The sun was so bright and warm, David felt it surround him long before he opened his eyes. How long he had slept, he didn’t know, and didn’t care. He felt free, in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
Last night, he had driven up to visit his parents in the country. After an incredible home-cooked dinner and a conversation that lasted well into the early hours, he collapsed into the newly redecorated guest bedroom. It felt like a bed and breakfast, with decorative touches that hinted at both sexes so that it wasn’t overly feminine, nor masculine, just cozy, like a warm hug. He knew he would sleep well, and he did.
No longer was he afraid of losing his job or of running out of money or of ruining his reputation. He wasn’t pursuing status or fame. He was infinitely comfortable, calm in a way that was hard to articulate. He knew that this newfound peace was because of the teachers, pushing him to work on himself, avoid the mistakes, and pursue a life of excellence. Strangely, even though he felt this calmness, he was still driving toward his goals. One of the people in his mastermind group made an observation that echoed in his mind: success is when you’re filled with ambition and peace in equal measure at the same time.
Lying in bed, not yet fully awake, he could hear the faint notes of a piano downstairs. Thoughts of the past week flashed through his mind. He recalled the second interview he’d recently had with a new company that he really thought would land him an offer. It seemed a great fit for him, one where he would use his creative talents and still build toward his ultimate goal of starting a firm. But, instead of the call with an offer, he received a polite note explaining that someone else was a better fit. You’ll never get a job in a company like that. It would be too perfect. The thought was there, fueling his doubts, and he willed it away. One of his new friends said that she would accept the thought and then replace it. When the right opportunity presents itself, nothing will stop me from it. He repeated it several times in his semi-awake, semi-sleeping state. A temporary setback is only a setup for a permanent step forward.
The piano began to crescendo, and David stirred in bed. His mom had told him to expect visitors this morning, including someone he was looking forward to seeing. More than a musician, he was also the city’s celebrated Conductor. He and his wife were dear friends of the family, and they were enjoying a weekend outside the hurried pace of the city.
The Conductor was actually more of a friend to David than to his parents. Years ago, the Conductor doubled as the local orchestra and band director, and David had found himself in his classes for years. During those classes, and after, David learned more about life than about music. The Conductor was full of surprises, and his positive spirit likely did more to encourage David’s drive than he had imagined.
Not yet opening his eyes, David listened again for the faint sounds of the baby grand piano. His mind was reaching out through the distance from his bedroom to the living room in an effort to discern the chosen piece. At that moment, the tempo switched to a lively pace.
“Of course,” David said, realizing, “Beethoven. Sonata Pathétique.”
It was an interesting choice, and David knew that the Conductor was always clever in his decisions. He remembered the history from his class. Beethoven was only twenty-seven when he wrote the piece, and dedicated it to a friend, a prince, he recalled, though the name escaped him. The piece sold well at the time for Beethoven and helped secure his reputation. It marked a small turning point for him, a message not lost on David.
Was the Conductor signaling that he had also made a turning point?
I wouldn’t put it past him, thought David. As he opened his eyes, he took in the brightness of the room and the nearly blinding light of the reflected sun in the mirror across from the large bed.
He was up, brushing his teeth, fixing his hair, and downstairs in no time. It was 9:30 a.m. as he slipped into the living room. By this time, the Conductor was laughing with the family while simultaneously playing Gershwin, almost as a background piece.
“It’s not every day I can sleep in and wake up to extraordinary classical sounds played live by my friend.”
The Conductor smiled. “Good morning! So good to see you again.”
He looked both the same and different. The same fire in his eyes, in his expression, but perhaps slightly weaker, his posture bent a bit forward, his fingers slightly gnarled with arthritis. But his playing was near perfection, and he didn’t even consider himself a musician.
After excusing himself to get some coffee and a bagel, David entered the kitchen, which had not yet been redone like most of the house. His mother couldn’t wait for its remodel, but his father was slowing this part of the project because of the disruption it would cause.
The Conductor had stopped playing the piano. David could hear laughing and the grating of the piano bench on the wood floor as it was slid back. The Conductor appeared in the kitchen.
“May I join you for a second cup?” he asked. As they settled down at the kitchen table, which was really a half-booth with a bench on one side and three chairs on the other, the music started again. David wasn’t surprised. The Conductor’s wife was equally accomplished in her musical ability and had replaced him at the piano, no doubt at his mother’s request. As long as trained pros were in the house, you could be sure she would be coaxing them to continue. If they even so much as paused, her face would fall dramatically in such a way that they would immediately pick it back up. If you watched his mother’s face, it was almost as if she was singing each piano note internally, her own private opera. And, every once in a while, a great show tune would cause her to burst into song without reservation and really without her even realizing she was doing it.
David was thrilled to spend some uninterrupted time with his mentor. He guessed that they would start with music, turn to politics, then to the personal. He was only slightly off when the first question was about a local political race. The two were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, but, unlike most people who disagreed, they actually delighted in arguing back and forth about substance, about perceptions, and about what was best for the future. It was just like old times.
The subject shifted, naturally, from politics to life.
“How have you been?” the Conductor asked, the simple question lobbed across the table. But the Conductor was not one for small talk. The question was laced with deeper meaning, a reconnaissance question probing into unknown territory.
