Who are you when nobody is watching?
When I was younger and learning the piano, I used to practise as though somebody was listening. I would imagine someone just outside the room, hearing what I was playing. There was nobody there, of course, but somehow the possibility made me concentrate more. I would go back over the difficult passage rather than skipping it and hoping nobody would notice.
I’ve been thinking about that recently, because I realise I still do a version of it now.
There are people whose voices I can almost hear in my head. People I have loved, respected, worked with or learnt from. When I’m making a decision, or wondering whether I have done something properly, I can imagine what they might say. Sometimes they would encourage me to try a little harder. Sometimes they would remind me to make the call, say thank you or do what I had promised.
Looking back, I think that imaginary listener at the piano was an early form of accountability. Nobody would have known if I stopped practising ten minutes early. I would have known, though, and imagining someone listening helped me ask a little more of myself.
There is an intriguing piece of research that touches on this. In a 2006 Newcastle University study, researchers put either pictures of eyes or flowers above an honesty box in a university coffee room. People contributed nearly three times as much per litre of milk consumed during the weeks when the eyes were displayed. It was a small study in one setting, and later research has found mixed results, including a 2017 review that found no reliable overall increase in generosity from these artificial cues. It certainly doesn’t prove that being watched makes us better people, but it made me think about how aware we are of an audience, even when nobody is actually standing beside us. (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, sciencedirect.com)
The idea of an imaginary observer goes back much further. In The Theory of Moral Sentiments, Adam Smith explored what he called the “impartial spectator”: an imagined, fair-minded observer whose perspective helps us consider our behaviour. I rather like that thought. Perhaps my imaginary person outside the piano room was doing something similar, although I certainly wasn’t thinking about philosophy at the time. (cambridge.org)
We spend so much time thinking about how we appear to other people. Our work, businesses, photographs and achievements are all there to be seen. There is nothing wrong with being proud of what we do, and sharing it can create wonderful opportunities. I wonder, though, how much attention we give to the part of ourselves that never makes it into a photograph or a conversation.
David Brooks explores this in The Road to Character. He distinguishes between the qualities that help us build an impressive CV and those we would hope people remember us for: kindness, courage, honesty and the relationships we have formed. Both matter, but it is easy to spend most of our energy on the things we can measure and show. (penguin.co.uk)
The quieter things are harder to put on a list. Keeping a confidence when sharing it would make a good story. Making an introduction that could help someone, even when there is nothing in it for you. Remembering to thank the person who stayed behind to clear up. Giving someone your attention when you have a hundred other things on your mind.
After years of organising events, I’ve come to appreciate how much those moments matter. There is always work happening long before guests arrive and after they have gone home. You learn a great deal about people in those hours: who notices that someone needs help, who quietly gets on with a job and who takes the time to appreciate what others have done.
I also know how easy it is to fall short of our own intentions. I can say that family comes first and still find myself distracted by my phone. I can mean to check on a friend and let a busy week disappear. Most of us know the uncomfortable gap between the person we believe we are and the way we have behaved on a particular day.
That is where I think the voice in our heads needs some kindness as well as honesty.
Research by Juliana Breines and Serena Chen, published in 2012, examined self-compassion across four experiments. Participants encouraged to respond compassionately to their mistakes showed greater motivation to improve in several ways, including wanting to make amends after wrongdoing and spending longer studying after a difficult test. That feels like a useful reminder that we can take responsibility without being cruel to ourselves. (pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov)
I want my imaginary listener to notice when I am making an excuse, but also when I have worked hard enough. I want that voice to encourage me to apologise when I should, and to let something go when I have done all I reasonably can.
As I get older, I find myself increasingly interested in how people make others feel. Whether they listen, remember and show up. Whether their warmth extends to someone who can do nothing for them. Whether the kindness they talk about is there in the ordinary moments.
Perhaps this week we could each choose one small thing that brings our actions closer to our intentions. Return the call. Put the phone down. Give the credit. Say the thank you properly.
I still like the idea of someone listening outside the piano room. These days, I hope I would go back and practise the difficult passage even if I knew the house was empty.