18 Years.

I've been playing taiko for now 18 years. That's just about half my age, but it doesn't seem like it's been that long, really.

This post comes about thinking about all the people who have told me that they couldn't see themselves playing as fast or kicking as high or syncopating as comfortably etc. Bah to that! I want to show people that my formative years were just as full of doubts and mistakes and regrets as anyone out there. But I also want to show how they led to who I am now, and how shooting yourself down now does you absolutely no good!

- I failed the first try-out for SJT. It's a long story, so I won't recount it all here, but after the three month process back in 1993, I was told that I didn't make it in. Due to some luck and a lot of perseverance, I was able try out again the following year.
- I've fallen off a stage during a performance. This was at Haru Matsuri, somewhere around the late '90s. While supporting a soloist on the same drum during Matsuri Taiko (festival drums), my foot slipped over the edge of the stage and I went with it. I tore the banner on the way down, falling about three feet to the grass below. I couldn't bear to turn around and look at the audience, so instead I jumped back on stage to a round of applause. Oy.
- I've broken at least a dozen shime bachi. Not necessarily proud of this fact, but it is what it is. I like to think I have very good striking technique, since it's not from hitting too hard, but sometimes everything comes together and *pop*, you have a stub in your hand.
- I've walked out on stage at the wrong time during a school show. At the time, I could not remember the order we were supposed to come out to introduce instruments during a school show. I came out one early, much to the speaker's confusion, and had to walk right back out. There was no way to hide the mistake, so I just smiled and walked off like I planned it.
- I've gone on stage missing costume accessories. One anniversary concert had about thirteen bajillion costume changes in it. I remember running off-stage and changing quickly, unable to find my wristbands. I had to go on stage feeling like everyone was staring at my bare wrists.
- I couldn't play paradiddles worth a damn. Paradiddles are a sequence of RLRR LRLL. When it was first introduced to me, my hands were these big stumps of stupid. Right, left, right...right, left...wait, what? I was able to play them, but at a pretty slow rate of speed. Somewhere in the years to follow, I realized they came so much more easily, and nowadays I use them to push my training.
- I've run around backstage while other people on stage try to stretch transitions. Just before a transition last year, I realized I didn't have one of the beaters to play a hand-held instrument. I panicked, running around looking in the near-dark for a tiny piece of wood that no one could find. I grabbed a shime bachi instead and rushed out on stage, but a good twenty seconds late. We actually incorporated the pause into future performances, but at the time it was the worst feeling ever.
- I've written songs that were a chore to learn. Early songs of mine were "kitchen sink" songs. I wanted to put everything in! Ooh, big motions! Ooh, fancy syncopations! Ooh, multiple instruments! They were long, they were cumbersome, and they only lasted one show. Looking back at them, I see a lot of great ideas, mired in the weight of so many mashed together. Nowadays, I know to how focus my compositions, streamline them, and save what doesn't fit for the next one.

There are probably a dozen dozens more things like that I might come up with, sitting here reminiscing. Still...that's enough to get my point across, I think.

I've done things that I thought were clever that bombed. I've done embarrassing things that made me worry about going near them again. I've hit wrong notes and missed moves in more songs than I can count. I'm no better than anyone else out there; I've just been around for a while. So here's a couple of things to keep in mind:

- We remember the bad more than the good. For every "aw crap" solo I've had, there's been five others that I was proud of.
- Big things now become little things later. Oh no, you dropped your bachi during a song! Five years from now, you may not remember what gig you were at, let alone that you dropped it.
- Can't play something? Give it time. I never specifically worked on those paradiddles, but because of other drills, my hands were better overall and gave me the control needed to paradiddle faster. Like muscles, you often need to strengthen the surrounding "areas" before you get better at the one thing you want.
- Fail. Learn. Move on. Repeat! If you fear failure, you can either stop growing, or invite more failure. Both choices suck. If you learn from your mistakes, strive to do better, and laugh at the ones in your past, then you know you're growing.

When I started karate and taiko, I was proud to be able to do the simple things. A new kick, striking at a new angle, pivoting with balance, playing on upbeats... Now I'm proud of the abilities I've worked hard to develop. So what about in five, ten years from now? Well if I'm still kicking people and hitting drums, we'll have to see. More mistakes, more achievements, more fun!