“I have been through a lot, learned a lot. The working world wasn’t exactly what I expected. The politics, the people. It’s been eye-opening. But some amazing things have happened to me. I don’t think I could explain. Actually, I don’t think you’d even believe me,” David said, his eyes deliberately widening on the last sentence.
“Try me?” asked the Conductor, but, before waiting to hear an explanation, he added, “Why do you think Mozart was such a phenomenon?”
It was not unlike the Conductor to do this, shifting the conversation back to his favorite subject of music and its history. And David always went along, realizing that the ebb and flow of the conversation would return naturally.
“He was never satisfied,” the Conductor said, answering his own question. “He was always pushing, always doing something new. Look at almost any point of his career and he could have stayed there, but he was ambitious, wanted to keep going. He refused to fit in to the expectations of the day. He refused to be categorized. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to create masterpieces!”
David waited a beat, looking for the hook back from Mozart to his own story. The Conductor offered nothing, but continued his history lesson moments later.
“He realized he needed to keep learning. When symphony wasn’t enough, he moved to opera, to chamber music, to comedy. You name it, he would take it on.”
David loved to hear the Conductor teach. He might have been a renowned Conductor, celebrated for his skill, but he remained a teacher at heart.
David thought he had it down by now, thought he knew when to expect it, thought he knew what would happen. But this time he was taken completely off guard. He hadn’t been this surprised since the very beginning of the strange events that had unfolded in his life.
Because, at that very moment, with not the least bit of fanfare, the Conductor reached down to his side and picked up the ancient book, the one that had dazzled David for months, and read some words.
“Mistake number seven is blending in instead of standing out.”
“I don’t know what to say,” stammered David, though the Conductor was clearly enjoying the element of surprise. “Really. One of the teachers of the mistakes was, well, one of my teachers!”
The Conductor waved him off and continued on as if this happened every day of his life. “Mozart worked feverishly. His work ethic was tireless and matched by his drive to succeed. His influence remains unparalleled to this very day.
“Think of this. He wrote six hundred pieces before he died. And he died at thirty-five!”
“That sounds younger every day,” said David in response, trying to elicit a smile.
“That’s just a kid!” responded the Conductor, adding, “Forget classical music for a second. Just think about anyone having this type of lasting impact on the world so quickly.” The Conductor emphasized the word “lasting” in the way only he could, holding up a hand and drawing out a note as if he was in his tuxedo on stage leading a rehearsal.
“You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?” inquired David, watching his mentor blend the mystery of the mistakes with his love of musical history.
“Most of us spend our lives learning to blend in. In the teenage years especially, we are picked on relentlessly if we dare to stand out.”
As he said this, David recalled an incident when he was made fun of for days because of something he wore in the seventh grade. He nodded his head in agreement without saying anything.
“Most of us have such a powerful emotional connection to blending in that we don’t even imagine a plan to stand out. But greatness always stands out. If you fail to stand out, you’re passed over at promotion time. Overlooked in the marketplace. Ignored for the most important opportunities.”
David was so relaxed this morning, in his childhood home, the sounds of the piano in the background, talking with his friend. He seemed to be taking this mistake in at a deeper level.
“Name three people that are mega-successful,” the Conductor said. Before waiting for an answer, he added, “I am absolutely certain that they all stood out. It doesn’t even have to be superstardom; think about someone who is really good at what she does.” The Conductor paused, sipping his now cool cup of coffee as he looked at David. He was subtly checking in to see if he was still paying attention.
His star pupil hadn’t missed a word.
The Conductor continued. “Standing out is as simple as consistently outperforming expectations.”
David’s brown eyes squinted involuntarily as the sun shifted and nudged through the clouds, brightening the room. “I can see that. I mean, even at work, the culture teaches you to fall in line, to not stand out, keep your head down and all of that.”
“Most of us feel uncomfortable when someone doesn’t blend in. There are powerful norms designed to keep people in line. You have to recognize that for what it is. Great leaders resist the pull of the normal and push through to the extraordinary.”
At that moment, the music in the other room grew quiet. They must have decided to talk, but it was obvious they were giving the two old friends privacy. David appreciated the alone time. He traced his finger along the wood of the kitchen table, lost in thought, contemplating the lessons of this mistake.
“Here’s what I found most powerful about this mistake,” said the Conductor. “Authenticity is the result of standing out. If you are true to your design, you naturally stand out from others because no one else is quite like you. Authenticity is the beautiful expression of your unique giftedness.”
The Conductor then closed the ancient book and folded it into his lap. Grabbing David’s arm, he squeezed it and pushed himself up from the table.
“Of all of our talks, this one has been my very favorite,” the Conductor said. “It was such a privilege to be the one to share this with you.”
He placed the book carefully into a bag, nodded, and then added, “I’m going back in before they come looking for us. How about some Chopin now?”
David smiled, lost in his own thoughts, barely registering that his friend was walking back to join his family. Then he was up with a jolt, thinking that the Conductor had forgotten something critically important. Following the Conductor, he stopped and found what he was looking for on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t noticed the Conductor placing it there, but it was as he expected. He read it slowly, knowing he would read its words many times in the coming days.