There's
something like awe or maybe it's more like envy, which I feel for musicians.
Playing the piano has always been something I wanted to be able to do, master
it even. I watch prodigies like Harry Connick Jr. who started playing when he
was something like 6 years old and released his first album at eleven and I
want to kick myself in the face for not wanting to learn earlier in life. The
other day I was at Grand Central station transferring trains when I heard this
amazing rendition of a sonata by Mozart and I had to follow the source. I
climbed up the escalator going in the opposite direction from where I needed to
go from the train platform that I was on, to the upper level where I saw a
small crowd gathered around my prodigy-come-to-life pianist right before me. To my amazement, or resentment, I saw that it
was a small Asian boy of about nine-years-old
or so, playing a keyboard larger than he was. He played the instrument with his
tiny little fingers floating effortlessly over its seventy-six keys and I
wanted to kick him in the face.
I've been saying for years that I would teach myself to play the
piano if it was the last thing I did! And now, I find myself in my thirties and
I'm hustling to stuff my head with all of this knowledge and condition my hands
to do things it has never dawned on them to do. It's like making yourself run a double
marathon when you've never even sported a pair of running shoes in your life. A few months ago I splurged on myself and finally bought
a basic sixty-one key Yamaha keyboard and a copy of Piano For Dummies. I tell you, if there were a How To Survive Your 30's For Dummies, I would buy it. I love these
books like a fat kid loves candy. Over the last few years I've compiled a small
library of these books and this one is my Holy Grail of them all. I'm not one
of those people who can just scan through self-help books and get the gist of
it. No, I read them from cover to cover because I know that if I miss just one
verb or adjective, the whole thing is a bust and the only thing I'd end up
playing is a tambourine.
After studying the Dummies
book, highlighting the important matter and making little flash cards for study
later, I unpacked my Yamaha. This was a very
exciting moment here. I then proceeded to carefully place the lovely
instrument on it's stand, pulled up a chair, got into position and had no idea
where the power button was for five minutes. Not a good start. I surely didn't become a master at playing after
a day or two but practicing for about an hour everyday for the next few weeks I
became very comfortable with fingering the keys and keeping my eyes on the
notes on the sheet music in front of me. However, like many things I delve into
with great passion, I also begin to slowly dissipate from and that's the worst
thing you can do when your mission is to excel at something.
Last night, before my head hit the pillow, I looked over
at my neglected Yamaha and felt a pang of guilt. It's been at least two weeks since
I've practiced and I could feel that I had already forgetting a slew of what
I've managed to teach myself. Then this morning I woke up early to see a friend
and get some writing done before going to work but when I got off at the 34th
Street station subway, there he was... that little Asian boy prodigy out to
haunt me and feed my guilty conscience. Why
are you tormenting me little Asian boy? I didn't really mean it when I said I
wanted to kick you in the face. Forgive me? Please? I'll practice more, I
promise.
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