Category Archives: Practicing Saxophone

Want to Improve Your Sense of Time? Connect Meaning to Movement

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One of my emerging specialities as a musician who teaches the Alexander Technique is helping other musicians improve their sense of time.

In truth, many problems that musicians have with their skill and coordination are fundamentally problems of time perception and rhythmic conception (rhythmic imagination, feel, etc.)

Often musicians don’t recognize this truth so readily, sometimes thinking that their problems with technique and articulation are simply “finger dexterity” issues, or “strength issues”, etc. In short, purely “physical ” issues. (And sometimes they are for sure, but not nearly as much as you might think.)

Part of my job with these musicians is to help them (through direct experience) discover on their own the connection between their technical struggles and their problems with time perception.

But when a musician comes to me knowing full well that they have issues in with time and rhythm, I too often find that their strategies to remedy their problems on their own have one thing in common that is fundamentally interfering with their progress.

In essence, they are thinking about time “accuracy” in an entirely abstract  manner.

As I ask them questions, I often find they are also spending lots of hours trying to improve their time perception by practicing exercises that have little or no actual musical meaning.

Some of these exercise aim for what I call “pulse memorization”.

An example of this might be to count out loud in 4/4 with the metronome clicking quarter notes until the tempo seems firmly established in your mind. Then turn the metronome off and clap, count or play the quarter notes for a minute or so, then turn the metronome back on to see how accurate you were in your “memory” of the original pulse.

Another example might be the classic “canceling the click” exercise with the metronome. If you don’t know this one, it’s where you clap with each click of the metronome, attempting to “cancel” (you can’t hear) the click because you’re right in the “center” of the beat.

To be clear, I don’t think either one of these exercises is a bad thing to do, nor a waste of time (no pun intended!)

I simply think that they have limited value.

You see, both of these exercises are lacking in any kind of musical context. 

When I coach a musician who is struggling with time, I might have them work on exercises like this in a sort of remedial way in the beginning to help them begin to recognize certain habitual tendencies in perceiving time.

But what I attempt to establish from the beginning with the musicians that I’m coaching, is to let them discover that they already have a strong sense of time. It’s really a matter of teaching them to access it more readily by changing how they think  about time.

This is where meaning  comes into play.

You see, even the most “time challenged” (or “rhythmically challenged”, if you prefer) person has one thing they do all the time that has rhythmic pulse and regularity: They speak.

Yes, words not only have meaning, but also a rhythmic component that is conditioned by the structure of the language itself, and any kind of accent attached to the spoken langauge. Linguists refer to the this as “prosody”, or the natural “music” within any language. (When the musicians I coach discover this truth, their confidence and skill expand exponentially!)

So rather than having a musician start remedial work on improving time with an “abstract” activity, like cancelling metronome clicks, I might have them notice rhythmic patterns in how they speak, both in individual words, and in phrases/sentences. This creates a “context” for their rhythmic expression.

A simple exercise to discover this would be to speak words of various syllable lengths with the metronome click, noticing how “regular” and rhythmic the words are, how they line up so easily and naturally with the metronome click.

It is virtually impossible to speak in any kind of understandable way without the element of rhythm.

You think it’s difficult to “feel” and conceive of a quintuplet?

As far as your brain is concerned, it actually isn’t.

If you repeat the word the five-syllable word, “fundamentally” over and over, back to back, you’ll find that quintuplets are quite easy.

That’s because this word has a meaning (in this case, the adverb form of the word “fundamental”, meaning “essential”) that is inextricably linked to it’s sonic/rhythmic expression. Sound, rhythm and meaning work together, in an immediately integrated manner.

It’s simply wired into your brain that way. And though it has less meaning out of context here (repeating it over and over) than it would in the context of a sentence, it has more meaning to you than trying to “imagine” the subdivisions of the quintuplet.

You see, whether you’re playing your instrument, or speaking, you’re always doing one fundamental (there’s that word again!) thing: You are connecting meaning  to movement.

The meaning is to be found in the intention, and the movement is the manifestation of that intention. 

When you speak you move (your vocal mechanisms certainly do, at least). When you play music you move. It’s impossible to have either of these without coordinated  movement.

I’ll say it again: Movement is the manifestation of intention.

