The Cost of Being Professional: Relearning Joy After 200 Concerts a Year

* This story is shared with care. To respect the client’s privacy, some details have been changed. The essence of their experience and the outcomes remain true.

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When she first came to me, she was already successful by most standards:

A French horn player in her mid-30s performing with a major orchestra and playing over 200 concerts a year.

From the outside, her career looked full, active, and stable.

What was less visible was that something essential had gone quiet.

She no longer enjoyed making music.

Despite the level she was performing at, she felt increasingly disconnected from the work itself. Music had become something to deliver rather than something to inhabit.

At the same time, she was preparing for two significant auditions. One for a high-profile commercial television orchestra, and another for a major city ensemble.

She was committed. She had already worked with mental performance coaches and maintained a disciplined mindfulness practice. But she sensed there was more available to her.

More ease. More agency. More space for joy.

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A Professional Ready for More

From the first session, it was clear how thoughtful and precise she was.

She wasn’t looking for surface-level adjustments. She came with a clear intention to evolve, not only as a performer, but in how she related to her work.

Between sessions, she paid close attention. She noticed patterns. She applied new ideas carefully and consistently.

She was already an exceptional musician.

What she wanted was not improvement in skill, but a different internal experience.

One that allowed her to perform without constant pressure, and to reconnect with the parts of music that had drawn her to it in the first place.

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Unlearning Pressure

We began by looking closely at how she worked.

She had absorbed a deep message from her early training:

To be a “serious” musician meant letting go of play.

Precision mattered. Control mattered. Enjoyment was secondary.

That belief had served her in some ways. But it had also narrowed her experience considerably.

We worked on refining her existing mindfulness practice, adding self-compassion and pre-performance routines that reduced internal strain rather than increasing monitoring.

And in the practice room, we tweaked her usual approach.

Instead of simply running repertoire, we introduced questions that reconnected her with intention and imagination.

What would she listen for if she were on the jury?

What qualities would she value in a future colleague?

That reframing changed how she listened to herself.

We also made space for music that wasn’t tied to outcomes...

She found a piece she could simply enjoy at the end of practice, and almost instantly she wrote to me:

“I picked up an old favorite and realized I was already enjoying it."

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Building Resilience and Redefining Success

With her busy schedule, recovery had never been a priority.

Like many high-achieving musicians, she was used to working through fatigue and treating exhaustion as normal. Learning to rest intentionally challenged some deeply ingrained habits.

We also integrated physical simulations of performance pressure into her audition preparation, so nerves were no longer something to avoid but something to work with.

An alter ego became part of the process, as a way of accessing courage and fun without over-identification.

A simple ring served as a physical anchor, a reminder of the quality of presence she was practicing.

After one audition, she described feeling something unfamiliar:

“I wasn’t stressed by the situation. I actually felt excited, a bit like the first day of school. I could play with sound, color, and dynamics, and I allowed myself to take a few risks. It went even better than I expected.”

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Not Just Playing Well, But With Joy

She didn’t win either of the full-time roles that year.

One audition went to final round, and she was later invited as the jury’s preferred substitute. A solid professional outcome, but not the headline result.

But what mattered more was how she experienced the process.

After a concert shortly after, she shared:

“I made eye contact with some of my colleagues while playing, and it was obvious we were enjoying it. Even the conductor started smiling. I made two small slips, but I wasn’t bothered. I refocused instead of panicking. That felt like a real achievement for me.”

What stood out to her wasn’t that everything had gone perfectly, but that she hadn’t unravelled.

Music felt lighter. More relational. Less like a test.

From someone who had been taught to take music seriously at the cost of her spirit...

To someone who could once again laugh, risk, play, and connect — on stage and off:

“The work has changed how I approach both practice and performance. I feel more focused and effective, and I handle pressure more easily. My performances feel more consistent, and I’m enjoying performing again in a way I hadn’t for a long time.

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One Year Later

A year after we finished working together, she wrote to me again:

“I auditioned again this year for the same role and was invited to trial weeks. I prepared in the same way we worked on last year and used the tools from our sessions. I felt very grounded throughout the process, and I wanted to thank you again.”

But what struck me most wasn't just the result...

It was how she prepared.

She used the same tools we'd developed together a year earlier.

Nothing needed to be reinvented. The structure was already there. The practices had become part of her process.

Because these tools weren't something she used once and discarded.

They'd become integrated into how she works. How she shows up. How she prepares.

Her focus had improved. Her self-confidence had noticeably increased.

And most importantly, she felt grounded through the whole experience. Present, even under scrutiny.

And even facing trial weeks with another candidate, she felt that the harder part was done.

Because she knew she could trust herself through the process.

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What This Shows

This is what sustainable change looks like.

Not a dramatic, overnight shift...

But a set of skills and perspectives that remain usable over time. Tools that don’t expire once the coaching ends.

A year later, when the opportunity returns, you don’t start from zero. You work with what you’ve already built.

Sometimes the most meaningful change isn’t winning the audition on the first attempt...

It’s becoming the kind of musician who can show up grounded, focused, and engaged, again and again, regardless of outcome.

That is what lasts.