What if practice doesn’t make perfect — just permanent?
Ben explores how repetition can encode emotional rigidity and technical failure when done unconsciously. From violin drills to language learning and parenting feedback loops, this episode dives into the dangers of autopilot effort and the power of conscious unlearning.
Keywords: unlearning habits, language acquisition, music practice psychology, deliberate learning, parenting and performance pressure, cognitive distortion from repetition
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Full Transcript:
YY and Me Episode 2: Practicing
(Opening motif – plucked DA–DA, GD–GD, AE–AE–AE–AE. Fine-tuning the E string—slightly sharp, then settles.)
(Ben, imitating mom's voice):
"Ben! Time to practice!"
Practicing.
Not exactly my favorite word as a kid.
(YY's voice):
"Booooooring!!"
My parents made sure we practiced.
As a rule, we had to practice before we could play Nintendo.
Before we could open presents on Christmas morning.
If we didn't practice… there were consequences.
I started violin at age five and a half, with an excellent Suzuki teacher—
Same teacher my kids have now.
Very accomplished. Very trustworthy.
I dropped my first "box violin" repeatedly—
it was a foam-stuffed cardboard shell with a ruler for a fingerboard.
I wriggled. I squirmed.
My mom tried to hold me still.
I was… not easy.
At home, I played along with Suzuki tapes—violin plus piano accompaniment.
My dad accompanied me himself, until the pieces got too hard for him.
At night, I listened to the same tapes to fall asleep.
Practice.
Practice.
Practice.
(YY's voice):
"That was a lot of repeating."
True, YY—and it was intentional.
Saying the word practice correctly, over and over again, makes it easier to say.
But what if I didn't say it right each time?
Take Mandarin.
The word for practice is "练习."
But here's a common mistake: "联系."
That word means connection, not practice.
So if I repeat it wrong—"联系, 联系, 联系"—
and then say it to someone fluent in Chinese…
they're going to be confused.
Why did it come out wrong—after all that practice?
I was trying. I was repeating.
But I was repeating the wrong thing.
"Practice makes perfect," right?
(YY's voice):
"Uhh… I don't speak Chinese."
Right. Okay—different example.
You know Twinkle Twinkle? It starts like this:
[play AAEEF#FE on violin]
Now… what if I played it like this instead:
[play AAEEGGE]
Not a big deal—if I catch it and correct it.
But what if I keep playing it the wrong way?
[play AEEGGEE on violin 3x, same phrasing and rhythm]
[pause]
Hurts, doesn't it?
(YY's voice):
"Aah—uncle, uncle!"
It seems obvious, right?
But sometimes… practicing more doesn't help.
It makes things worse.
(YY's voice):
"You're about to tell an embarrassing story—I can tell."
Yup.
But it illustrates this concept with real-life weight.
In college, I became concertmaster of our top orchestra—as a sophomore.
I was at the top of my game.
Tuning everyone on stage.
Breezing through seating auditions.
Things were going swimmingly.
Then one day, my professor pulled me aside and said:
"Ben—you're not shifting properly."
(YY's voice):
"Whaat?"
I know—the nerve, right?
Wrong.
Turns out... I was shifting wrong.
The whole dang time.
No one had caught it.
Not my childhood teachers.
Not my summer camp coaches.
Not even me.
Until that moment.
(YY's voice):
"That was hard."
Yeah. Tell me about it.
My first reaction?
I wanted to crawl under the piano in the practice room and hide.
Next came denial.
Then confusion.
How did this happen?
Why didn't anyone else say anything?
Eventually…
I realized there was only one thing to do.
Listen.
Listen to my professor.
Listen to my gut.
So I did.
With his help and guidance, I re-learned how to shift—properly.
It was hard work.
It was a little embarrassing.
I lost some respect.
But I did it.
The result?
I emerged with a much better shifting technique.
Months of unlearning and relearning finally crystalized.
Not perfect.
But much better.
Better enough that I went to a national competition—for the first time—
and took second place.
I lost to a cellist.
So technically…
I was first among violinists.
(YY's voice):
"Woo-hoo!"
And you know the best part?
I can still shift well—years later.
No drama. No embarrassment.
Barely any practice time.
Just… accurate, reliable shifting.
I've seen this outside the practice room, too.
One of my kids missed a homework deadline.
I gave this long, carefully worded lecture—
about our responsibilities and expectations.
Halfway through…
I could tell.
They weren't listening.
It was what I needed to say.
Not what they needed to hear.
Similar story—
a shipper missed a delivery window.
I sent a sharp message.
Professional… but….
I tried to spell the urgency clearly.
Tried to make them listen.
Sometimes, fixing the problem isn't about trying harder.
It's about changing how we practice—
quietly, intentionally.
That one shift?
Can change everything.
(YY chiming in):
"I'm getting tired of practicing!"
You're right.
Next time, let's talk about dynamics.
(YY):
"Uh oh."
(Closing motif)