audience, or writing a hit song. It is about overcoming internal barriers self-doubt, fear, discipline, and emotional vulnerability – that stand in the way of artistic expression.

Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay preparing to depart on their successful summit climb of Mount Everest, 28 May 1953

One of the primary struggles for musicians is the challenge of self-doubt. Every musician, whether a novice, advanced amateur or a professional, must contend with moments of uncertainty. For some, this doubt may manifest as imposter syndrome, where one questions one’s own ability or talent, or whether they deserve the success they have achieved. For others, it may be the fear that their work will never be “good enough” to be shared with the world. In this sense, the “mountain” musicians must climb is not just about technical proficiency or public recognition, but the climb to overcome the negative internal voices that can stifle creativity. By conquering this self-doubt, musicians can unlock their true potential, allowing themselves to create without fear of judgment.

The discipline required to become a skilled musician is another form of internal conquest. Mastery of an instrument or voice demands relentless, consistent and deep practice; repetition; and a willingness to push through frustration. Often, musicians must sacrifice time, leisure, and social life to hone their craft. It can take years of dedication before they reach a level where their skills truly reflect their artistic vision. This is not an external struggle against a physical obstacle but rather an internal one. The musician must cultivate patience, perseverance, and a deep sense of commitment. In this context, conquering oneself involves overcoming laziness, distractions, and the temptation to give up when progress feels slow.

In addition, musicians face the challenge of emotional vulnerability. Music is an intensely personal and emotional art form, and for many, sharing their music with others feels like exposing their deepest self and private feelings. The act of performing in front of an audience or releasing a recording to the public can be terrifying, as it opens the door to criticism and rejection. Yet, it is only by confronting this fear that musicians can truly connect with their audience. The vulnerability inherent in music-making is a reminder that the greatest battles are often fought within us. By conquering the own fear of judgment, musicians can find the courage to be authentic and, in doing so, create art that resonates with others.

Lastly, the idea of self-conquest in music also relates to the search for personal identity. Musicians often struggle to find their unique voice, especially in a highly competitive industry that pressures them to conform to popular trends while also demanding distinctness and a “unique selling point’. This requires a deep level of introspection and self-awareness. The journey to discover one’s true musical voice is a struggle with the self – overcoming the desire to imitate others and having the confidence to present something original.

Just as Edmund Hillary’s victory was not merely reaching the top of Everest but proving to himself what he was capable of, so a musician’s greatest achievement is conquering the inner obstacles that impede growth. Ultimately, music, like mountaineering, is a journey of self-discovery, where the external challenges serve as a backdrop to the internal conquest.

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Guest post by Dakota Gale, the latest article in his series aimed at adult amateur pianists

Not gonna lie: I had no idea what to write for this month’s Notes from the Keyboard.

Why? Well, honestly, for a lot of December and much of January, my enthusiasm for piano was lower than a gopher’s interest in sunbathing. 

Not that I wasn’t still playing consistently. I was, if less each day. I just didn’t feel that spark, the deep joy that I usually get from sitting down and banging on lovingly caressing the black and white keys.

Spoiler alert: I’m feeling much better now, back in the piano groove.

What changed?

Simple: my repertoire.

At the beginning of December, before a 6-week winter break from lessons, my teacher recommended – ok, convinced me – that it was time to learn a fugue. Specifically, Bach’s Cm Fugue from the Well-Tempered Clavier. 

I’d managed to mostly avoid Bach’s work, if only because I’m hard-headed and bring my own pieces to my teacher for study. (He does choose pieces for me, just not that often. The recent Beethoven sonata I wrote about, for one.)

Anyway, The F**kin’ Fugue. Out of the gate, I enjoyed it. Finding the theme, the left and right hand conversation, the different voicing. I dug the intellectual challenge.

Then… I stagnated with it. But I wanted to play it and knew it was good for my hand independence, among other things. My future piano self would be so.damn.grateful. I must persevere!

I’ve done this before, but (wisely) realized when I needed to back off and just enjoy myself. This time, I pushed too long and started skipping my morning piano session, only sitting down for a lackluster few minutes in the evening.

We all know what happens when you push the day’s exercise or homework or piano to the evening. Quality suffers and dogs yowl forlornly at the sky, that’s what!

For me, the former for sure happened, and I’m quite sure our elderly cat eyed me with disdain a few times too. That was enough: I realized I was in a slump and clawed my way out of the piano slump. 

You know what I did instead of the dang fugue? I went back to the repertoire I love. Chopin. Alexis Ffrench. I retackled a samba version of Happy Birthday. I even played the much-maligned LUDOVICO EINAUDI! (I’ve written about him before.)

