What I Learned Today

I’d heard about Impostor Syndrome off and on throughout grad school, a term to describe the almost omnipresent yet seldom admitted phenomenon by which otherwise talented folks are convinced, deep inside, that they’re just not as good as their peers. (There’s obvious irony when a large fraction of people consider themselves below par, especially in a highly selective environment.) Virtually everyone I ever had this conversation with, in a moment of soul-baring honesty, admitted to such doubts and comparisons. It can manifest in many ways: “I got lucky on that test.” “The admissions committee made a mistake and let me in.” “Yeah, I got an A+, but I didn’t really deserve it.” Another big sign is deflecting or diluting compliments that are received.

Recently, though, I hunted down the original 1978 paper that gave this phenomenon a name: “The Imposter Phenomenon in High Achieving Women: Dynamics and Therapeutic Intervention” and boy, is it a fascinating read. I hadn’t realized that the phenomenon was associated with women initially, or primarily (the authors include a footnote about male impostor syndrome on the first page); I’ve certainly encountered men who also experience it.

There are lots of interesting elements in this paper, but one in particular stood out to me. They made an effort to trace adult impostor syndrome back to patterns in family life, and this resulted in two rough groups. One is based on having a sibling who is the designated Smart One, so you never quite get recognized for your own accomplishments, and eventually you start to doubt their validity. The other comes from being the Smart One, and in fact, having everything you do praised and supported and validated. Ultimately you start to devalue praise, since it doesn’t seem to correlate with actual performance, and even worse, if you do struggle or fail at something, you’re entirely unprepared for how to deal with it, and it can become a core of nagging doubt and insecurity because you’re still trying to inhabit the image of perfection placed on you. In both cases, well intentioned parenting can, apparently, have these long-term effects.

Want to find out if you suffer from Impostor Syndrome? You can take the test and get a quantitative result — but if you’re honest with yourself, you probably already know.

I was delighted to discover Laurel Thomsen‘s Violin Geek podcast. It’s full of tips for the beginner (and not-so-beginner), and already I’ve found a more comfortable thumb position and am improving my ear training, thanks to Laurel. What I wasn’t expecting was an episode on self-criticism that turned out to contain wise words beyond the violin setting.

Her advice for dealing with self-criticism, when it begins, is:

1. Adopt a “detective” approach. Instead of thinking, “I really screwed that up!” try asking “Why did the sound come out that way?” I like this because it not only keeps things on an even emotional keel, it also keeps you detached enough to adopt a problem-solving perspective. It makes sense that you’d have a better chance of fixing things in this state of mind than if you’re getting angry and frustrated with yourself.

2. Find the positive thought that lies underneath the self-criticism. This was a new one on me. For example, you’re kicking yourself because you keep flubbing the three-measure run of sixteenth notes. You ask yourself why you’re frustrated. Your answer might be that you really want to get this piece right for the recital next week, so you can avoid embarrassing yourself in public. Or maybe you’re a general perfectionist. Or maybe you want your parents to not regret the lesson money. Or maybe you want to impress your girlfriend. Whatever it is, likely it’s more positive than the self-flagellation is, and it can be a motivating thought to focus on during difficult exercises. (She also comments that some motivations, like practicing only because your parents want you to, might indicate a need to switch instruments or hobbies.)

From there she transitions to a discussion of “unmet emotional needs,” and that’s when it really starts feeling like a therapy session. But I appreciated what she had to say, and it’s a reminder that those of us prone to self-criticism should watch out for it even in recreational hobby settings!

By law, the state of California maintains a website listing “the 500 largest delinquent sales and use tax accounts over $100,000.” I came across this while doing some investigative research on California’s peculiar use tax. More on that in another post, perhaps.

The Top 500 Sales & Use Tax Delinquencies in California page has some fascinating content. The largest delinquent account comes in at $18,433,917. That’s right, “CALIF. TARGET ENTERPRISES INC.” owes the state of California more than 18 million dollars! (That’s not Target the retailer, but someone else.)

Naturally, we might wish that the state could collect on these accounts and possibly help reduce its deficit (which is about $13 billion, so CALIF. TARGET ENTERPRISES INC would only be able to contribute a drop in the bucket. Still.). And surely the state has some more proactive means for doing this than simply posting a passive website. However:

“Since the inception of this program, the Board of Equalization has received a total of $5.3 million from 40 qualifying taxpayers that came forward to take care of their debts: 27 through installment payment agreements and 13 by making payment in full.”

