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The Ultimate Masterclass in Process Over Outcome
On January 3, 2026, World-renowned Violin Virtuoso Ray Chen offered listeners something scarce in our age of highlight reels and polished performances: an unfiltered glimpse into the unglamorous reality of practice. Over nearly three hours, Chen worked through Tchaikovsky and the most technically demanding Carmen Fantasy on his 1727 Stradivarius, stumbling, adjusting, and refining. He demonstrated a philosophy that ancient Stoics and modern psychologists alike would recognize as essential to mastery.
The Dichotomy of the Stage
When Chen encountered intonation issues in the Tchaikovsky opening, he didn't panic or abandon the passage.
Instead, he deliberately slowed his bowing, isolated the problem, and worked methodically toward a solution.
This response embodies what Stoic philosophers termed the "dichotomy of control”?the recognition that while we cannot control outcomes, we retain complete authority over our choices, attitudes, and actions.
Consider the archer's dilemma: one can perfect posture, breathing, and concentration, yet the wind remains capricious. Similarly, Chen cannot control the complexity of Tchaikovsky's chord progressions or the acoustic challenges of live streaming, but he can control his response to them. When he blamed his "lazy left hand" after accidentally plucking the D string, he wasn't indulging in self-criticism—he was identifying a controllable factor and redirecting his focus accordingly.
The Practice of Internal Control
Psychologist William Glasser's Control Theory distinguishes between external control—dependence on others' evaluations and environmental pressures—and internal control—reliance on one's own choices and processes.
Chen's session was a clinic in the latter.
Rather than fixating on achieving perfection for his audience, Chen announced "5-minute pure practice" sessions where he focused entirely on mastering the notes before showcasing technique. He tested his retention after 30-second breaks, described his left-hand feeling "charged with lightning energy," and celebrated achieving "near 98% accuracy through repetition." These weren't boasts about outcomes; they were observations about process.
When a listener asked about becoming a soloist, Chen's response revealed this same philosophy.
He didn't promise shortcuts or obsess over career outcomes.
Instead, he encouraged "broader perspectives," suggesting that happiness might be found as a teacher, orchestra member, or chamber musician.
Success, in Chen's view, isn't defined by external validation but by choosing a path aligned with one's genuine needs—what Glasser identified as survival, love and belonging, power (achievement), freedom, and enjoyment.
Motivation Through Engagement
Throughout the session, Chen demonstrated what motivational psychologists call "process-oriented engagement."
When working on the Carmen Fantasy—which he jokingly called the ultimate "aura farming" piece—he didn't simply aim to dazzle.
He adjusted rhythms to align with downbeats, warned about slides that might sound "promiscuous," and advised playing like a "pure angel."
He set specific, challenging goals for each passage, embodying Goal Setting Theory's principle that such targets intensify engagement with the process itself.
Chen's description of certain Tchaikovsky passages as "hugging each other" or "watching stars together" wasn't flowery language for the audience's benefit—it was process work.
By defining the emotional character he sought, he gave himself controllable parameters to pursue, regardless of whether viewers ultimately perceived that warmth and intimacy.
The Wisdom of Letting Go
Perhaps the most striking moment came when Chen expressed feeling "confident in his intonation and emotional expression in 2026."
Not because he had achieved some permanent state of perfection, but because he had learned to trust his preparation—his process.
He immersed himself fully in the character of a "fair maiden," expressing shyness with confidence, because he had done the work that was within his control.
The session lasted 1.5 to 3 hours (accounts varied), but Chen's satisfaction didn't stem from tallying minutes or counting perfect runs. It came from engaging deeply with controllable factors: his bowing technique, his emotional interpretation, and his focus during heavy shifting passages.
The outcomes—audience size, viewer reactions, even the final sound—were beyond his jurisdiction.
The Most Important Lesson for Musicians
In an era when young musicians are pressured to accumulate competition wins, prestigious appointments, and viral moments, Chen's practice session offers the most powerful alternative path. The Stoics, Glasser, and motivational researchers converge on this truth: outcomes are uncertain and subject to external forces, but the process remains within the individual's direct control.
For violinists listening to Virtuoso Ray’s practice session in January afternoon, the message was crystal clear—not in what Chen said, but in what he did.
He focused on study time management, concentration, and effort.
He prioritized work methods and self-development over worrying about others' assessments.
He understood that motivation emerges not from dreaming about results but from engaging fully with the effort itself.
Chen ended the session by "teleporting" to support another streamer with no current listeners—a final reminder that in music, as in life, the point isn't always to arrive at a destination. Sometimes it's simply to practice well, to choose generously, and to trust that the process itself is the reward.
