Incremental

Progress isn’t always a straight line, but there’s plenty to learn—and celebrate—in the steps along the way.

As defined by Oxford Languages:

incremental

/ɪŋkrɪˈmɛnt(ə)l/

adjective

adjective: incremental

relating to or denoting an increase or addition, especially one of a series on a fixed scale.

"incremental changes to the current system"

“we plan to make incremental improvements to our existing products.”

About five months ago, I attended the Annual Conference of the Association of British Choral Directors, an organisation dedicated to the professional development of those who lead singing. My relationship with the organisation has been mixed over the years—at times, I’ve benefited greatly from its training, masterclasses, and networking opportunities; at others, I’ve felt that it hasn’t provided the advocacy it aspires to. Nevertheless, I see its value and wanted to support it again. So there I was, in the Great Hall at the University of Reading, ready to spend a day networking and learning. While the sessions I attended were engaging and insightful, my most valuable lesson that day came from an informal conversation over lunch with a leading conducting teacher at one of the UK’s conservatoires.

In another setting, I doubt I would have had the confidence to strike up a conversation with this person—social anxiety can make networking daunting. However, I had a connection with them: they had been on the interview panel for a job I secured early in my time in England, though they left the organisation soon after. I had long respected their work and took the opportunity to chat. We covered many topics, but the one that resonated most deeply was rejection. I’ve written about this extensively, and while 2024 turned out to be a positive year overall (and I’ve already taken joy in having had my first rejection of 2025!), I was eager to hear their perspective—not just on coping with rejection but on how they help their students build resilience.

This conversation addressed an often-ignored truth: for most of us, the path to our goals is rarely linear.

Nearly seven years ago, I participated in a masterclass with a major international choir—an extremely high-profile opportunity. I left feeling confident and enthusiastic, convinced that this was the launching point for my career, that I could now apply for every symphony chorus, chamber choir, and music director position under the sun. How wrong I was. It’s common to focus on milestones—graduations, significant relationships, moving home or flat, career breakthroughs, having a baby/houseplant/pet—without paying much attention to the smaller steps that lead us there. When progress doesn’t happen as quickly as we’d like, it’s easy to feel stagnant. And when the ultimate destination isn’t entirely clear, it’s easy to feel perpetually unsatisfied.

My conversation with this colleague was a timely reminder that when things aren’t moving forward as quickly as we’d like—especially in areas beyond our control—there’s value in focusing on the growth and opportunities available where we already are. This mindset can help sustain motivation and provide meaningful benchmarks for progress.

This term, for example, I’m revisiting works I’ve conducted before, which has pushed me to think about fresh approaches. Do I coach differently? Teach the piece in a shorter period? Work with a different ensemble or in a different style? Use this as a chance to refine my skills in other areas?

With Woking Choral Society, I’m coaching Fauré’s Requiem, a work I’ve conducted many times. This time, I’m working with an organ rather than an orchestra and pairing it with pieces I’ve never conducted before—Vasks’ Dona Nobis Pacem and Carter’s Horizons. I’m also coaching the Fauré in French/Gallic Latin, which has challenged me to improve my phonetic reading. Is it going smoothly? Too early to say, but it’s certainly an interesting challenge (and long overdue, after being strongly encouraged to learn this in a masterclass with the Turkish State Choir).

With Brockham Choral, I’m closing out my five-and-a-half-year tenure with Haydn’s Creation, but in a more compressed rehearsal schedule—about eight rehearsals compared to the luxurious fourteen I had when I last conducted it seven years ago with the Athenaeum Singers of Warminster.

I’m also gaining more orchestral podium time this year with Reigate and Redhill Choral Society, preparing to conduct Britten’s Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings—a new challenge given my usual choral focus. These experiences are opportunities to reinforce good habits, streamline my coaching, and ensure that the musicians I work with feel confident and empowered to perform at their best. This alongside some excellent opportunities for education work and a return to the National Youth Choir later this year.

Would I like to be working with groups at a higher level still? Certainly—it’s a goal I continue to strive towards. Anyone with ambition would always hope to push themselves further. But do I see ways to improve where I am, to refine my craft, and to challenge myself? Absolutely. And that, ultimately, is what keeps me moving forward—one incremental step at a time.