Finding joy: Piano

Tickling my ivories

Sometimes it's the simplest, "classic" things that can bring us the most joy, and for me something that never fails to both calm and excite me is an hour at the piano.  It's the perfect blend of challenge and relaxation, of right brain and left brain, of thought and of feeling, and of giving and receiving.  There are many things that I am glad that I have stuck with over the years, but perhaps playing the piano sits on top of the list for me.

I was always interested in music, even when I was young.  Both of my parents were musical (though more casually than play in an ensemble type of musicians), and from a very early age I have positive memories of singing in the car, hearing my dad play his guitar or his accordion, or listening to music in the house on a Saturday.  My parents had a piano that was formerly my mom's, but she had no interest in letting me bang on the keys, so when I was very small, if I wanted to play, I had to play gently.  I can't remember how it went, exactly, but at some point when I was four or five, I decided that I wanted to take lessons.  Unfortunately I didn't start the Suzuki method (the methodology intrigues me!), and it took a little time before we found a teacher who would take someone so young, so I was six before I started lessons formally.

My first teacher was a cute little lady named Mrs. Frasier, and she gave lessons in the upstairs of her house, just a minute from my elementary school.  My mom would drop me off (or wait in the driveway, occasionally) and I would run up the stairs and sit at the keyboard to practice.  We were always early, as a family rule, and if someone else was in the middle of a lesson, you would be able to read musical magazines at the desk or put on headphones and play on the keyboard.  She had a beautiful grand piano that I envy now especially, and the room was bright and light and perfect for music.  She was a fantastic teacher, very sweet and encouraging.  She would generally call you "honey" and if you weren't sitting up straight and proper, she'd rub your back until you did.  I still go into "piano ready" posture when I realize it, and I think a lot of my good posture has to do with years of piano lessons.

Post-Recital in fifth grade

The years just flew by, and I enjoyed it immensely.  She was set on classical piano (no jazz, no ragtime, no modern) so my weeks were filled with Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart.  A few times a year she would host recitals for all of her students (probably about twenty of us) at a local church.  I had a knack for memorizing pieces, a tendency to love playing things as fast as I could (occasionally quality be damned!), and particularly enjoyed the few years when my dad took lessons too (we played a few duets, which is pretty freakin' cool when you are nine).    My mom would have to confirm this, but I don't feel that she had to nag me that much to practice (though I was terrible at filling out my practice times in my book, which we would do in the car before the lesson so she could sign off, and sometimes she'd get mad that I had forgotten, so we had to make it up...  though I bet everyone else was too).

But for all of the good in Mrs. Frasier, once I was a teenager she was a little harder to study with.  She was regimented and not very flexible.  At that point I had been playing for eight or nine years or so and I wanted to try to learn things like jazz and ragtime, but she didn't want me to.  I wanted to started picking some pieces for myself, but she didn't like that either.  So we decided that it would be okay for me to switch to another teacher, so I spent a few more years studying with a lady named Mrs. Udy.  Mrs. Udy, also very nice, was very spacey and I found her house to be bizarre (she had white plastic lawn chairs at her dining room table, which never made sense as her table was a beautiful walnut one).  Still, I continued to learn and was excited to choose my own songs for a change.

Towards the end of high school, I made the decision to stop taking lessons.  It was the year before college, so I need to focus on a different set of activities to better prepare myself.  After eleven years of lessons, I felt like I wanted a break.  I was still very involved in music (band, choir, jazz choir, vocal quartet) and had started composing music more intensely, though I started composing music shortly after I started playing the piano.

And so through college piano took a bit of a back seat to other pursuits, and it wasn't until after I graduated that my very kind parents gave me my childhood piano to have in my house, and at that point, it all picked up again.  If you are a perfectionist, as I generally am, it is hard to get back into piano and feel that your "touch" is not what it should be, so when I don't play with some amount of regularity, it is actually much worse and more frustrating.

This year, though, I have continued to make more time to play, and the impact on my health and well-being has been phenomenal.  I'm spending a lot of time learning some of Chopin's songs -- and if you are a pianist, you know that Chopin can be a tricky guy.  I started learning some ragtime (mainly Joplin) last year, which is challenging me to think in a very different way.  There is something about a warm summer evening that lends itself to some time in my music room/library.  When I first moved into my house, one night I was playing and was interrupted by a knock at the door.  It was my neighbor, Brad, and I assumed that I was disturbing him so I immediately began to apologize.  In fact, he wanted me to open the window more so he could hear me play as he was reading in his bedroom, just over the fence!

Something that I have come to appreciate much more in these last few months is that playing doesn't just bring me stress relief and happiness, but it brings joy to those who listen to me.  The critical ear I turn towards my notes isn't always shared by others!  There is something about music that allows us to share joy with one another, whether we're listening or playing.  So I need to do my best to overcome my shyness and reticence to play for others because I'm not "good enough" because it's not about that -- it's about sharing the beauty of a string of notes :)

xo
Sarah