I can tell you, having studied with really great teachers, the art of playing “pah pahs” is not taught. We hornists and sometimes violists are left to ourselves to learn this art. The knowledge of when to play is communicated, but not overtly. When it is done well and correctly, the audience and orchestra know.

The waltz has a magical affect on the environment wherever it is played. Transformation just happens – people are happier, uplifted, healthier, and the spirit becomes celebratory, cheery, and vibrant.

While listening to the concert, I had a flashback.

Many years ago I took it upon myself to take a rowing class. Not the kind with a canoe and paddle, but team rowing like you see in the Olympics. I found myself in a six week class. I was one of the oldest in the class of about twenty and the tallest. On the fifth week, I was beginning to wonder why this sport held the mystique I had for it. Since I was a least six inches taller than the next highest student, I was in constant pain. We as a team had to carry the boat from the boat house to the pier on our shoulders. Well, my shoulder was a good foot higher than the average, so I had to carry it in my hand propped with my elbow on my side. By the time we got the boat into the water, my arm was half spent carrying the load that way.

We had several rowing routines we practiced every week. The important thing with rowing in teams is the rhythm. If everyone is in sync, and following the technique accurately, the boat will balance itself and “fly” on top of the water. Well, the boat this particular was not flying. Rowing that day was like pulling through molasses. Our boat kept tipping to the side so instead of my oar side in the water, I was rowing in air! Occasionally we would get the technique right, but something would go amiss and we would be staggering in the water. Then there was a change.

The instructor told us she was going to do something different, and that we were to trust all the we learned the previous weeks. We started with the usual routine and she would yell “Stroke! … Stroke!” This time she got faster, and we pulled harder. As the commanding rhythm to “Stroke” got faster, she got … softer. Instead of hearing a command to do, I found myself hearing a rhythm in my head. My musical mind turned it into a Strauss walt (no kidding!). Miraculously, I noticed that my body was not in pain, nor was it struggling to keep pace. I was no longer pulling through molasses, but my oar, as well as my teams’ (!), began to cut into the water effortlessly. Magically, our oars were perfectly connecting with the water. We were flying! Pure joy flowed through me. All of us felt it. We were in perfect sync with each other, with the lake, and with the whole world. This was the closest I felt to playing a Strauss waltz in a symphony orchestra!

Tonight, as the program is ending, I am reminded of playing in a symphony orchestra and the rowing experiences. I would like to offer that these moments – these moments of perfect synchronization – where knowledge is transferred to a group seemingly invisibly, are the result of shifting focus. Information is transferred, perhaps allowed to be transferred, and awareness is heightened. The whole environment is transformed. Performance is instantly brought to higher high levels of output. All of the participants are aware of the change.

Soon, I will post some application of how these shifts can be used to bring change to an organization.