So hey, maybe public shame works. For some.

In the grocery store yesterday, I was weighing options in the cereal isle. I really wanted to get some Raisin Bran Crunch or Kashi cereal, but both were something like $4 per box. That seems like a lot for a box of cereal. Some of the cheap stuff is down to $2.50. Shouldn’t I get that instead?

Holy Hell, I thought. IF I WANT THE $4 BOX OF CEREAL, I CAN BUY THE $4 BOX OF CEREAL!

It seems that early frugality is a hard habit to kick. (It’s not clear that I *want* to kick it, which is part of the complexity.) When I was growing up, my family was, let’s say, financially challenged. We had food stamps, and we knew which days you could show up at the food bank and get free blocks of cheese. Things were always tight, but I never felt the pinch of true poverty. I guess I noticed things got a little awkward when I happily showed up to middle school wearing hand-me-downs from *a girl in my class* (her mother worked with my mother and took pity on us). At any rate, it seemed totally normal to me to always do things yourself rather than paying someone else to do them, and to always seek out the best possible deal, no matter how much time it took.

I still tally my grocery bill in my head when unloading my cart onto the belt. That’s a carryover from college, when I had exactly $20 to cover each week’s food and could not overspend. I’m scrupulous about paying for my portion of meals or outings because I’d be mortified to infringe on someone else’s budget or resources — what if it was money they couldn’t spare?

I’ve worked to whittle away at some of these habits, mainly in the domain of trading time for money. Time really IS worth more to me, so now I pay housecleaners and a gardener to take care of things that now afford me a little more free time. I’m fortunate enough to be paid well enough that having enough money is simply a non-concern. As a result, money has shrunk in significance to the point where raises at work provide zero motivation for me. (But wait, don’t raises inspire higher performance? NO! See this totally awesome RSAnimate on Motivation for just one argument about why not.) That makes it all the more ludicrous when I’m making grocery decisions based on a 20-cent difference in pasta brands.

But yeah. This time I went home with the cereal, at full price. Next thing you know, I’ll be hiring someone to do my shopping for me. Well, probably not… but that’d be another hour a week for violin practice or disc golf or studying cryptography or another billion things. Maybe it’s not such a crazy idea after all!

Learning a new physical skill is hard, and it takes time. Unlike acquiring a new concept, in which illumination can enter your brain in one dazzling flash, physical skills require time and repetition. There is a rule of thumb floating around that claims it takes ten thousand repetitions of some action to truly “learn” it. That’s a lot of repetitions, and can be a very daunting thought when faced with any particular skill-learning setting!

Ten thousand. Really? Let’s say I want to learn to produce a D major scale on my violin (which I do). Let’s further say that I dedicate myself to this goal by running through the scale ten times, every day. It will then take me *three years* to reach 10,000 repetitions. Somehow, I think the scale would have gotten as good as it’s going to get well before then.

But of course, the number of repetitions needed might well depend on the complexity of the particular task.

For now, in my violin studies, I prefer the approach advocated in The Secret of Practicing, Part 1. The idea here is that it’s not raw practice, but good practice, that helps you improve. Instead of executing something a fixed number of times (some or all of them poorly, since you haven’t mastered them yet), you aim to get five perfect repetitions. That might mean you actually practiced a lot more than that, but you got to the point where you could do five perfectly. This likely also requires breaking down the task (e.g., the sequence of notes) into a smaller and smaller unit until you can get five perfect repetitions. The other benefit is psychological: you get an immediate sense of where your current “ceiling” is, what you can do perfectly five times in a row, which should increase over time, rather than repeatedly throwing yourself at a big long complex piece and repeatedly failing. Maybe I can apply this strategy profitably with my swimming, too!

Part 2 of the series on practicing also recommends including overlaps between the chunks you’ve broken your piece into, which I think makes a lot of sense.

While the rest of this sequence on how to practice embarks on example pieces that are far outside of my playing ability, I’ve still enjoyed reading them to glean tips that may come in handy in the future. For example, I would have assumed that one would practice by playing the music as written, but these posts show how to break down the complexity of the music so you can work up to being able to play it. Great resource!