Reeds cured me of Magical Thinking - mostly

Up until the age of 5 or 6, we are all magical thinkers. We believe in Fairies. Monsters under the bed. If we only believe hard enough, we can save Tinkerbell.

Life's disappointments gradually knock the magical thinking out of us. Yet we still cling to the idea that desire by itself can influence the material world.

For me, even well into my 20s, I still thought that I could make good reeds if I believed it enough. A new batch of cane would always bring up thoughts of "oh yeah, this is going to make my best reeds ever." I told myself that the next piece of cane would make the reed that would do everything and sound better than anyone has ever sounded.

I didn't know enough to notice whether the cane was too green, or twisted, or too soft and spongey. I was sure that it would be the next great reed.

This delusion allowed me to delay the development of a discriminating faculty when it came to cane and reeds.

Even after I bought my first gouging machine, magical thinking persisted. Working with the cane in its least processed form (tubes of bamboo), should have opened my eyes to the qualities of the cane that passed through my fingers. But I still couldn't see the evidence in front of me.

Gradually, over many years, I came to realize that close observation is critical. Observation of tools and materials, of knife technique, and above all, evaluation of results, i.e. the sound and functionality of a reed.

Does all this mean that there's no such thing as Magic? Who knows? Sometimes a truly spectacular reed comes along without my doing much of anything different. Where did this reed, with it's silky tone and impeccable articulation come from? With so many variables, it's impossible for me to say whether it was all my doing, or divine intervention.

God helps those who help themselves.