For the past month, I’ve been taking weekly piano lessons. Four whole lessons, and they’re already fueling my writing. Mission accomplished? Sure. Now, let me be clear, this is not my first attempt at learning to tickle the ivories. I took lessons as a small child, around seven or eight years old. I fell in love with it, but my instructor at the time wasn’t amused with my particular brand of skill. You see, I’m what they call an “ear player,” which is not as weird or disgusting as it may sound. It just means that I can hear something, and then play it.
Now, if you’re like anyone else I’ve told this nifty little fact to, you’re probably thinking something along the lines of, “Wow, that’s so cool! You’re like an alien or something!” Just kidding about the extraterrestrial part, but the first half? Yeah, common reaction. But to the child version of myself, this little talent was quite burdensome, as my teacher was extremely frustrated with the fact that I struggled to learn to actually read the music. I could listen to her play it, and then play it right back to her, but when it came time to read the music? To explain which note was which and why the song sounded the way it did? That was a big no from me, dawg.
Try as I might, I just couldn’t get it figured out. I grew increasingly frustrated with myself, as a kid in the gifted program at school who seemed to learn everything relatively easily (a burden later in life, amirite?), but couldn’t for the life of me read a fucking sheet of music. I have no doubt that my growing frustration did nothing but make the learning harder, but it all capsized the day my instructor told me I was stupid and I’d never be a real musician. First of all, rude. Second of all, jokes on her, I didn’t care if I was a real musician, as long as I could translate NSYNC songs to the piano…which I could do with my ear, thanks. Okay, that second one was a line of defense. While young me didn’t know exactly what made one a “real” musician, it hurt that she said I would never be one. That was the day I quit the piano.
Fast forward to the present day, and a lot of my introspective work has me realizing just how many things I quit on in life, and the fact that the majority of my quitting was linked to an external opinion. I could get really wordy about this revelation, but for the purposes of making this a tolerable blog, I’ll cut to the chase: I’m going back to unquit the things that still interest me. And, you guessed it, we’re starting with the piano. When the email came announcing the news that our choir director (who is an insanely skilled pianist, btw. One might even say he’s a “real” musician) was offering piano lessons, I emailed him on the spot. I needed to do it while the impulse still drove me, before imposter syndrome talked me out of it. He happily took me on as a student, and my heart immediately sank to my butt (the imposter syndrome was holding hands with rooted-in-childhood fear, and they had both come a-knockin’). Cancel the lesson. What’s the point in piano lessons? You’re over thirty, you’re too old for this. This isn’t something that will produce income, so why are you doing it? You’re wasting time, there’s laundry to fold. You’re not a real musician. No one wants a student who can’t read music.
This is the part that took legitimate mental work. I had to shut those thoughts down, one by one, and as someone who has handed my life over to fear and quitting more than I enjoy admitting, this was a struggle. How easy would it have been to just email him and say, “Oh, nevermind. Thanks for your time!” Much easier than facing these monsters locked away in my mental closet. But no, I told myself, this is important to me. We are unquitting, remember? The point of piano lessons is to prove to myself that, one, I’m not stupid, and two, I can learn something even if it’s difficult. The point is that playing piano is something I enjoy doing, and sometimes we can do things simply because we enjoy them. The over thirty years old thought? Absolutely ridiculous, considering I am the queen of preaching the fact that you’re never too old to learn a new skill or do something new and different in life. The thoughts around producing income are always hardest for me, I’ll admit. Our society thrives on hustle culture, and we are all taught that if it isn’t producing money, it isn’t worth doing. Why sleep when you can work? But studies have proven that we are happier and less stressed when we have a hobby that we do simply because we love it, with no income attached. So…here’s to lowering these stress levels I guess. And as far as no one wanting a student that can’t read music? Well, let’s just say lesson number one shut that thought down quickly.
I’d barely sat down at the piano before I dumped my childhood sob story on the poor man. “So anyway, I quit because she was so frustrated with me, and I was frustrated with myself, and I can’t read music, and I’m a stupid ear player, which sounds as dumb as it is…” I ended my rant with that. He sat and nodded the entire time, like a musically gifted therapist. And then he put me to the test. He taught me the basic notes and had me play four songs, two random songs that I’m not sure a single human has ever heard, and two very familiar songs that my little ear knew quite well. Playing came back to me relatively easy, and the difference between the two sets of songs was obvious: the ones I didn’t know were choppy, slow, and somewhat mechanical. The two I did know? Pfft, as smooth as the only acceptable peanut butter. Which is smooth, by the way, just to be clear.
He didn’t say anything for what felt like the longest thirty seconds of my life. I was sweating, I shit you not. Fear is a crazy thing. Finally, in his soft and calming voice, he said, “Absolutely fascinating. Just fascinating. Do it again.” And he found another popular song.
What?
Long story short, he told me that my ability to play by ear is a gift, not a burden. Yes, it is proving to make learning to play by reading a bit more difficult, as my mind wants to insert notes that aren’t there or play certain bits at different speeds, according to how I know the song is “supposed” to sound. But I am, in fact, still learning to read music, and it feels much less frustrating now. It’s funny how having someone supportive and understanding teaching you makes all the difference. Four weeks in and he hasn’t called me stupid yet so…I think we’re getting somewhere.
In addition to healing those old dusty wounds, I’ve also come to realize that my time of attempting the piano as a child has been a huge help in my picking it back up now. I’ve blown through two thirds of the first lesson book in a month, and my teacher tells me I’m a quick study. I accredit that to the little me that wanted so desperately to play the piano. All of this is to say, my new project of unquitting has been accomplishing much more than I anticipated.
You see, when we work hard at something that is difficult, or even worse, that hits our fear button, and we prove to ourselves that we can do it, it boosts our confidence. When we stay committed to something and don’t flake, cancel, or quit (cough cough I’m looking at you, Dominique), we boost our respect, both for ourselves and for the others in our lives who are giving us their time. The more we tackle things that are challenging or scary, the more we increase our mental fortitude. Facing struggle is how we build the strength to achieve hard things, and going back to pick up a hobby that I’d quit purely out of frustration and hurt is already working to convince my mind to try other things too. Maybe I’m not too old or stupid to go back and get that degree. Maybe I am qualified to get that career going that helps others, and maybe I’m not too old and it’s not too late. Maybe I can, in fact, learn to live with my PTSD and function as a healthy enough human again. Maybe I could do a backbend. The possibilities are endless. Will I ever be a concert pianist? Doubtful. But, I might be able to confidently read sheet music and play for my friends someday.
All of that is to say, if you have regrets that haunt your imaginating, wishing you’d stuck something out, I dare you to unquit and try again. And if there’s something that you’ve always wanted to do, but sat on the sidelines for fear of failure, ridicule, lack of qualification, or literally anything else, I urge you to drown those fears by taking the leap and doing that thing, because by doing the thing, you show fear just how strong and capable you are.
And you are, for the record. You are strong, and you are fucking capable. Go do that thing.
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