musicConfronting life on a piano bench
When I was in the second grade I begged my parents to let me take piano lessons. It took a year to convince them, but beginning in third grade I began struggling to play the piano. Notice, I said “struggling to play the piano”, not practicing to play the piano. Every day I procrastinated practicing. The problem was I wanted to be able to sit down and perform beautiful music. Taking the time to actually learn a piece of music was frustrating. My piano teacher assigned me five, six, maybe seven or so pieces a week. I was supposed to practice everyday for at least 30 minutes, but I would dash through each one only once and consider myself finished for the day. More than forty years after my last childhood lesson, I am reaping the seeds of what I sowed at that time.
Today I sit at the piano and still want to perform beautiful music. The difference is now I have the knowledge that perfecting a piece takes effort – lots of effort – and practice – lots of practice. Sometimes I sit on the piano bench and an hour or more will go by, and I’m still working on the same piece of music. Of course worsening eyesight and stiff fingers add to the learning curve, but one obstacle to my current problems could have been eliminated had I practiced properly as a child. Piano playing depends on putting the correct fingers on the correct keys at the correct time. That seems simple enough until I get my fingers tangled in what seems like the correct way, but I end up with more notes than fingers, and I can’t get there from where I am. Looking back in my old piano books I see in the margins the word “fingering” written in my teacher’s handwriting. So many weeks I had practiced the wrong fingering, and she was telling me to go back and re-learn the correct way. Unfortunately, un-learning and re-learning is much easier said than done, and the poor woman would eventually give up and assign the next piece in the book because she considered me a hopeless student. Consequently, when I took up the instrument several years ago the old problem followed me.
Today I don’t perform beautiful music; in fact, I rarely perform piano music at all. I have too many hang ups to be able to let go and let the music flow through me. And even though I struggle and I wince at my clinkers and poor execution, I can hear the music perfectly in my head. If I could get the image of myself playing beautiful music out of my head, I’d probably play better because each time I think I’ve got it, that’s the exact minute I lose it.
Is there a life lesson in this somewhere? Probably. Do I regret not trying harder as a child? Yes. Am I sad that I missed an opportunity? Definitely. Each time I sit on that same piano bench, I am reminded of what I did then and what it costs me now. Am I missing other opportunities today to do something that will also haunt me in the future? Hmmmmm. Do I want to think about the answer to that question tonight or not?
