Play vs Practice: A Banjo Breakthrough
Playing my banjo on the banks of Steamboat Creek in Southern Oregon
I dream of being a badass banjo player. Or more accurately, being able to just pick up my banjo and play - in community, around a fire, on my own. Playing dueling banjos and rainbow connection and Mumford, as the mood strikes. Channeling the magic that I feel inside when I hear the strings ring — that magic that makes me want to turn it up loud and dance as far and wide as the sky can take me.
When I hear banjo, everything feels ok, and the world’s problems somehow melt away for a few moments. The idea of being able to create these sounds and sentiments with my own fingers, for myself and others - I want that.
Lately, I’ve been plagued by this idea that my actions don’t align with my dreams. I have the best banjo teacher I’ve ever had — flexible, educated and creative — and yet, I continue to look at my banjo, think about my banjo, and do anything but actually pick up my banjo to play.
Until this week, when I finally had a breakthrough.
After months of weekly lessons with no sense of regular practice between sessions, I’ve played every day, including two 2-hr hour stints and a jam session with my husband.
In the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really that big of a deal: I know I’m not alone in this struggle as a musician, and having peaks amidst valleys is a normal part of the learning process. But what feels especially exciting - and worth writing about - is what I realized about the power of play to help us overcome hurdles and reach goals in ways we previously couldn’t.
As a trainer, facilitator and coach committed to helping people deepen personal resilience, I’ve often talked about the idea of practice as something that can help us stay strong and steady in the goals we have for ourselves and the world. When we practice, we don’t have to get it right - we can just do it, over and over again. When we practice with intention, we build habits, and these habits can improve our ability to navigate and overcome challenges.
But with this banjo breakthrough this week, I’ve noticed that my relationship to the idea of practice has changed quite a bit - and I’m curious about what’s possible when we lean more into the idea of play.
While related, practice and play clearly aren’t synonymous. Oxford defines practice as performing an activity or exercising a skill repeatedly or regularly in order to improve or maintain one’s proficiency. Other definitions leave out the concept of improvement, and just focus on the regularity of the practice. Play, on the other hand, is defined as engaging in activity for enjoyment and recreation rather than a serious or practical purpose.
“Playing allowed me to just be.”
When I was younger, I had to practice piano. I had to practice my times tables, practice the clarinet, practice piano. I had to practice on the daily because “practice makes perfect”. And in my world, perfection earned me love and recognition. But it was hard and overwhelming.
Playing, on the other hand, was easy. It was fun, natural, and induced a sense of flow and timelessness that left me wanting more. When I played the piano, I could connect to how it made me feel. When I played softball, I felt the snap of the ball in my glove. Playing allowed me to just be.
Playing left me feeling connected - to my friends, to my family, and to the current moment.
Practicing left me feeling disconnected from what was possible because I was so consumed with what I needed to be but wasn’t yet.
After weeks of guilt, frustration and confusion, this is what I realized was happening with my banjo dream. It was being usurped by old beliefs of never will be. As much as I want to just play, the old practice perspective was standing in my way.
My original banjo and the first step towards my dream
So I'm experimenting with something different:
What if I lean into play instead of coming from a place of pressured practice?
When I approach my banjo with the energy of play – picking it up because I'm curious about a sound, or because I want to feel the strings under my finger – the resistance melts. Those two-hour sessions weren't marathons of discipline; they were moments when I forgot time existed and let my fingers take the lead.
This shift isn't about abandoning skill-building. It's about reclaiming the why beneath it. I still want to be a badass banjo player – but not to prove something or achieve perfection. I want it so I can create those moments around the fire, where everything feels ok.
What might be possible in your own life if you brought this lens to the practices you've established? Maybe there's a creative project you've been guilting yourself about. A movement practice that's become a should. A skill you genuinely want but keep avoiding because it became about proving rather than exploring.
What if you gave yourself permission to play instead? Not to abandon your intentions, but to reconnect with the aliveness beneath them. To show up not because you're supposed to, but because something in you wants to?
Drop a comment or send me a message – I'd love to hear what practices in your life might be ready for an infusion of play…!
