Fulfilling Our Potential

When I was a kid, my parents always told me that they didn’t care if I got the highest test score or earned the best grade or won a competition. The only thing that was important, they said, was that I did my best. I’ve always worked that way and believe that it really is the key to success. (Of course it can backfire
a little bit if you’re the type of kid who wonders, “Was that really my best? Could I have done a little bit more?” But that’s another story.)

When I’m working with b’nei mitzvah students, I often hear people say to them, “Don’t worry if you mess up on the Hebrew — no one will know.” This drives me crazy. While the intent is good — helping to calm a nervous 12-year-old — the message is terrible. Doing your best is not about impressing other people; it is about being conscientious, striving beyond mediocrity, and achieving personal fulfillment. I feel fortunate to have attended an undergraduate institution that encouraged us to use world-class scientists, scholars and musicians as our benchmarks. There was always a higher goal, and reaching for it made the work exciting.

There is a lot of mediocrity in the world today. Some people think that if they simply do what is required that’s enough and no one should dare ask for more. Ironically, I also find that those same people often feel that they somehow deserve more than what they receive in return. And of course, if they don’t receive more, then they shouldn’t be obligated to do more. It’s a vicious circle — often leaving people feeling unfulfilled, personally or professionally.

Sometimes we simply sell ourselves short. One of my greatest joys is helping people to discover that they are capable of much more than they might have thought.

When I started my career as a choral conductor, one of my first volunteer choirs was a dedicated group of adults who were easily intimidated by more challenging music. When I handed out the music for our first concert, they looked at me in a panic and said, “We can’t do this! It’s too hard.” I patiently encouraged them and used all of my skills to help them give a wonderful concert. Afterward, they looked at me in amazement and said, “We really did that?!!” I just smiled and nodded.

When I handed out the music for the next concert, they again panicked and said, “We can’t do this!” I was only slightly exasperated. Again, we worked hard, and they were delighted and amazed with their own success.
When we started preparing for the third concert, I handed out the music — they looked at the music, they looked up at me, looked back down at the music and then stared at me with an expression on their faces that said, “We should really have you committed, you know.” But they tackled it anyway, knowing that, if I thought they could do it, they probably could. It took awhile, but they learned that with lots of hard work and a little courage, they could achieve what they had previously thought impossible.

Why was that important to me? I didn’t care so much about the music or the concert. But it was my hope that the choir members would realize that if they could exceed their own expectations with concert music, they could do the same in other areas of their lives. What brings satisfaction to me is seeing people attain the self-confidence and courage to go after the things that will bring them the greatest joy.

It is the same with the b’nei mitzvah students. It’s not about being perfect for a Saturday morning service. It’s about mastering a challenging project, learning to pay attention to detail, and stretching oneself to reach to new heights. It’s not about showing off for the relatives and classmates. Every child has a unique set of abilities, and the goals need to match each student’s capabilities. In the end, it’s the gift that each child gives to him or herself: discovering skills and talents they never knew they had. If they can achieve that at a mere bar or bat mitzvah service, it can happen with any endeavor they take up throughout their lives.

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor