"Who is your best student?"
One of my young violin students asked me this question recently, when going over a recital program and looking at all the pieces people were playing.

"To me that doesn't matter," I told her, and I meant it very sincerely. "It's how you play whatever piece you are playing. Are you playing your best? That is my concern, for each of you."
Ah, what a frustrating answer, though. To her, it did matter. Her real question seemed to be: Who is playing the most "advanced" piece currently? Who is farthest along? And by extension: How do I measure up? Where do I stand?
Music students can't help but notice that their learning has its basis in progression, and their placement in various realms has a certain hierarchy: the Suzuki books, the chairs in orchestra, the order in a recital, the ABRSM grades, the RCM or ASTACAP levels... A teacher can try to mix it up or hide it, but its presence is undeniable.
At best, this can work as a motivating force. It can urge a student to strive to play a piece with more difficult technique, to get to the next piece, the next Suzuki book, the next level. A student may want to learn their music so well that they get "first chair" in orchestra or earn high marks on an exam or jury. A student may feel motivated to emulate a fellow student who plays with great technique or musicality, or to play that cool piece someone else is playing.
At worst, though, it can get pretty ugly. When comparisons turn into jealousy, this can ruin relationships. Feelings of inadequacy can lead to discouragement. Frustration with one's pace of learning can cause a student to lose patience - and how can one learn anything without patience? We are all human - such feelings can arise in students, parents, and teachers.
How do I measure up? Where do I stand?
It can be helpful to remember that if you keep moving, you are no longer standing - for better or for worse. We can celebrate milestones and "wins," but it's important not to get too carried away in feeling great or superior. And we can take note of what went wrong when we fall short, but it's important not to get too carried away in feeling terrible or inferior.
Remember: we are making music. Music itself has no "levels." It can communicate - or fail to - at any level, whether simple or complex.
Last week I took my students to play for residents at an assisted-care home for senior citizens, many with Alzheimer's. The students ranged in ability from pre-Twinkle through Bach Sonatas and Partitas. We played all kinds of music: Christmas and Hanukah songs, classical repertoire, rounds. We played in large groups, smaller groups, with a few solos sprinkled in.
What did the residents enjoy best? It was clear: our finale, the "Twinkle Variations." Of all things! Why? All of us were playing together, and we were having fun with it - adding a little bit of spontaneous choreography. And while I expected that the residents might sing for the Christmas songs, I not expect they also would sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." To my astonishment, they did!
When a roomful of memory-care patients spontaneously start singing together, you know you've reached something special. In that moment, none of our listeners was asking "Who is best?" They were just responding to music, at the most basic level that humans do.
Clearly, we were all "best" when we forgot our egos and just made music together!
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