Last year, I decided to learn to play the cello. Although I had studied piano for at least a dozen years as a child, I was bored with that instrument (though I still shlep my kids to piano lessons). I’d always loved the mellow sound of the cello, and promised myself that when I retired and finally had extra time, I would take cello lessons. But after seeing Yo-Yo Ma play at Royce Hall at UCLA last year, I decided that there was no point in waiting; if I thought I would enjoy playing, I should start getting the pleasure now and make time for it.

I knew that a string instrument would be very different from the piano. But I didn’t know just how difficult it was to produce notes that sounded like they came from a cello rather than an injured goose. Even now, almost a year into lessons, I still constantly wince at the squeaks and squawks that I make.

I’m lucky to be someone for whom most things come pretty easily. In school, at work, in life, I have not had to work very hard to master things I have to or want to do. But learning the cello has made me more humble. I’m finding it a major challenge, and something I have to work at over and over to develop the skills I need in fingering, bowing and reading music written only in the bass clef. I’m enjoying the process, but boy is this hard work.

This reminded me of a story told to me by a good friend of mine, who was an elementary school teacher for many years. She went to a continuing education class for teachers in which the instructor insisted that, as part of the class, each student must learn to juggle by the end of the course session. My friend had no experience juggling and her first attempts were laughable. She was frustrated and did not want to continue. But as she and her fellow teachers spent more time learning from a patient juggling expert, she saw herself get better and better. Finally, as part of the final exam, she had to demonstrate that she had learned the juggling skills, which she did (mostly). At the end of the last class, the instructor explained that the frustration they had felt in having to learn these difficult skills was similar to what a child struggling with a learning disability might feel when asked to read a paragraph of text. The point was that the teachers should have empathy with the children they are asking to learn new and complex skills.

And yes, this all ties back into social marketing. Think about the sorts of things we ask our target audience to do. Eat a healthy diet, tracking everything from fiber and salt to fat, carbs and antioxidants. Figure out how and where to get a colonoscopy. Carve out 30 minutes a day in their nonstop lives to exercise in between getting the kids ready for school, working long days, doing the grocery shopping, chauffeuring the kids to their afterschool activities, making dinner, doing laundry and collapsing into bed. These require skills that do not come easily to everybody. And many social marketing behaviors must be done several times a day or week, which is unlikely to happen if someone does not feel confident that they are capable of doing them.

For my cello teacher, who played in the LA Philharmonic for over 30 years, playing Bach comes as second nature. But I, who can barely scratch out Clair de Lune, need lots of help developing my skills. As you develop your social marketing program and figure out what you will be asking the target audience to do, make sure that you either do not ask them to do something that’s beyond their current capability or that you help them develop the skills they need to be able to accomplish the behavior. What comes easily to you might be a huge barrier for someone else.

Now, back to practicing.

UPDATE: Photo Credit: eforto