How to self-diagnose and fix bad practicing habits

In a perfect world with perfect pianists, each of us would possess perfect technique, have a perfect understanding of music, and would play perfectly every time we sat down at the piano. Sadly, this isn’t my world and I suspect it might not be yours either. We spend years mastering the mechanics of how to play and then spend the rest of our lives managing ourselves—our hands and bodies, our tendencies, and, of course, our emotions. We know all know this, and from the safety of our armchairs we can be philosophical about our musical weaknesses, but the moment when a piece we know we can play falls apart under our fingers? That’s where the real challenge of playing the piano begins.

One of the biggest gifts we receive when we commit to lessons with a good instructor is having a wise guide who points out things in our playing that we can’t (or perhaps don’t want to) see. When we eventually leave piano lessons and become self-directed, however, we have to find ways to be our own wise guides. This journey is lifelong because it forces us to go beyond naming our bad habits to uncovering why they’re still part of our playing.

Anyone who has played the piano for years knows their own weaknesses. As a piano “lifer” my bad habits are old and they reappear every time I’m not vigilant in my practice habits. Sometimes the little devils sneak in even when I’ve done my job properly, and when they show up, they’re usually present because I’m trying to force, rush, or control something I shouldn’t. When I was younger I got caught frequently in a blame and shame spiral that caused me to question my worth as a pianist. Today I know better than to let my playing weaknesses define me as a musician and a human being so when my bad habits start showing up at the piano, I stop, step back a bit, and start coaching myself. How do I do this? Through self-compassion, self-honesty, and by asking myself these questions. Perhaps you will find them helpful to you as well.

What am I doing?

We can’t fix anything without knowing what we’re messing up. And by knowing, I mean possessing an understanding that does deeper than muttering, “What am I doing? I’m ***** up the whole thing!” Take a deep breath. If necessary, get up, get a glass of water or a mug of tea, and then sit down and really study the passage. Where, specifically, did it fall apart? My problem spots are almost always the places where I hold the notes too long, or where I’m fuzzy about my fingering choices.

Why am I doing it?

Do I know the section I’m playing? If so, what’s happening today that’s keeping me from playing it well? Perhaps I’m distracted. Perhaps the music has gone stale. Perhaps I’m taking it too fast (one of my common musical crimes). Perhaps the emotional baggage of the rest of life has spilled into my hands and the weight of it is making things twice as difficult to play. A deep, broad, and thoughtful self-analysis almost always uncovers what’s driving the problem.

Am I willing to fix it?

This may be the most important question I can ask myself in this situation. I knew for decades that I had a bad habit of rushing the beat, but I wasn’t willing to fix the issue until pianist Paul Roberts told me in a lesson that because I could play in time, apparently rushing was a choice. A choice! Choosing to fix this (and many other problems I’d assumed were baked into my playing) required me to examine why I was rushing, what I could do to stop doing this, and to expect more from myself and my playing abilities.

Fixing bad habits is about choice. It’s about honest recognition of the problems and working to find ways to solve them. It’s about being willing to push beyond what may be false barriers in our playing and trusting ourselves enough to play at a more musical level. It’s never about blame or shame. When we compassionately acknowledge and accept responsibility for our own music making—bad habits and all—we move beyond feeling victimized by our playing challenges and mature into grown-up responsible musicians. We may not be perfect players, but we’re the best pianists we’re capable of being. Eventually, gentle honesty and self-commitment teaches us to see those old habits not as the enemy, but rather as frustrating guides that teach us truthfulness, humility, and what it means to live fully as a flawed human being.

Photo by Erik Mclean, courtesy of UpSplash