Even a cursory understanding of how the brain is involved in making music makes it easy to understand why dance is so inextricably connected to music in virtually all cultures. Dance is the psycho-phyisical whole musical impulse and expression. Context provides meaning, which turns into movement.

Another way to turn the abstract idea of “pulse memory” into something meaningful is to always imagine tempo and rhythm within a more specific musical context.

I remember once taking a class to become certified in CPR (cardio-pulmonary resuscitation), where we had to learn to give chest compressions with our hands at the tempo of 100 beats per minute.

The teacher told everybody in the room to sing or “imagine” the disco classic by the Bee Gees called, “Staying Alive”.  (All the class participants were easily old enough to know this song.) Sure enough, the whole room is creating chest compressions with considerable rhythmic evenness and unison.

Meaning informs movement.

So if you’re working to improve your time, or are helping other musicians how to do so, bring the abstract into meaning as much as possible. Use your imagination.

You don’t have to use just the metronome for a time source when practicing, you know. Using backing tracks, drum loops…anything the establishes context and broadens meaning.

And instead of focusing exclusively on the “clicks” whenever using the metronome as you practice, imagine how you would like to express each phrase relative to the clicks. Let each phrase come vividly to life in your mind before you start to play. It is the music between the clicks that is the most meaningful, and the most beautiful.

Deep Practice: Living in One Key at a Time

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black and white piano keys

Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com



Probably because I’ve been an improvising musician for so many years, every time I discover a new melodic idea that I like (and get it well into my ears), I’m compelled to put it into all 12 keys.

To me, I don’t even begin to “know” the new melodic idea until it’s been expressed and explored in all keys. (This is just a starting point of course, but it is a rather essential one.)

And it is indeed a great habit to cultivate in your practice (whether you improvise or not!). Doing so helps with so many basic musical and cognitive skills.

But I discovered some years ago, that I was taking this idea too far, at the expense of limiting my growth in another area.

In particular: going deeply into each key, one key at a time.

I recently watched a video of a wonderful masterclass given by tenor saxophonist Joel Frahm. (I would say that Joel is, arguably, one of the great living masters of jazz improvisation pedagogy, especially where “language” is concerned.)

This superb musician gave lots of valuable advice and information, but one thing he said really stuck with me, because it is something I had finally discovered myself some years back that significantly improved my practice process and routine.

He said, essentially (I’m paraphrasing here),  in response to one of the masterclass participants questions:

“Whichever key makes you feel most afraid, most insecure…spend lots of time each day living  in that  key.”

That thing he said, “living in it”, rings so true to me.

By allowing myself to patiently explore, to be wrong, to struggle, to be confused, to be stuck, to dig deeper and reach further in one single key, I also allow myself to come out the other side of this “darkness” with tangible assets: better ears, better technique, richer melodic imagination and greater possibilities for melodic invention in all the other keys.

Yes, in all the other keys! By going deep into one key, by really living in it, day after day, week after week, you’ll find that your ability to hear/think/imagine/execute ideas in all other keys becomes more acute and readily avilable to you.

Now, if you don’t want to plunge straight away into the key that “makes you feel the most afraid”, you can also try a different approach:

Which key are you most  comfortable in? Whichever that key is, test yourself to see how easily you can “think” in it, and if you’re pleased with your abilities in that key, move on to the key that follows it in the circle.

So let’s say for example that C major is your most comfortable key. See if you can do everything in the key of F as easily as you can in the key of C.

If you can’t,  you’ve found your staring point. Commit to “living” in F major for a long enough time that you can just as easily think/hear/imagine/execute the things you can in C major.

If you can  do everything in F major as easily as you can in C major, move on to the key of Bb and do the same, and so on, until you find the key that makes you pause a bit to work things out. That’s your starting point. Live in that key for a good long time.

After the weeks of practice pass that enable you to have the same mastery in this key, move on to the next key in circle. You’ll find that it’s not very difficult to bring yourself to the same level of mastery as the previous key.

You’ll also find that each key takes just a bit less time than the key before to gain the mastery you had in your starting key.

And bear in mind that, even if you are super comfortable in one key, it doesn’t mean you’ve even come close to “mastering” that key. You could spend months just exploring the key of C major, finding things that challenge your ears and your technique.

(Take a look at the example I put up at the top of this blog post. Can you easily play this pattern by memory, throughout the entire range of your instrument? Can you sing it? If not, maybe you haven’t completely “mastered” the key of C major.)

