A recent study suggests that musicians experience discomfort differently, both in their bodies and their brains. Apparently, learning an instrument doesn’t just make you interesting at dinner parties; it may actually rewire your relationship to pain.

Which is fascinating.

And also mildly offensive.

Because now I’m sitting here wondering if I abandoned not just the recorder and clarinet but also my shot at becoming some sort of neurologically enhanced, pain-tolerant superhero.


Let’s pause and appreciate this.

Somewhere out there is a violinist stubbing their toe and thinking,
Ah yes, discomfort. A familiar melody. I shall process this with nuance.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are hopping on one foot, whisper-screaming into the void.

The science (which I both respect and side-eye) suggests that musicians develop:

1.  Heightened sensory awareness
2. Better cognitive processing
3. And an increased ability to tolerate discomfort

Which makes sense. If you’ve ever listened to a beginner play the recorder, you know pain tolerance is required by both performer and audience.

I say this as someone who once was that beginner.

Yes, I too had a brief, shining career in music.

The recorder. The clarinet. A few valiant attempts at reading sheet music before deciding that perhaps my gifts lay elsewhere, like overthinking and snack acquisition.

And now, years later, I learn that sticking with it might have turned me into someone who gracefully absorbs discomfort like a well-trained cello.

Missed opportunity.

Although to be fair I do have a decent pain tolerance.

I gave birth without an epidural.


Now, before I fully ascend into martyrdom, let me add an important detail.  Active labor was approximately 12 minutes long.

Twelve.

Minutes.

Which in childbirth time is basically a cameo appearance.

And yet, those 12 minutes?
Spectacularly painful. A masterclass. A symphony of why is this happening to my body.

Which leads me to a new question. If musicians process pain differently should I have been playing the clarinet during labor?

Picture it.

The room is tense. The stakes are high. The medical team is focused.
And there I am, mid-contraction, playing something vaguely resembling a scale.

Do… re… WHY… mi…

Would my brain have said,
“Ah yes, we are not in pain, we are in performance”?

Would I have transcended?

Or would someone have gently but firmly removed the instrument and said, “Ma’am. This is a hospital.”

There’s something deeply comforting and slightly unsettling about the idea that we can train our brains to reinterpret discomfort.

That pain isn’t just pain. It’s context. It’s meaning. It’s practice.

Which, if we’re being honest, is also how many of us have survived life in general.

We didn’t all learn instruments.
But we did learn endurance.

We learned how to sit with things.
How to push through. How to laugh inappropriately at the worst possible moments.

Which may not make us musicians but does make us, arguably, highly trained in the art of coping.

Still.

I can’t help but wonder what might have been.

A life where I casually mention my clarinet training while also demonstrating an almost eerie ability to tolerate discomfort.

A life where I don’t just endure pain. I interpret it.

A life where, perhaps, I am both deeply resilient and mildly insufferable at parties.

Or maybe I am exactly as I should be.

A person who once played the recorder. Who survived childbirth (albeit briefly, but dramatically).
Who feels pain, questions it, jokes about it, and keeps going anyway.

No instrument required.

Although,  just in case, I’m not ruling out buying a clarinet.

You know.

For resilience.