The Tricky Thing About Pride

I don’t consider myself a bratty person, but that day in the rehearsal before our first show, I caught myself feeling bratty. I’d been irritated by a fellow performer who said some snarky things to me and now the voice in my head was loud and snarky: “I’m going to show him. Let’s see him top this!”  Of course, this wasn’t a mindset I liked or respected — after all, I take pride in being humble!   

I mean….er…..ummmm…

OK, I’ve worked hard to cultivate humility because it’s how I want to see myself and also I believe it produces better work than arrogance. It’s the identity I’ve chosen: someone who’s humble, collaborative, and grounded. But that day, my humility felt like it had taken a back seat, and I was sure that if I let myself feel that way then I was bound for disaster. So I got myself under control.

Then, later, as I stepped on stage for my first performance, I was “properly” back feeling humble and like a good little performer. But! Along came humility’s unwelcome cousin: anxiety. 

I got through the performance, but I was on edge the entire time, like I was teetering on the verge of a memory slip. My hands didn’t feel steady, and my thoughts were racing. The audience clapped, but I didn’t feel good about it. It wasn’t fun at all and more like a panicky dread just waiting for the whole thing to be over.

Between performances, I had some time to reflect. The thought struck me: Maybe that bratty rehearsal attitude had some merit. That little spark of cocky, careless confidence seemed to fuel a stronger, more decisive presence. So, I decided to bring the Brat back for the second performance, just to see what would happen.

And? The difference was immediate. I felt powerful, in control. The notes flowed, the music resonated, and I wasn’t second-guessing myself. I wasn’t trying to prove anything anymore—I was just sharing the work I’d prepared. The performance was more than just successful; it was alive. And - I was having fun!

Since that day, I’ve been reflecting on the strange interplay between humility and confidence since so much of performance - and doing ANYTHING that is difficult - comes down to the right mental game to play.

The Balancing Act: Pride vs. Humility

Culturally, we’re bombarded with mixed messages about pride. Proverbs remind us that “pride goes before a fall,” warning us against arrogance and overconfidence. Buddha said “There is no recourse to pride” and Confucius said, “The superior man has a dignified ease without pride….the firm, the enduring, the simple, and the modest are near to virtue.”

And it’s true! We all know that person who refuses to listen, convinced they’re always right, only to stumble because of their blind spots. Their failure, in a way, feels inevitable.

But then there’s the flip side. We’re also told to “have pride in our work” and “take pride in ourselves.” These messages encourage us to strive for excellence and avoid mediocrity. Helen Keller said "Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence,” Theodore Roosevelt said "Believe you can and you're halfway there" and of course Norman Vincent Peale urged us to "Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy.” There’s also Walt Disney’s famous quote "If you can dream it, you can do it.” I’m sure you’ve got a few quotes that fuel your confidence since there are many out there.

So where is the line? When does pride become destructive, and when is it the fuel we need to succeed?

In my own life, I’ve come to see this as a question of context:

The Practice Room vs. The Stage

In the practice room, humility is essential—it keeps me open to learning, improving, and growing.  It’s what allows me to critique myself honestly, sometimes needing to be “brutally” truthful with myself regarding my shortcomings, to accept mistakes as part of the process, and to push through frustration. It’s recording myself playing and in the listen-back, marking down all the not-so-beautiful moments. It’s the mindset that says, I’m not there yet, but I can get there if I work hard enough so keep practicing.

But when it’s time to perform, that humility can become a liability.  A great performance demands confidence, even an unabashed and sometimes "childishly bratty-feeling pride" to truly connect with an audience. Your audience doesn’t want to see your doubts or insecurities—they want to see your best self, fully confident and ready to shine. And that confidence doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s built in the hours of preparation when you’ve practiced so much that the music becomes second nature. On stage, the work is done; it’s no longer about learning or practicing anything - it is about sharing something meaningful.

Love as the Antidote to Fear

One thing I’ve found helpful in navigating these shifts is love. When I remember to love what I’m doing—each phrase of the music, the connection with the audience, the act of performing itself—it changes everything. Love pushes out fear, just as gratitude pushes out self-pity.