So what should you be able to do in any particular key to “master” it?

I don’t know, and I also don’t think there’s a definitive answer for this question. It’s entirely up to you.

But here are some basic skills/activities that I do  think all improvising musicians should be able to easily carry out in any particular key in order to approach mastery:

  • Playing the scale from each degree all the way through the entire range of your instrument.
  • Playing the scale in thirds, both ascending and descending, throughout the entire range of your instrument.
  • Playing the scale organized into secondary triads (triads formed from each degree of the scale), as well as secondary seventh chords (formed from each degree of the scale), all throughout the entire range of your instrument. Played in all inversions, of course.
  • Playing chromatic enclosures of each degree of the scale, that is, the upper and lower neighbor tones enclosing each note. (e.g., Db to B natural to C; Eb to Db to D natural; F to Eb to E natural, etc., on each degree of the scale, throughout the entire range of your instrument). I would also say you should be able to play each triad if the scale in “enclosure form”.
  • Playing simple diatonic melodies by ear: folk songs, children’s songs, classical music themes, jazz “standards” that don’t modulate or use chromatics (If I loved You, by Richard Rodgers comes to mind here).
  • Playing standards by ear that do modulate and/or have chromatics (e.g., Night and Day, by Cole Porter).
  • Improvising over ii-V7-I, applying any or all particular tonal alterations (diminished scales, augmented scales, particular substitutions, etc.)
  • Improvising over altered chord sequences that begin/end in your key (like the Coltrane Matrix).
  • Improvising freely, purposefully and melodically (in and/or out of time) diatonically (no passing tones).
  • Improvisng freely, purposefully and melodically (again, in and/or out of time) using chromatics and non-scalar passing tones.
  • Exploration/mastery of melodic shapes. This is where you could go endlessly, if you like, finding more and more possibilities in interesting and beautiful melodic movement. (The excellent book, Bach Shapes, by Jon DeLucia, demonstrates just how much beauty can be found in one key.)

Sound like a lot?

It is indeed.

But you have lots of time. You have weeks, months, years if need be. No hurry. It’s a journey as much as it is a destination (perhaps more so!) Keep in mind that the work gets easier each day, because you’re revisiting the same key. You’ll build upon this. And most important, you’ll sense tangible, measurable gains in your improvising skills as you stay with this process.

Just go deep into one key. Like Joel Frahm encourages, “live in it”.

And when you make this kind of deep practice part of your daily routine, also make sure you’re still spending some time each day putting things into all 12 keys (again, still an important daily skill for you to cultivate!) You might just find that this, too,  becomes easier and easier to do as time goes by. Happy practicing!

The Serendipitous Gifts of Studying the Alexander Technique

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The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

                  –Serendipity  (as defined by the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language)

It was my frightening and frustrating struggle as a saxophonist with focal dystonia (a neurologically based movement disorder that impairs coordination) that brought me to the Alexander Technique.

As I began to do more research on my condition, it became evident to me that, even though my focal dystonia symptoms were experienced through my muscles, they only ever surfaced whenever I began to prepare to play saxophone (more precisely, the moment I began to think  about playing).

In the simplest sense, it was my reaction to the thought of playing saxophone  that was triggering my focal dystonia symptoms.

After doing a good amount of research about the Alexander Technique as it applied to musical performance (and considerable amount of reading about the neuroscience of learning and unlearning), one key truth stood out to me that prompted me to seek out a certified Alexander teacher: Thought precedes and conditions reaction.

“So”, I said to myself, “if I can learn to think and react in a different, more constructive way when I play saxophone, I’ll have the best chance at improving my focal dystonia symptoms.”

I’m happy to say that this has proven to be true.

Resoundingly so.

And in the process of applying the Alexander Technique in addressing my focal dystonia symptoms, I became absolutely intrigued by the efficacy and possibilities of the work.

So much so that I decided to commit to the 3-year training program to become certified to teach this work.

The Alexander Technique continues to be my most effective tool in helping both my clients (mostly professional and serious student musicians) and myself as a musician.

If you’re not familiar with the Alexander Technique, it’s a practical set of principles you use to become aware of the (often) unconscious habits of misdirected effort (things that take you out of your optimal coordination) that you bring into your activities (like playing music!). By studying and applying the Technique, you learn to prevent or lessen these unwanted habits by changing your thinking, bringing  yourself back to your natural, optimal coordination.