My energy changed overnight. Revisiting older works and fun, lighter new pieces reinvigorated me. And it drove home a big reminder:

I’m an amateur. I’m doing this FOR FUN. I don’t have to learn anything on a deadline. That means it can be – should be – fun. 

We pianists know it’s a lonely pursuit filled with hours of solitude. It’s necessary to enjoy the scales, the sightreading practice, and the brain-melt of a new piece. Otherwise, this hobby isn’t happening. That’s like aspiring to run marathons, but hating the morning 5-mile jaunt!

And so I end this post, dear reader, with a reminder. If you find your interest flagging in piano (or any hobby), ask yourself “How could I make this more fun?” 

Perhaps it’s as simple as switching repertoire, or maybe it’s setting up a digital piano outside to mix things up. Playing with other people. Taking a break from the keys to strum a guitar? 

For me, the primary goal is enjoyment, personal fulfillment and being able to play Happy Birthday (samba version!) for a good friend. If I feel like digging a hole and chucking my piano deep into it, then I’m doing something wrong.

Now I just need to remember that next time I’m wrestling for too long with a difficult piece. For now, my love affair with piano continues.

Dakota Gale

When he isn’t playing piano, Dakota Gale enjoys exploring the great outdoors, learning languages and drawing. He also writes about reclaiming creativity as an adult and ditching tired personal paradigms in his newsletter, Traipsing About. He can often be spotted camping and exploring mountain bike trails around the Pacific Northwest.

Read more articles in his Notes from the Keyboard series here

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First published in 2013, The Musician’s Journey by Dr Jill Timmons is a handbook for musicians who want to make the most of their specialist training to carve a successful professional career.

A celebrated pianist, who studied with, amongst others, György Sebők, Jill Timmons is also an acclaimed educator and leading consultant in arts management and mentorship. Her profound appreciation of the sensibilities of musicians and the exigencies and challenges of the musician’s life – from physical and emotional health to the importance of self-care and personal autonomy – together with years of experience within the music profession, make her the ideal guide and mentor.

The musician’s training, usually undertaken at specialist music school and/or conservatoire, is still largely focussed on learning to be a performer. Yet, today more than ever in the highly competitive world of professional music, musicians embarking on a professional career (and even those already established) need a good handle on the business side of the profession. Little practical support or teaching is offered in the other important areas of shaping one’s professional career – from learning how to create a website or develop a social media presence to entrepreneurship, and business and marketing skills – leaving many musicians on graduation thinking, (and often being asked), “So what do you do now?”.

Unfortunately, an attitude still prevails that taking a more businesslike approach to one’s career “devalues” the music. Fortunately, Timmons successfully debunks this absurd notion in The Musician’s Journey, and offers a wealth of practical information, inspiring case studies, and insights drawn from personal experience to help musicians develop, enhance and broaden their careers while retaining a strong self of personal autonomy, individual integrity and artistic vision – themes which run, fugue-like, throughout the book.

Organised in short, focussed chapters, with clear subject sections within each of them, and written in an accessible, conversational style, Timmons draws on numerous resources from religion and mythology to neuroscience, physiology to Feldenkrais, and much more, to illustrate her approach. This is not a self-help book in the traditional sense, and it is refreshingly free of “woo woo” pseudoscience and cod coaching. Instead, Timmons presents a meticulously researched, highly readable and non-elitist handbook which takes the reader on a detailed journey with specific goals and plans showing how to steer a path through the myriad complexities of the profession.

Too much is written on practicing music, finding one’s creative voice and finessing one’s performance skills; too little is written on the practicalities of forging a career in music (and in the arts more generally) in the 21st century. This book is a sensible yet inspiring manual on how to live a vibrant, fulfilling and successful life as a professional musician. Timmons gives much pause for thought with ideas and suggestions musicians may not have considered before, or were discouraged from considering during their training. In encouraging a good portion of “thinking outside the box”, Timmons’ book will also appeal to people outside the profession: her pragmatic and inspiring approach is applicable to anyone embarking on a freelance career.

Key points

  • Offers a strategic combination of creating a vision and then formulating a plan to help guide musicians in successfully developing a thriving career
  • Includes diverse true-life stories of music professionals who have used the process successfully
  • Focuses on entrepreneurship as a means for career development
  • Suggests general tips on grant writing and financial development
  • Guidelines for teaching entrepreneurship
  • In addition, the updated second edition considers the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on the lives of musicians, and the arts in general

Additional resources, including downloadable forms and worksheets, are available from the book’s companion website

The Musician’s Journey (second edition) is published by Oxford University Press