🎙️ Weekly Wednesday Insight #43: When The Process Becomes the Problem
Letting go of the score, trusting the preparation, and reclaiming presence.
Why would a top-performing team be told not to focus on winning?
Nick Saban, head coach of Alabama, doesn’t train his players to chase outcomes. He trains them to trust the next step.
He calls it “The Process.”
“Don’t think about the scoreboard. Don’t worry about the opponent. Just do your job—this play, this moment, this rep.”
— Nick Saban (paraphrased)
That mindset is appealing—especially when life feels overwhelming. When there’s too much to track, it helps to focus on what’s right in front of you.
But what happens when focusing on the next step makes you forget why you're walking?
The Trap: Getting Everything Right
Saban’s approach reminds me of something I see all the time in music: people want to get every detail right. Every note, every rhythm, every marking.
And the more they chase that correctness, the more they risk something essential—connection.
When I perform, I usually sing from memory. Most professionals do. It’s not just about skill—it’s about being present. Being in the song, not just looking at it.
But there are moments when I’ve kept the score on stage. Maybe I wasn’t fully secure on a new piece. And here’s what I’ve noticed—something many singers will recognize.
Having the score nearby pulls you back into the page.
You start chasing accuracy instead of living the phrase.
You focus so much on what’s written that you start to lose the sense of who you’re sharing it with.
Oddly, that “safety net” can make the performance less alive.
When Risk Brings Meaning
Singing from memory isn’t about showing off. It’s about being present—fully present. Not reading the song, but inhabiting it. Living inside the words, the music, the moment.
It is risky.
You might miss a word. You might breathe in the wrong place. You might even, heaven forbid, lose your way and not be perfectly accurate.
But the people you’re singing or speaking to aren’t tracking every syllable. They’re listening for the feeling behind the words—whether you’re really with them as you sing or speak.
We, as performers, know what’s on the page. We know when we deviate. But most listeners don’t—and even when they do, they often don’t mind. What they notice is whether we’re engaged. Whether we mean it.
And very often, meaning comes through more clearly when we’ve let go of the page—not in spite of that choice, but because of it.
The preparation—the process—is still essential. It’s what gives you something to trust. It’s what allows you to stand and speak or sing from a place of knowing, rather than fear. That’s what frees you to take the risk.
That’s the point when it stops being about technique and starts becoming communication.
The Trouble with Chasing Perfection
The danger isn’t in the mistake—it’s in what happens after the mistake.
You miss a word, a note, a breath, and suddenly your mind starts talking: “I can’t believe I did that.” “That’s going to throw the rest of this off.” “They probably noticed.”
And just like that, you're no longer in the room. You’re still performing, maybe even still technically correct, but you’re disconnected.
The audience is still with you. But you’re somewhere else, turned inward, trying to recover a moment you’ve already lost. And once that spiral starts, it’s hard to return.
I understand that pull. When I sing a piece from memory for the first time, there's a strong desire to keep the score nearby. Just in case. Just to be sure.
That impulse brings to mind the story of Orfeo and Eurydice.
Orfeo plays so beautifully that the gods grant him permission to lead Eurydice out of Hades—on one condition: he must not look back. But his doubt overtakes him. He turns to check. And in doing so, he loses her.
I think about that every time I’m tempted to glance back at the music. Every time I don’t quite trust that I know what I know.
Because when we stop trusting ourselves and start checking, we often lose the very thing we’re trying to hold on to.
The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is presence.
And the only way to stay present is to let go of the score and trust that the preparation is already in you.
What the Stoics Actually Say
Process-focused thinking often gets linked to Stoicism. But the Stoics weren’t interested in rigid execution. They were concerned with alignment—with nature, with reason, and with one’s role.
“First, say to yourself what you would be; then do what you have to do.”
— Epictetus, Discourses 3.23
That’s not blind discipline. It’s the kind that comes from considering your role and responding to what the moment asks.
They cared less about doing it perfectly and more about doing it for the right reasons.
In Voice Work, Zoom In After You Zoom Out
When I teach voice, we focus on small things:
The vowel
The phrase
The gesture of a breath
But we never start there.
We start with: What are you trying to express? What does this passage ask of you?
Only once you know that can you build a process that supports it.
That’s where technique becomes art.
That’s when practice becomes performance.
What to Notice This Week
If you're feeling mechanical or uninspired, ask:
“Have I let the process become the goal?”
“What would this sound like if I stopped trying to get it right?”
And if you’re overwhelmed:
Shrink the frame. Ask: “What can I do well, right now?”
Zoom out when you’re stuck in the weeds.
Zoom in when you’re lost in the clouds.
Neither direction is always right. But one usually gets ignored.
Final Note
Nick Saban isn’t wrong. “The Process” matters. So does preparation. So does practice.
But if all you’re doing is running routines, you’ll miss the larger movement.
The Stoics understood this. Singers do, too.
You don’t just need effort.
You need orientation—and the willingness to step away from the page when the time comes.
#DevelopingYourAuthenticVoice #VoiceMatters #LeadershipCommunication #EmotionalIntelligence #Clarity #TheProcess #PresenceOverPerfection #TrustThePreparation #StoicWisdom #PerformanceMindset
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