When I approach the stage with love, I’m not thinking about whether I’ll succeed or fail. I’m simply present, immersed in the act of sharing. It’s a mindset that transcends pride and humility, allowing me to perform from a place of authenticity and joy.

Lessons from Timothy Gallwey, David Goggins and Yuval Yaron

Two authors that have deeply influenced my perspective on this topic: Timothy Gallwey, author of The Inner Game of Tennis, and David Goggins, the renowned endurance athlete, speaker and author of “Can’t Hurt Me.”

Gallwey’s philosophy centers on the idea that judgment—whether positive or negative—interferes with performance. He encourages cultivating an observer mindset, focusing on the process rather than the outcome. Instead of evaluating YOURSELF every moment, he suggests watching the skill you are doing unfold, like observing the stitching on a tennis ball. This detachment from ego/ judgment is liberating; it allows you to stay present and engaged, and you basically take yourself out of the equation. You learn how to totally immerse your attention in whatever task you are doing instead of distracting yourself with thoughts of yourself. I think of this as a sort of “moving meditation.” I remember my violin teacher Yuval Yaron telling me that you have to stay patient with yourself and your mind. Don’t waste time getting angry with yourself for having your mind wander, but just redirect it back, like directing a stream in the way you wish it to go. Over time and with practice, you get better at it, but it is a lifelong journey.

I’ve also been influenced by the slightly more hard-edged approach of thinkers like David Goggins who emphasizes ruthless honesty and total accountability. He presents the idea that you don’t tell yourself how wonderful you are when you have flaws that need to be worked on. Don’t tell yourself you are just forgetful when you haven’t put in the time to memorize and work on what needs to be done. Everyone has different levels of flaws and abilities - and you have to be really honest when evaluating yourself what to work on. I DO find that mentality helpful to get me grounded and prioritizing my practice when I don’t feel like it. And even in the performance itself when I’ve let anxiety get the best of me, I’ve imagined Goggins’ voice in my head: “Freaking out is a choice. Do NOT let yourself off the hook by freaking out here and therefore not doing a good performance. GET IT TOGETHER!” His perspective has helped me take control of my thoughts (and thus emotions) and stay focused, even under pressure.

These approaches might seem contradictory—Gallwey’s calm observation versus Goggins’ relentless drive—but I think they’re two sides of the same coin. Both are about stripping away the distractions of ego and focusing on what really matters. And THAT is really helpful in the heat of a performance as well as the practice room.

Navigating Opposites: Finding Balance

At its core, the total mental game of practice to performance is about balance—finding the sweet spot between opposites:

• Humility vs. Confidence: Humility fuels growth; confidence fuels performance.

• Love vs. Fear: Love grounds you in the present; fear pulls you into doubt.

• Ego vs. Altruism: Ego drives you to excel; altruism reminds you that your work is about more than yourself.

• Observation vs. Judgment: Observing keeps you present; judging pulls you out of the moment.

Each performance requires a unique blend of these elements. The key is developing the self-awareness to recognize what’s needed and adapting accordingly. 

A Reflection on Balance

Looking back on that day of rehearsals and performances, I’ve realized that balance isn’t about choosing one side over the other—it’s about knowing when to shift. Humility serves me in the practice room where mistakes are part of the process. Confidence serves me on stage, where I need to trust that I’ve done the work, let go of anxiety, love the work, and allow my audience to enjoy the music without being distracted by my personal fears.

This balance is something I’ll probably be exploring for the rest of my life, but that is part of the journey. Every performance, every challenge, brings new insights and new opportunities to grow. And the truth is, sometimes our performances are part of the process of practice. We can’t always practice in private. Sometimes we have to let others see us in the process of growth which takes some humility in itself - to let it be ok that people are seeing your process. Hopefully letting others see your process reminds you to stay focused on your own journey and not judge others where they are in their process. We’re all in this life thing together, and if you do want to help others, inspire them by challenging yourself first and foremost and sharing what you’ve learned.

A Question for You

How do you navigate the balance between humility and confidence in your work or life? What strategies help you stay grounded and focused? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.