Pushing Limits

Pushing Limits

   The other night my wife and I had the pleasure of watching the film Whiplash, a difficult-to-watch movie which rightfully was nominated for Best Picture at the recent Oscars.  Intense and having only a handful of actors, the film portrays a music conservatory which hosts an especially difficult teacher, one who is drill-instructor like in his demands and quest to bring out a student's potential, almost all of whom are musically talented.

   Despite some of the negative input from jazz fans about the film, I felt that the movie brought out a larger point which is that sometimes a rare coach or teacher can spot that one person who just might be exceptional.  This can happen in sports or music or math or drama, anywhere really, even in business.  But it seems that the "exceptions" are few and far between.  Perhaps there are more talents that simply aren't recognized or developed or given the chance.  And perhaps, the gift is so absent because it that takes two people to develop.

   One example was of the folk singing duo of Simon & Garfunkle.  Destined to be slotted into the barrel of talented guitar duos, it took a producer, Tom Wilson, who happened to hear something that they performed, a song that could be tweaked.  He signed them and without their knowledge, added a mix of drums, bass and electric guitar to their now re-released song, Sounds of Silence (the duo had already split up).  That simple change shot them out of the folk-singing category and into a new phase of pop history (and yes, they reunited).

   That simple push from a coach or a producer or a teacher can be all that is needed to separate the talented from the super-talented.  Parents sometimes recognize this, but are often too close to their child or children to really make an accurate analysis (exceptions do occur, as in the case of Andre Agassi who driven father created a superstar but also created a wellspring of resentment).  In many fields, certain names stand out, often less than a handful, and usually they last over time.  Even those who are not basketball fans can likely still name five of today's top basketball stars.  Jordan, Bird, Magic, LeBron.  It takes hundreds if not thousands of plays and equations and drills to make a coach or teacher spot that one standout (indeed, in today's world, basketball stars are for the most part scouted in the 8th grade, and then often sent to camp to be weeded out, and then, and often only then, followed through in high school to see if they have the potential to make it into college and the pros). 
   
   What's even more difficult, however, is recognizing this exceptional drive in yourself.  For some, it is a struggle, perhaps a tiring one, perhaps one that comes only years later; but for many of us, it does come; the realization arrives that we will likely never be that superstar or that math whiz or that person who changes the world, a person such as Nelson Mandela (as was portrayed by actor Idris Elba in the recent film, Mandela).   Admittedly (and somewhat ashamedly), I knew little about Mandela's early years, his years as a flirtatious attorney who later became a radical activist.  But it was after his eighteen years in prison that Mandela recognized his true power, that as a leader, even an old leader, the path of violence was not right.  It took courage to turn down his new government's offer of his freedom, and to later go on television and say to the people, "I am your leader, and as your leader, it is my responsibility to tell you when you are wrong...and you are wrong." 

   Which brings us full circle to Whiplash and the music instructor raging in his fury, trying to push, push, push his students into giving up.  And most of us would do just that.  We would make that decision that we were talented, but not that talented, that we were driven but not that driven, that we had passion but not enough to stand by and be humiliated by someone so divisive and yelling in our face.  And in our own way, we'd be correct.  Each of us does makes a difference in his or her own way, creating that tiny ripple that reaches across a huge pond or lake to land on a shore.  And maybe we will never know how many others that ripple affected.  But somewhere inside us we know, we just know, not only what we have, but what we have inside of us that we know is right.  Maybe we're not the top seed or the one to make the history books or to lead a country, but we know what's deep inside us, what can't be touched.

   As Nelson Mandela said in his book, Long Walk to Freedom, "People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite..."  This was echoed by the Oscar-winning J.K. Simmons (who portrayed the screaming and almost-schizophrenic music instructor) as he ended his speech with this: "Call your mom, everybody," said Simmons on the air. "I'm told there's like a billion people or so (watching). Call your mom. Call your dad, if you are lucky enough to have a parent or two alive on this planet. Don't text. Don't e-mail. Call 'em on the phone. Tell them you love them, and thank them, and listen to them for as long as they want to talk to you."