It’s about learning to respond  to things in a more conscious and constructive way, instead of reacting  habitually (and sometimes harmfully).

Lots of  musicians who regularly take Alexander lessons rave about how the Technique makes playing feel easier, more natural, and with far less tension/effort than they’ve ever experienced before.

It’s helpful for decreasing/eliminating chronic back, neck, shoulder, jaw and wrist pain, as well as improving breathing, and balance (obviously helpful for any instrumentalist or singer!)

And even though I myself  wasn’t motivated to seek out and Alexander teacher because of the maladies mentioned above, I did indeed suffer from most of them (especially back and shoulder pain!)

I was usually in some sort of state of discomfort  when playing my instrument, just chalking it all up to “working hard”. I accepted pain as part and parcel of what a serious musician struggles with.

No, my motivation was simply about restoring (or at least improving) my coordination  when playing saxophone. Period.

But as I began to take lessons, it wasn’t long at all that my back began to feel better (not just when playing, but all the time!), my shoulders began to widen and become freer, my jaw became flexible and responsive, and my breathing became more full, easy and supportive of my saxophone sound.

All great things, for sure!

I began to describe these other changes I was experiencing to my friends and colleagues as “serendipitous gifts”, meaning I was blessed in finding such positive things I wasn’t even looking for.

(And as you might have wondered/guessed by now, my focal dystonia symptoms were inextricably connected to the misdirected muscular effort that was causing these pains I’d been experiencing for so many years.)

Yet the most cherished, most profoundly life-changing serendipitous gift I found in studying the Alexander Technique was more simple, more basic, more essential to my personal well-being and growth as a musician:

I learned to treat myself with kindness.

This kindness includes how I treat myself when practicing and performing:

How I changed my previously harsh and rather loud “self-talk voice” to one of soft inquiry and assurance;

How I allow myself to be wrong in order to discover new ideas and techniques;

How I give myself permission to pause when practicing in order to redirect my efforts;

How I allow myself to rest optimally;

How I listen to myself (and the other musicians) with a more detailed presence;

How I allow myself to peacefully walk away from an exercise (or even a practice session) if it isn’t going just right and I can’t seem to put myself back on track;

How I accept and trust my efforts, sound and intentions when performing.

And so much more…

One of the biggest changes in how I treat myself is that, even when I’m doing something “wrong” when practicing or performing, that I don’t interpret that to mean that there is something wrong with me.

That’s huge for me, as it places me squarely in a place of gratitude, with an almost child-like curiosity when I practice. And feeling grateful, is perhaps, the most beautiful of all states of being.

As I’ve mentioned in some of my other blog posts, practice for me is now a form of meditation. It’s nourishing and ever so pleasurable.

And as a bonus, my saxophone practice has become more dynamic, more efficient, more directly helpful to me than it ever was.

All this because of the gift of kindness I give myself.

You see, when applying the Alexander Technique to any activity, you are learning to redirect your thinking in the most helpful way you can.

To do this, you must ask  things of yourself, rather than demand  them. (You can’t bully yourself into reacting constructively!)

I “ask” for my optimal coordination. I do so with kindness and deference. With sincere respect and love.

That makes all the difference.

I feel compelled to talk about all of this in my first blog post of the year because of my experience over these past years teaching the Alexander Technique to musicians.

I’ve had the honor and pleasure to share this work with (quite literally) some world-class performers.

And one thing I continue to notice is how harsh many of these wonderful artists can be with themselves as they approach practice and performance.

Of course they seek excellence! Of course they are disciplined! Of course they have high standards! Of course they’re willing to sacrifice!

But what they learn when studying with me is that it is often their fierce self-talk that is taking them out of their optimal coordination, taking them away from getting precisely what they want.

As their coordination improves, it does so by going hand in hand with their self-directed kindness. They ask instead of demand and marvel at the results. It’s about as “win-win” as you can get.  A beautiful thing.

So I’ll continue to enjoy and cultivate my serendipitous gifts, and graciously share them with my students, living a musical life of gratitude, exploration, growth and satisfaction.

Language Matters: Optimizing Effort by Modifying Word Choices

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One of the key things I take notice of when giving an Alexander Technique lesson to a musician for the first time, is the language my student is using to describe what they are doing when playing their instrument.

