Concentration

My children performed in a piano recital yesterday.

I love sitting up close and watching the children perform. Not just my own children. All of them.

Yes, I said watching. Well, I enjoy listening to them, too. But I am fascinated by watching them.

Some of the children approach the piano as though it were a piece of glass, ever so softly yet deftly tickling the ivories. Some of them attack the keys, pounding that beat out. Others seem to appreciate the melody, swaying with the cadence, becoming music personified. Still others are merely indifferent to the instrument, their apathy evident as they dutifully play the notes.

How each one plays the instrument is intriguing, but what I truly love is watching their looks of concentration. Whether they love the instrument or hate it, for two or three minutes during each recital, they are completely focused. Their absorption in the moment is involuntarily reflected through a different combination of tensed facial muscles.

My son has worn the same look of concentration at various moments since he was an infant. Hard to describe to others, it's 100% identifiable by us, his parents. We noticed his signature look when, sitting up at 5 months, he played intently with his Playskool parking garage set. He set the car down at the top of a ramp, then watched it as it appeared somewhere else down below! It's also the look he wears when designing or constructing a great work of architecture, either in drawings or with Legos. And it's what he can't help but show when he's performing for an audience. His mind is nowhere else but here, in the moment. He is not conscious of other people, or his facial muscles, or what he's going to do when the recital is over.

As I watch all the children perform for an audience, I marvel at how their faces reveal their absorption in the moment. That look represents the real reason why I wanted my children to learn to play the piano: it's not the technical proficiency I want them to possess (although developing such skill is certainly of great benefit); it's the discipline of learning a craft and practicing it to the best of one's ability, and then fully experiencing that single moment when the production of that craft is paramount.

For some, this concentration on the moment, combined with enjoyment of the event, results in an experience of flow, as described by Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi. And this is a joy to see in all children.