2 minutes read

Why Practicing Harder Isn’t Always the Answer

Have you ever practiced a passage twenty times and somehow felt like it got worse?

Or spent an hour working on a shift that still doesn’t feel reliable?

Maybe you’ve caught yourself thinking:

“I just need to practice more.”

As musicians, we’ve all been there.

For many years, whenever I encountered a challenge, that was my solution—more repetitions, more determination, more hours in the practice room.

Sometimes it worked.

But sometimes it didn’t.

And that made me wonder: if hard work is the answer, why do some problems seem to stay with us no matter how much we practice?

The Trap of Repetition

As musicians, we’re often taught that improvement comes from repetition.

And repetition is important.

But repetition alone doesn’t guarantee improvement.

Think about it this way. If I accidentally take a wrong turn while driving and repeat the same route every day, I’m not getting closer to my destination. I’m simply becoming very familiar with the wrong road.

Practice can be similar.

If we repeat an inefficient movement over and over, we may simply become better at repeating that inefficient movement.

In other words, practice doesn’t make perfect.

The problem isn’t always a lack of effort.

Sometimes it’s a lack of awareness.

A Different Question

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned as a musician and teacher is that before we can change something, we first need to notice it.

When we’re focused on playing the correct notes, we often overlook everything else happening in the process.

The next time you’re working on a difficult passage, try pausing before repeating it.

Ask yourself:

“What happened?”

You might be surprised by what you discover.

A Final Thought

Music should be inspiring, expressive, and fun.

Hard work will always be part of learning, but growth doesn’t come from effort alone.

Sometimes the most meaningful progress begins not by practicing more, but by noticing more.

So the next time you feel stuck, instead of asking:

“How can I practice more?”

Try asking:

“What haven’t I noticed yet?”

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These reflections are inspired by moments that happen every day in lessons—questions, frustrations, discoveries, and small breakthroughs. While they begin with cello playing, they are ultimately about something broader: how we learn, how we notice, and how small changes in awareness can lead to meaningful change. Written from the perspective of a cellist and teacher, I hope they encourage curiosity, reflection, and perhaps a different way of thinking about learning.