When I was younger, I sang in the Washington National Cathedral Choir of Men and Boys. As choirs go, this was the real deal -- we sang 5 services a week, practiced multiple times a day, for a total of about 18 hours per week. And that's a lot for a boy of 12. While the commitment surely came with a whole host of sacrifices, it was surely one of the best times in my life: a chance to work hard at something I truly loved that could have an influence on many.
Our practices during the weekday morning consisted of just the boys (around 16 of us) and one conductor. The conductor would sit at a piano in the middle of us, alternately conducting with his hand or head and playing along as much as possible.
I recall one rehearsal, one morning, a long time ago. We were struggling with a difficult passage, and in frustration our conductor stopped playing altogether and clapped his hands loudly to halt the music. He reached for his pencil (never a good sign) and simply began tapping it loudly and deliberately on the ledge of the piano. He was counting the rhythm for us -- something that, to a group of individuals who supposedly knew what they were doing, was somewhat condescending. He had done this so often that the piano had a divot in it from the repetitive striking of wood on wood. We spoke through the measure first, than sang it slowly, then faster, and then without the tapping, and then finally with the accompaniment. The process was painstaking, but effective.
And so even now, when I hear a tapping sound, I stand up a little straighter, tune in my ears extra close, and focus intently. I know that what will happen next may be painful, but ultimately will get us to our goal.
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