Words are necessary, of course, to help inform me about their needs, as well as to bring to light how precisely (or imprecisely) their thinking is impacting their playing.

I often encounter two  sets of words as students begin to describe the perceived problem(s) that brought them to me for help:

One set of words describes what the student thinks she/he is doing while playing that is causing the problem(s).

The other set describes what the student would like  to happen instead.

It is this second set of words in particular I’d like to address here, as trying to embody these words can sometimes bring about unintended (and unwanted!) consequences for the musician.

“How can that be?”, you might ask.

Well, the short answer is that the words may not accurately describe what the musician actually wants.

In fact, sometimes these words are counterproductive, in that they are describing an impossible event.

For example, when I hear a musician tell me she/he would like to be “completely relaxed” while playing, I feel compelled to gently call this into question.

For starters, if relaxed means “no muscular tension”, than that in itself would be impossible for two reasons:

First, we need a certain amount of muscle “tonus” (the constant low-level activity of a body tissue) just to function in the most essential way (breathe, maintain balance, etc.)

Second, muscular tension is actually necessary to play music. In fact, it would be impossible to play without it. (I won’t digress here on optimally directed, versus mis-directed  muscular tension.)

And because we function as psychophysically whole beings  (our thoughts condition our movements),  being “relaxed” might also mean being in a state of attention that is too  under-engaged to play music optimally.

So I must ask more questions of my student to find out more specifically what the word “relaxed” means.

Often it means simply working with a more optimally  directed amount of muscular effort, while being calmly alert.

When I describe what I  mean by being “calmly alert” (fully engaged and present in an activity, while being freely mobile and flexible in my body) , my student usually says something like, “Yes. That’s what I mean. That’s what I want!”

When a musician thinks “relaxed”, sometimes there is a “should” attached to it. Most specifically, “relaxed” should feel  a certain way.

And if it doesn’t feel that certain way, something must be wrong. With that feeling of “wrong”, often misdirected effort and a divided attention follow (not to mention frustration)!

Here are a few more “loaded words”, as I call them, and some of the ways I modify them in my own thinking:

Instead of saying:

“Loose” (as in, “I want to be ‘loose’ when playing.”), I think instead of being “mobile” (as in, “I’m free to react constructively to my desires, and free to move in cooperation with my with my human design.”)

Instead of having “good posture” (which can encourage a rigid, immobile and uncomfortable way of being), I think instead of having “good use” (which means I’m neither collapsed, nor overly stiffened into uprightness, but moving easily in and out of balance in a dynamic and expansive way).

Instead of being “focused” (which implies a forced, narrow, reactive, divided and exclusive  field of attention), I think instead of being “easily present” (which implies an easy, expansive, responsive, integrated and inclusive  field of attention).

Instead of doing things “perfectly”, where pedagogy is concerned (which can lead to a rigid and inflexible approach that can stifle improvement), I think instead of doing things “optimally” (which allows room for inquiry and flexibility, and takes into account my human design, as well as my specific skill level and challenges; optimal is the best  that can be done in the present moment, all things considered).

Instead of “my body”, where movement, posture and breathing are concerned (which can dis-coordinate my thoughts to my actions; as in “What am I doing with my body?”), I think instead of “myself” (which helps me to work in a holistic, constructive manner; as in “What am I doing with myself?”

And there are many more such loaded words…

So how do you use words when thinking about practicing/playing your instrument? Is it possible that just changing a few of these words can lead to a better experience, to even greater efficiency of effort?

It sure has been possible for me and my students.

Keep in mind that my words are not written in stone. These are words (thoughts, or “directions”, as we might call them in Alexander Technique lingo) that work best for me and for some of my students, and they change over time as understanding deepens and need dictates.

I’m constantly exploring and expanding how I speak to myself as I play music, as well as how my Alexander students think to themselves. It’s a work in progress.  Just as it should be.

Resonance, Time and Ease (A Warm-up Meditation)

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Just as my practice goals and strategies evolve over time, so does my conception and implementation of warming up to practice.

Recently, one of the musicians that I coach asked me to elaborate more specifically how I’m currently warming up. So I thought I’d share my thoughts here with you all.

In the past few months, I’ve given myself a specific warmup project: playing one-octave modes from various scales (major, minor and harmonic major) legato, in slow sixteenth and thirty-second notes (half note equals 12 to 15) bpms).

