Practically everyone has a goal in mind when they decide to play an instrument. Whether it be to learn a specific piece of music, pass a certain level, or play a concert, it is the goal that motivates us to begin playing. Goals can be useful, but more often they are like the chains that bind our hands and feet, imperceptibly siphoning off our enjoyment of playing. If we have a goal, then every time we play we are being judged. Every wrong note is a failure. The music takes a back seat to the goal. Yet it is precisely when we forget about the goal, when we let go and just play, that we make our most significant improvements.
When there are no goals to meet or standards to be achieved, it is amazing how much the brain can pick up on what it might have otherwise filtered out. A student becomes aware of the warmth of a tone as opposed to its brightness, the sensation of varying degrees of dynamics, and all the shades of nuance to be found in a single musical phrase. These micro-insights stack up, and intuition and taste develop much more quickly through such playful exploration than through forced drill. Tension is released, breathing is fuller, and technical facility increases because it is a natural by-product of a curious and enjoyable process.
This goal-less approach also eliminates the number one reason adults give up: burnout. Once you detach playing from productivity and achievement, it ceases to be just another item on a never-ending list of things to do. It becomes a source of comfort — a space where time disappears, and all that’s expected of you is to show up. Most of the “come-back kids” I know say that once they dropped the “need to get good, fast,” they actually started to get good.
Interestingly, that doesn’t mean progress stops. It just shifts. It comes in surges instead of on a continuum: a sudden breakthrough, an incremental steady tide, a few years plateauing out before another surge. Your fingerings loosen and your song starts to sing. Your improvisations start to flow. A tricky part you’ve always struggled with, suddenly melts away seemingly all on its own. You realize that your goal isn’t to reach some kind of finish line, but to cultivate a lifelong relationship with the music.
Ultimately, to play music without an agenda is to trust — to trust the journey, to trust your hearing, to trust the wisdom of your fingers, and to trust that if you do something with love, the result will be the same as it was when you were a kid: it will bloom. It is to approach music, once again, with the curiosity of a child, and to remember that music is not to be vanquished. It is to be experienced, tasted, savored and enjoyed — one slow note at a time.