What my daughter said that cracked everyone open...

My ten-year-old stood at the top of the stairs in her Thanksgiving dress, violin in hand.

Thirty family members had just finished dinner below. My 97-year-old grandmother was settled into her chair. My dad clinked his coffee cup for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Sofia Spaghetti Tangredi with her terrific turkey-traveling violin show!"

Sophia had been taking violin for a few months. She hadn't practiced much. The perfectionist part of me (the part that used to freeze during piano recitals, the part that would spiral during every athletic season) was holding its breath.

She announced herself with joyful, presence, and confidence: "I will be playing  Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

She got into position. Never rushed. Stayed so steady.

And she just started playing.

My grandmother began singing along. Then others joined in. Before long, the whole family was singing with her, all of us imperfect and deeply connected.

Everyone clapped. She paused, looked up, and nodded with this quiet pride.

"Would everybody like to hear one more?" my dad enthusiastically asked.

"Yeah!" came the chorus.

That's when something even more beautiful happened.

"I'm just learning this next song," she said, "So I'm in the process. I might stop. I might make a mistake. No need to worry about it. I'll find my way through."

She proceeded to play. There was a moment where she hit the wrong note. She paused. Reset her bow. Tried again.

By the end, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Not because of perfection. Because of her willingness to just be in process without any shame or spirals about what it should be. Just so proud to be up there, being exactly where she was.

This isn't the first time I've been in awe as she publicly shares, “missteps,” pauses, adjusts, and continues without shame.  

Over the next few days various family members came up to express their how moved they were. It was like a whole bunch of perfectionists were like, “Wait? What? This is amazing!” lol. 

How many times do we wait until we're "ready"? Until we've practiced enough? Until we know we won't make mistakes?  I believe deeply in preparation and… how many times do we rob ourselves (and others) of the magic that lives in the messy middle?

There's something about witnessing someone be fully present with their learning that cracks us open. It reminds us that growth isn't a performance. It's an offering.

And maybe that's exactly the point.

Maybe the medicine isn't in having it all figured out before we begin. Maybe it's in showing up, bow in hand, saying: “I might pause. I might adjust. We'll find our way through." And, something magical may come of us being in the generative field together.

(Look at this audience!  Blessed to have such a loving crew.)