I started out doing this as a way to challenge and improve my sense of what I call my “temporal imagination” (how vividly and accurately I perceive  time and pulse). As I continue to work daily on this, the components (or objectives, if you will) of my daily warm-up have become distilled into the integration of these three things:

1. Optimal resonance

2. Perception of time

3. Psychophysical ease

Allow me to elaborate a bit on each of these components.

Optimal resonance

As a saxophonist, this has a very specific meaning to me. It involves finding the “balance” (or “exchange of energy”)  between my air stream and my instrument. (Some of you saxophonists might notice that I simply said my “instrument” and not “the mouthpiece and reed”. I find this to be a more accurate description of the acoustic reality of the sound making process.)

In finding that balance, I’m looking for a consistently responsive  and  flexible  breath support, coupled with an awareness/allowance for my voicing mechanisms (soft palate, tongue, jaw, nasal cavity, etc.) to “come alive”, so to speak.

I aim to feel the sound resonating gently inside my head (particularly, my nasal cavity), as I connect that feeling to the sensation of the sound inside my horn. I connect all of this immediately to how I hear my sound out into the room.

So I’m calling into play both internal and external sensory awareness and sensations.

Perception of time

My coordination, my technique, sound, expression…virtually everything I do is conditioned by my sense of time.

As I play each of these modes slowly with the metronome, my aim is to be present with each note.

What that means specifically is that I am connecting my “optimal resonance wish” with my internal perception of time, and how that internal perception of time relates to the reality of the metronome (an external cue for time) and my sound in the room.

When the metronome clicks so slowly, it becomes tempting to try to “play each note in time” by imagining how “evenly” each note should sound.

But as I try to play that way, I virtually always end up rushing just a bit. I tend to try to manage what my fingers are doing as opposed to truly listening and responding. It’s as if I’ve lost the sense of the wholeness of the phrase I’m playing.

So what I do instead is aim for optimum resonance on each as it moves in time to the next , while I hold in my imagination the anticipation  of where the next click will fall on the metronome. This helps me integrate my internal consciousness (my intention and imagination) to the external world (hearing my sound; hearing the sound of the metronome).

Whenever I do this, my time instantly becomes lovely and easily precise. I can hear the evenness of not just every note that I play, but also the entire phrase as a whole.

Metaphrically, it’s as if I’m standing on top of a large mountain looking down on the whole valley. This is an immensely pleasurable experience, and it has significantly bolstered my confidence in my sense of time, as well as rhythm and meter.

Psychophysical ease

This is where my experience both teaching and learning (and applying) the Alexander Technique comes in handy. As I aim to integrate optimal resonance with my perception of time, I’m doing so through the foundation of a good “use” of my entire self.

(This is the central organizing principle of all my work as I warm up and practice.)

You might notice that I use the term “psychophysical ease” instead of “physical ease”. I do so because “psychophysical” is a more complete and accurate description of how we as human beings function in activity.

The “ease in my body” is incumbent upon my “ease and clarity in my thinking”. It is impossible to have one without the other.

So what I aim for as I’m connecting my optimal resonance to my perception of time, is finding the ease that is already there inside myself.

I notice my balanced connection to the floor through my feet, the mobility of my joints, the poise of my head on top of my spine (very important!) and the elastic quality of my ribs and torso as I breathe.

If I happen to notice something in my reaction (how I’m using myself) that I don’t  want, I simply make a decision to stop doing it, and bring my attention gently back to the ease in my body, and the calm but alert clarity in my thinking, as I stay present with my sound and with the time.

As I mentioned above, my aim in warming up is to integrate these three components into one, singular, omnisensory experience. I’m never sacrificing one component at the expense of another.

The challenge in writing or talking about this , is that it sounds much more complicated, slow-moving and cumbersome than it actually is. In reality, my thoughts are quick, quiet and thorough. Powerefully effective in helping me to react optimally.

After my warm-up (which takes me about 10-15 minutes) I’m ready to work on anything (psychophysically ready!), and the rest of my practice session, virtually without fail, goes along constructively, efficiently and pleasurably.

So how do you warm up? What do you aim for specifically? What do you do to get yourself there? How do you know if/when you are  “there”? If you’re not clear on the answer to these questions, I encourage you to investigate and experiment. (And please know that I’m here to help you if you need it.)