Lessons From Piano

When I was five years old, I wanted to take music lessons. 

My best friend, Lisa Olson, was in a music class our neighbors held every week. 

I'd sit outside the window and watch them explore rhythm with instruments and feel envious.

By the time I was eight years old, I was determined to figure out how to play the piano. 

Debbie Boone's hit, "You Light Up My Life" was my first song. 

My mom had the sheet music, and I knew what the song sounded like.

I'd sit and poke around on the piano keys until I found the right note and then match it in my brain with the visual one on the sheet music.  

This is how it went for a long time. 

 When I was twelve years old, I finally got to take piano lessons from my sister's friend, Jenny Fox. 

She started me in John Thompson's Third Grade book, I felt proud, and it was so much fun! 

I learned some theory, but mostly I felt my way through the songs by remembering how they sounded. 

Fast forward, a few years ago I took an organ training class. (BTW, organs and pianos are not as similar as I thought they were.)

What I found was that I knew much less than I thought I did about music and how to play. 

Feeling embarrassed and a little ashamed at my inability to time things correctly, I decided I wasn't that great and that I shouldn't be playing, and stopped. 

This started me ruminating on a recent time I'd accompanied my kids in church while they played their string instruments. Ugh! The sting of shame came up. 

Thinking about all the times I'd volunteered to accompany in church and thinking how I probably frustrated a lot of people who understood music. Ouch!

Going back to my junior high school days when I was in a singing group called The Junior Patriots, I remember begging to play the piano on some of the songs. (Joan and Doug, I'm so sorry. I thought I knew as much as you did, and I surely didn't. Thank you for being so gracious and kind.)

Pondering my sixth-grade assembly, when I pushed to be the one to play "Let It Be" by the Beatles on the new keyboard. Others were more qualified than I. 

It's the shame of being seen by others when I couldn't see myself clearly. 

I could have learned more and actually become better had I been willing and able to see myself and my weaknesses.

Fast forward to today, practicing self-compassion and letting go of perfectionism. I'm able to access a part of me that admires that courage, confidence, and spunk. 

Allowing myself to play at a B- level, or less, just because I enjoy it.

I've stopped telling myself how "bad" I am at it and focusing on how good it feels and how grateful I am to be able to play.

Why take the joy away from playing just because I'm mediocre?

Yep, just not gonna do that anymore. 

Gonna play imperfectly and feel the joy, just for me.

Who knows, I may even accompany at church again, but this time I'll know that I'm not great, but I am good enough.