Fun fact: In my youth and for much of my early adulthood, I was a musician. That was my identity: accompanist, pianist, music teacher. I don’t often speak of it because while I have an undergraduate degree in music, I wasn’t much driven to practicing or the discipline required to be a successful performer.
However, until recently, I still owned two of the instruments I learned to play, not master: – a Yamaha piano and my open-hole Gemeinhardt flute. I still own the piano; the flute was donated to the local high school where I hope someone is still playing it. My piano, one of the first items Adrien and I bought as newlyweds, was purchased “on time” at what I remember being $25 a week. For two people with zero dollars and not a clue about long-term saving for retirement, that purchase was an extravagance. We did it though and, while currently in sad need of an overhaul, “my” piano gives me some comfort simply by being in our living space. It is a reminder of a time when the often overwhelming frustration at physical limits of talent, brought joy.
That I have abandoned years of learning to play (not master) the instrument that brought me to a degree in music is something I want to rectify. I have no delusions that the physical limits of playing can be overcome, and I’m certain that some of the abilities I had in my earlier life may never return. Also I have a lifelong allergy to practice. But now, in the last part of my life, I feel driven to return to music.
To return to this thing that provided a sense of purpose feels increasingly important. And so, I reach back into my love of music as I experienced it. a part of my identity as a human, lost over decades.
Listening to music, allowing the beauty of sound to wash over me, and digging deep to find my way back to playing music for myself is my way of finding inner peace.
After An Educator's Journey 